#stop getting into fights without your helmet! you’re too pretty for that!

[sassatoru]

Hey sis, can I request a Dahlia with burlap and maybe some lace 🤭

Jason Todd X reader where reader is Selina Kyles protege and a vigilante, her superhero name is Kitten.

They had a rivalry going back to Jason's Robin days, flirted like crazy on patrol, started dating in secret and reunite after his death.

You can choose how this goes, your writing is addictive to read, never stop doing what your doing.

Have a good day, and congratulations for 2000 followers! 💓

DON’T YOU LOVE ME STILL?

pairing. jason todd x fem!reader

warnings. smut

a/n. thank you

“tsk tsk, kitty.”

he circled you like an animal would their prey, the red hood had been chasing you for months. he’d get meaner every time you slipped from his grip but somehow he knew you.

your name, your thieving patterns, the way you flirted, everything.

“what now? i haven’t done anything wrong have i?”

you retorted, eyeing his figure. he was a big guy, you’d give him that much, big and clearly very strong. if you weren’t so annoyed at him you’d probably try to sleep with him.

“no?”

“mhm, i’ve been a good girl, Hood.”

jason loved the way you spoke to him, the teasing flirt in you voice. he knew he should’ve told you by now, that it’s him. your jason was home, but he wasn’t your jason now was he? no.

he was different, twisted, dirtied, he had blood on his hands. blood your jason would’ve never spilled in the first place.

“i don’t think stealing is classed as being a good girl, doll.”

you hated how much you liked hearing him call you that, you’re not sure when he had gotten closer but now he was towering over you. you liked that too though, how big he was in comparison to you.

he could dwarf you twice over. snap you in half without a thought, fuck imagine how he’d be in bed— no. back on track. you refused to go down that road.

“stealing to survive isn’t bad, is it?”

“you wouldn’t have to do any of that if you just took my offer.”

his offer. join him, not fighting on the streets but jason knew how well you could take down an organisation. how good you were at infiltrating. he needed that sort of skill if he was going to burn black mask to the ground.

“come on, baby doll. i’ll take care of you.”

you scoffed, turned your head away from him and he couldn’t help it then.

“don’t you love me still?” he asked, head tilting to the side as he watched you, stepping closer to tilt your head back up at him. “i know i was gone for six years—”

“jason.”

he had to give it you. you were so much smarter than anyone would give you credit for.

“that’s me, pretty.”

he loved the tremble of your lips as he pulled his helmet off, tossing it to the side as he revealed his face to you. even behind all those scars you’d know him anywhere.

your hands moved to cup his face immediately, eyes darting across his features. when had his eyes turned that shade of blue, it was bordering green now but they were just as beautiful as you remembered.

“you’re here… how?”

his eyes close as he leans into your touch, leaning his head down so you can hold him without the stretch.

“i’ll tell you another time, baby. i promise, right now i need you.”

his eyes open again and your stomach flutters at the way he looks at you, hungry and wanting. as if he’d waited those six years for this exact moment.

“can i have you?”

“you never have to ask that.”

he doesn’t waste a second, pressing you against a wall. and you’re reminded about the size difference between the two of you again. how’d he get so big?

he seems to have sensed your thoughts because he grins smugly, “like what you see, baby?”

“hm? you like being so much smaller than me that i have to lift you up so you can be face to face with me?” as if to emphasise his point he does just that, lifting you up and pressing your back against the wall.

you wrap your legs around his hips when his hands move to hold your ass, keeping you up by holding under.

“you changed.” you note aloud, eyes running down his upper body, your finger trailing down his chest.

“good or bad?”

“i like it.”

he smiles genuinely, playfully squeezing your ass as he rests his fore head against yours. “i missed you, baby. all those years gone, you were the only thing i remembered clearly.”

he kissed at your neck, whispering into your ear. his teeth scraped your neck. his kisses got more eager, needy and then his lips were on yours.

one of his hands had moved to your front to undo the zipper that ran over your chest. he knew how naked you’d be under the suit, your suit left no room for under garments.

he pawed at your breasts the second they were free before walking you through the set of emergency fire doors, he’d chosen this rooftop on purpose. he lived in this building.

he broke the kiss to walk the two of you down the stairs and onto his floor, you occupied yourself with leaving a series of pretty pink and purple marks on his neck. twisting your head so you could leave one on his adam’s apple too.

he dumped you on his bed, watching the way you bounced on the mattress before pulling off your suit. he did the same, tearing off his uniform, tossing it around the room before meeting you on the bed right after you tossed your domino mask aside.

your hands moved to pull the pair of cat ears atop of your head off but he stopped you. “keep ‘em on f’me.”

you nodded obediently and he couldn’t help but tease. “so snarky earlier, doll. what happened?”

“shut up and fuck me.” you scoffed, spreading you legs open for him.

his eyes dropped to your pussy, glistening in the moonlit room. he eyed you with no shame and you did the same. you mouth watering at the sight of his cock, you weren’t sure it would fit in you, something of that size

his hand moved to prepare you but you shook your head, “please jay. i don’t wanna wait.”

how could he say no when you asked so prettily. lining himself up with your entrance he pushed his tip through with a groan, head falling forward as yours fell back.

his hands kept your thighs spread open for him, “nearly half way, baby. you can do it, good girl.”

you whined at the stretch, he was so big. so big everywhere, his arms, his thighs, his hands, broad shoulder and chest, his cock.

finally he stopped pushing in, filling you all the way up. he waited, giving you time to adjust to his monstrous size. he laid on top of you, calmly breathing, giving you a sense of peace in the middle of all this before you tapped his bicep. “you can move.” you murmur to him.

he nods, pulling out most of the ways until the head of his cock is the only thing inside you before pushing back in, slowly to ease you around him.

his pace quickens over time, he fucks you faster with each thrust. soon he’s plowing into you, your knees hooked over his shoulders so he can angle himself deeper in you.

every time he fucks himself back into you, your body jolts as if you’re trying to get away from him, your thighs quiver. and he’d be concerned about your crying if you weren’t moaning his name like a prayer and asking for more.

“yeah? you like that, baby?” he coos, though his voice isn’t as smooth as intended, its rough and more like a growl. “you’re mine again, aren’t you?”

“yes yes yes.” you chant, nails scratching down his chest. “yours, all yours. jay, ‘m gonna—”

“i know, baby. you gonna cum f’me?”

you nod, “yes, please jay. can i?”

“can you what, doll? use your words, tell me what you want.”

“can i cum? please jay, i wanna—”

“cum for me, doll. show me how good you can be for me, show me and i’ll give you more.”

and you do, you come on his cock and he groans before he comes too, fucking you through it. slowing down when you ask him to because the overstimulation burns.

he kisses your cheek, nuzzling against it. “i missed you.” he hears you mumble, your arms wrap around his neck as he turns you over to lay on top of him, his softening cock still inside you.

“i missed you too, baby.”

he can feel your heart thumping in your chest as you eyes close. “you’ll stay?” you ask, despite this being his apartment.

“i’m never leaving you again.”

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[81pastrys]

Grid Flirt

Part 9 / 13

Summary— She stays low for the race, but not low enough for Horner to stay quiet.

Warnings— Christian Horner again.

A/N— Logan is mentioned again btw

Series List

The race comes up and almost every media I do, there is no happiness or cheer in my expressions. Every driver I see wishes me luck. We set the grid and the lights go out. Immediately I’m able to get up to P15.

Around 20 laps left and I got up to P6. Horner isn’t happy, but Max is P2 currently. We do our pits and I don’t get passed surprisingly. They just closed the gap I had. “Race update.” I say.

“Hamilton P1, Verstappen P2. Lap 62 with 12 to go. Piastri +3s behind.” He said.

“Copy, gap to front?”

“+6s.”

I end up getting really close to Russell in front and pass him gaining P5. “Car in front?”

“Norris, +4s” He said. “Don’t push, this place is good.”

“Copy, laps?”

“4 left, 4 laps.”

I stay comfortably in P5 and Max gets first, Hamilton second and Norris got up to third and Leclerc fourth. We pull into the pits and they pull the car in, allowing me to get out.

I take my helmet off and grab water. Horner rushes to me mad, as usual now. “P5?” He asked. “I told you to lay low Díaz!”

“I did, I laid low of first place and a podium.” I say calmly. “What did you not want the fucking points or something?”

“Unbelievable.” He said walking off. He’s acting like a baby. We all do media and there’s a top 5 interview. That’s what he meant. We go and sit on the couch. I cross my arms and have a blank expression on my face the entire time.

“Diaz, P20 to P5, pretty impressive.” The interviewer said.

“Yeah, it isn’t hard when you’re in a fast car.” I say. I put the mic down. “And when you want to piss off your team chief.” I mumble. Lando was sitting next to me and started laughing. He looked over to me and I started laughing too.

We end up laughing so hard we’re keeled over from the couch. We’ve caught everyone’s attention and then sit up trying to stop. They continue the interview ignoring us. “Thank you you guys, amazing job.” The interviewer said.

We go back to the paddock and change getting ready to leave. Horner is still trying to get words in but I don’t acknowledge him. “Mark my words Díaz, you will not be racing for me after today.”

I ignore him as he continues on. I walk out to the back of the paddock, Horner following me. I see my dad and give him a ‘save me’ look. “Shut it Horner.” He said.

“Your daughter is a horrible racer.” Horner responded. “Just like you.” Then he walks off. Someone got that on camera.

“Don’t listen to him mi hija, he’s just a bit heated.” My dad said. “Let’s go to the hotel hm?”

“Yes please.” I say and we leave. Once we get to the hotel my dad and I hangout in his room.

“Papi, how possible is it for him to take me off the team now?” I ask, a bit panicky.

“If he breaks a few rules, which he’s known for, possible.”

“Our reserve drivers are shit, he’s better off keeping me to win the constructors and-“

“Mi hija, slow down.” My dad reassured me. “You have another contract, the fight for drivers isn’t worth it.”

“I know papi, but his points will plummet without me!”

“Mi hija, mi flor, his loss.” He said trying to calm me down. “One championship loss will not be the end.”

“But papi-“

“No, we’re done with this conversation.”

I huff a breath and go to my room, changing into casual clothes. I go to the lobby and chill on one of the couches. Some of the drivers arrive and a few join me sitting for a minute.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asked.

“You want the truth or the lie?” I ask.

“The truth.” He said.

“Well quite literally, at a loss.” I say. “My dad wants me to let Horner give away my spot now and lose my spot in the championship.” I say. “Which is eating at my career. Even if I already have another contract.”

“Ok woah, with the accent you’re going to need to slow down.” He laughed a bit. When I speak quickly my accent becomes thicker.

“Basically I’m not winning a championship.” I say. “I also might not be racing again this year.”

Logan and I talk a bit more and then Max joins and I smile at him, the first smile since the top 5 interview. “Hello sweetheart.”

“Hey Max.” I say.

“Any updates about being replaced?” He laughed.

“Good question, I left my phone upstairs.”

“Díaz!” He snapped. “Absolutely not, go get it. Now!”

I get up and run to my room, using the stairs. I get my phone and there are so many missed calls and text messages. The articles already out. ‘Díaz cannot be replaced, how will Horner fare with these results?’ I go back downstairs with the biggest smile on my face.

“Verstappen!” I say. “What did you do?”

“Just have to manipulate the manipulator.” He smiled. Logan is no longer sitting on the couch. “He saw points and realized he won’t win this year without you.”

“Such a dick.” I say. “That’s what I was telling papi, and he told me it wasn’t worth the fight.”

“Really?” Max said. “You’re third in the championship.”

“I know! He told me I wouldn’t make it to the top anyway.” I say. “Now I can try.”

“Ah ah, not without a fight.” He said. “I’m not easy to beat.”

How will this pan out?

[jermer10]

For a fic request, Soldier slowly falls in love with the reader and constantly denies it because he feels like a strong American man shouldn't have butterflies in his stomach every time he sees a pretty person.

TF2 in the trenches | soldier x reader

gn reader | soldier is so awesome love that guy, sorry for the comically long wait time and enjoy mr artoatsblog and eris090 <3

drabbles under the cut :P

You had just joined the administration team as a fresh recruit, assigned to the role of Civilian - a object of protection. You weren't a fan of the title, nor the nature of your role. Having to be escorted across the map by whichever team had you that week, putting up with the fretting and the comments, as if you were a hassle more than an important part of your workplace. If the pay wasn't so good, you would have left on your first day. Most mercs not-so-secretly reveled in the idea of getting to play the hero, the RED Soldier, however, was more than happy to ignore you. An intimidating presence on the battlefield, barking orders and rarely engaging with anyone outside of his explosive rants. His helmet shadowed his face, making it even harder to connect with him on any personal level.

But still, something about him drew you in. Maybe it was his unwavering determination, or perhaps the way he threw himself into danger without hesitation. Whatever it was, you wanted to get to know the man behind the helmet. Your first few attempts to speak with Soldier didn’t go well. He wasn’t rude, but his responses were curt, clipped, and filled with military jargon you didn’t quite understand. “Sir! I just wanted to thank you for covering me on the battlefield earlier,” you said one day after a particularly rough mission. He stopped polishing his rocket launcher just long enough to give you a sideways glance. “IT WAS NOTHING, MAGGOT. JUST DOING MY PART TO FIGHT THIS WAR AGAINST THOSE COMMIE SISSIES!” He left all too quickly, rambling about something in the kitchen.

You nodded, feeling a little defeated. Every day, you tried a little harder to get through to him. You’d help him clean his gear, bring him his favorite rations, and even offer to spar with him during training. Yet, each interaction ended the same way - short, jargon filled responses and some quick reason to leave. The first time you managed to break down one of his walls was after a particularly shitty week. The team had lost, and everyone was exhausted. You found Soldier sitting alone outside, staring at the rain falling on the muddy battlefield. His usual brash energy was nowhere to be found. “You alright, Soldier?” you asked cautiously, approaching him. “You don’t usually sit still this long.”

He grunted but didn’t tell you to go away. Encouraged, you sat beside him. “I know today was tough,” you said gently. “But we’ll bounce back. We always do.” For the first time, he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. “Lost too many good men in my time,” he said quietly, surprising you. “Can’t afford to lose any more. Not again.” The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. This was the first time he’d spoken to you like a person, not a recruit or a subordinate. You carefully placed a hand on his shoulder, half-expecting him to pull away.

He didn’t.

“We’re not going anywhere,” you reassured him softly. “You’ve got our backs, and we’ve got yours.” You understood his feelings of inadequacy. Soldier finally turned to face you, his eyes, usually so stern, softening just a little. You had no idea what Soldier's life was like before taking this job, the things he had seen, the things he had done. The mercs couldn't die, but you both knew he pushed them a little too hard sometimes. Finding someone to take their place in the family the team had built, well Soldier wouldn't admit it, but it would hurt. “You’re a strange one, recruit,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “But... you’ve got guts. More than I gave you credit for.” You smiled.

The next few days were different. Soldier still barked orders and rambled about war as per usual, but there was a subtle shift in how he interacted with you. He didn’t brush you off as quickly when you approached him, and every so often, he’d even seek you out himself, whether to talk strategy or simply share a meal in silence. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to notice - and enough for him to realize he was letting his guard down. That realization, of course, did not sit well with Soldier.

He found himself more aware of you whenever you were around. At first, it was just an occasional glance, a brief acknowledgment. But soon enough, it was much more than that. He noticed things about you he hadn’t before: the way you smiled when you talked, the way you styled you hair differently for every mission, and how, despite the constant chaos around you, you managed to stay calm and collected.

And that was the problem.

Soldier wasn’t supposed to notice those things. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything other than the drive to win the war and keep you safe as part of his duty. But now, every time you crossed his mind, there was that familiar, frustrating feeling - his stomach tightening, chest warming in a way that made him want to scream at himself. He refused to let it happen.

The next time he had approached you, it was after a flawless mission. You were sitting off some ledge somewhere, bottle of whisky in hand and a pleasant look on your face. He felt hot and awkward - he knew the next day you had to go over to the BLU's, and he hated knowing that he would have to try and kill you in order to prevent the enemies from winning. He also knew he had feelings for you - some not so 'professional workplace relationship' feelings, and trying to explain them to you of all people was so easy yet so hard.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already leaning down to sit. You smiled up at him. "Yeah, could do with some company." You passed the bottle between one another, taking swigs and cracking jokes, discussing the recent victory you had shared. After a few moments of silence, you noticed that Soldier kept sneaking glances at you from under his helmet, his jaw tight. You tilted your head, curious. “Is something bothering you?” He slammed the almost empty bottle onto the wooden planks of the flooring next to you, clearly frustrated with something - though it seemed like the frustration was directed more at himself than at you. “This- this isn’t right!” he finally snapped.

You blinked, startled by the outburst. “What isn’t right?”

“You!” Soldier pointed at you with a gloved finger, his voice rising. “You keep... getting in my head. I can’t focus! Every time I turn around, there you are, smiling and asking questions, making me think about - about things I shouldn’t be thinking about!” Your eyes widened as realization hit. “Soldier, wh- are you saying-?”

“No!” he interrupted, his voice gruff. “I’m not saying anything! I’m a soldier! I don’t have time for... whatever this is.” There it was. The vulnerability he had been fighting against for so long. He hated feeling weak, and these feelings, whatever they were, were making him feel weak. But now that it was out in the open, there was no taking it back. You were startled, confused, and feeling the same churning feeling in your chest and warmth spreading over your face that he was. “It’s okay to care about people, Soldier,” you said softly, your voice calm. “It doesn’t make you weak. If anything, it makes you stronger.”

For a long moment, Soldier didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his helmet. Then, finally, he let out a long, defeated sigh. “I don’t like this,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in his words. “I don’t like... feeling like this.” You smiled, a small, understanding smile. “You don’t have to like it. But you don’t have to fight it either.” Soldier processed your words, chewing at his bottom lip. Then, with another resigned grunt, he nodded. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “But don’t think this means I’m going soft, maggot.”

You laughed softly. “I wouldn’t dare.”

And for the first time, Soldier didn’t try to deny what was happening between the two of you. He might not have fully understood it yet, but he was no longer running from it either.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕤𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕤 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕔 𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕖

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ @dickarchivist'ꜱ ᴄʟᴏɴᴇ ᴏᴄ ʙᴀɴꜱʜᴇᴇ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴀɴꜱʜᴇᴇ ɢɪᴠᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʟᴀʀɪᴛʏ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ ʀᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴅᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, (ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ) ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 1.2ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ @anxiouspineapple99, ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʙᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏꜱ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ <3 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴄʜɪᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ʙᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ʙᴏʏꜱ!

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Becoming friends with the Grave squad is one of the easiest things you’ve ever let yourself do.

Grim reminders of the war you’re fighting make any capacity for just letting things happen practically impossible; you’re always alert, always keen, always firm with decisions and tactics because there’s no space for shrugs and ‘let’s see how it goes’ when everything you know is on the brink of destruction.

So when you join the 404th and meet a group of pleasantly dispositioned clones with some of the coolest helmets you’ve ever seen, letting yourself go with the tides becomes so appealing.

They actively enjoy your company, wave you over when they spot you in a crowd, and flash you handsome smiles as you join in on any conversation they’d been having previously. Each of them has their own story to tell and you find little things to adore about each.

Yet one takes up your headspace more than the rest.

Banshee holds a presence stronger than you initially thought. The quiet, more serenely observing member of their squad never demanded your attention, whether just through implications or bluntly placing himself in front of you (like certain brothers of his), yet your eyes always drifted his way. There’s something to him you can’t place, something that makes his appeal stronger and pulls you into his orbit more.

So you ask questions. Verbally, when you’re grabbing food and ask him if rations are the best thing he’s ever tasted, to which he promptly places his plate down and tells you, it’s better than Specter’s cooking, at least, before scooping a pile of rice and going to his table, leaving you biting the inside of your cheek with the smallest little smile. Nonverbally, when you see him swaying slightly in the carrier. Tired? You mouth, to which he nods and rubs his forehead with a soft grimace, the preceding sigh and gentle parting of his lips too delicate for the world he’s subjected to.

It’s rare for the thought of his face and eyes and pretty smile to leave your brain. It’s always there, whether in the forefront or not, demanding a place burrowed deep into your psyche because it’s just so important.

Not that you’d complain or nag your mind to stop. Being relaxed and smitten is a privilege in wartime.

Especially when you do make a mistake and do falter slightly when you trip on your feet beside Ban and his fast reflexes save the day.

You yelp twice in a row; once when you feel your balance slipping, and once again when you feel strong, sturdy arms wrap around your waist and turn you to face the holder of them. Banshee’s eyes are far too pretty, and you hesitate to say anything when he catches you and stares down at your silly mess, promptly holding your waist and placing you back on your feet without a second thought.

Be careful, he signs, and you stammer, choking up a response you had not thought out fully even as you begin to speak.

“I–I’m trying!” You retort, voice weak. But Banshee still grins and nods modestly before both of you turn and continue walking. You proceed to bedim your face to hide your wide eyes and aggressively unyielding blush.

When you fight beside his brothers, you get to hear his voice. Phantom quips something witty about clankers and you grin, Ghost following suit with a reminder to keep your eyes on the prize, and then you hear the cry tear through the air.

“GET DOWN!”

Something bursts. Your legs crumble above the rubble and your knees are barely saved from scraping when you drop down. Fire ripples above you as if something mystical had let out a breath of scalding kindle, and your eyes widen in shock. 

When it’s finally gone, and the view of dancing and orange blues is replaced with gray smoke, you take a deep intake of breath. Still pressed between his brothers on the ground, Banshee leaves his place behind the three of you and leans down, eyes scanning to your left to check on Phantom, then right to check on Ghost, then to you.

Alright? He signs, eyes not leaving yours.

With a fragile nod, his lips form a tight line as a way to respond and he pulls you up. Why he chose to grab you first, you’re unsure. The mere thought doesn’t occur to you hours after the fact in the solace of the barracks.

“RAI! THE PACKAGE! KEEP IT SECURE!” Banshee shouts again, and all of you follow suit in your urgency, darting to the next blockade.

His voice is what occupies your thoughts for the next few days. It moves along the same orbit as the rest of your curiosities and thoughts about him, posing more questions and fascinations; what does he sound like when soft-spoken? Would he ever speak for you? Mutter, even? You’d hear anything he’d be willing to say. If he wants you to hear.

Your avid, curious eyes get the best of you once again when he catches you gazing at the heart tattooed on his temple.

“I–I like it,” You stammer immediately, trying to seem less creepy.

Banshee presses his fingers right under his bottom lip to sign thank you.

“Why’d you get it?” You ask, then proceed to internally damn your dorkiness. He blinks, taking in your question before signing,

Athena drew it there once.

You smile warmly, then remark.

“She’s quite the artist. She should draw the tattoos for all of your brothers.”

His chuckle simmers in the back of his throat and he grins your way. You try not to let your heart leap (it does anyway).

You have a nice smile.

Ban’s eyes widen ever so slightly when he watches you sign.

I didn’t know you knew sign language, he responds, expression softer every moment that passes.

You shrug and sign back,

I’ve been learning. And I picked up some from you.

None of this is a lie. But it feels untruthful not to tell him why. Learning sign had never been a large priority for you before you met Ban. Picking up any hobby or wanting to accomplish something on the side during a time of war is not the easiest task. But you’d take time for something, someone as lovely as Ban. You do.

The sweetest little smile spreads across his lips and he signs,

I really appreciate that. I hope you know.

And you nod curtly.

“I do know. At least I think so.”

Something you can't quite place is etched across his features as he responds.

I want you to feel my appreciation for everything you do so there’s no doubt in your mind otherwise.

As he finishes his sentence, your heart seizes in its chest and your face turns a deep flush of red. Just then, does the shutter of a camera click to your right.

You turn. Specter’s distinct chuckling gives away his discreet spot behind a beam and you scoff.

“Seriously?”

He peaks out more, shrugging while lowering his camera.

“Just capturing the moment.” He pans out a hand as if highlighting his next words in bold colors for the general public to gaze upon. “‘Two dorks in their natural habitat.’”

“Vod,” Banshee chastises verbally, and the lightest giggle bubbles up Specter’s chest as he saunters away to the rest of their brothers watching avidly from afar.

All of the Grave squad is pleasantly agreeable. But on second thought, perhaps falling for Banshee is the easiest thing you’ve let yourself do.

tagging the homies <3: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @wizardofrozz @a-single-tulip @523rdrebel @moonlightwarriorqueen

[mythosar]

me, before: its interesting that axe actually has noticiable scars on his face considering he wears a helmet when fighting

me, after watching him start two consecutive fights in a row without his helmet: ah …. so it’s just for aesthetics then huh

[michinnyun]

Can you please do a fic with a Short read with Din 🥺🥺I’m 5’1 and I can never imagine myself being with someone intimately because i feel so short that when I read someone’s fics, of them being held against a wall, that if I were to imagine myself im that scenario that I would be at Din’s chest height 😭😭 smut fluff angst anything u want Ms ma’am but let me tell u the extra cookie points that u will receive if u could make this steamy LOL - Self Esteem

Okay so this took me a while to write because I personally am pretty tall and love to imagine being smaller than my partner, but I don't actually know what that's like as all of my partners have been shorter than me ;-; I wanted to do this request some justice, and I really hope you like it!!!!

Shortcake

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: Guess what. It's steamy

Tags: Size Difference × Size Kink × Short Reader × bounty reader × Hand Jobs × Handcuffs × Injury × Enemies to Lovers

Words: 1k

Ao3 link

You always use your height to your advantage in a fight. People don’t expect a five foot human to be a deadly assassin, but that's where they make their mistake.

What you lack in height you make up for in sheer force of will.

That’s why you’re mildly surprised when the Mandalorian finally manages to capture you, despite your animalistic fighting spirit.

You wriggle in his hold. He gave up on keeping you in binders after you managed to pick them and bolt away.

Then you twisted your ankle. Sad, really. You’d been doing so well up until that point. He caught you again, obviously, and now you're trapped in his embrace while he carries you back to his ship like his pint-sized bride.

“Quit it,” he grumbles when you try kicking into his side with your good foot. “Don't forget, I could just knock you unconscious.”

You pout. “You won't. Harder to carry dead weight.”

He huffs. “It'd be easier to carry the dead weight at this point, with how much you're squirming.”

You smack a kiss into the side of his helmet and pat the cold metal. He swats your hand.

“You love me, shiny. Admit it. You could’ve just tased me, or killed me, or yes, knocked me out cold. But you didn’t,” you sing song. “You don't want to turn me in. This is too much fun.”

For months you've evaded him, striking up a little rapport. You think. It’s hard to tell when he’s so quiet. Like right now.

His ship is not as big on the inside as it looks, and it’s old and rickety. This is especially obvious when the carbonite chamber malfunctions. He pounds a fist on the control panel in frustration.

“Don’t move,” he grumbles, unlatching the paneling and inspecting the wiring.

“Where else would I go?” you say, sitting down on a crate and nursing your swollen ankle.

It takes about five minutes of Mando poking around for you to get bored.

You unbutton your blouse, shedding your vest and empty holsters. Mando managed to confiscate your blasters hours ago before he started chasing you on foot.

“It’s hot in here,” you whine, letting your collar sit open in a tantalizing v.

Mando glances at you, then turns back to his work.

You frown. “Mando. Just forget about the carbonite. I won’t try to escape. I can be good,” you purr, grazing your good foot against his calf.

He stiffens. “I find that hard to believe.”

You pout. “But you’ve seen it. On Canto Bight. Those people were traffickers, Mando. They deserved to be robbed.”

“Doesn’t change the bounty on your head.”

You roll your eyes. “A bounty put out by those same rich, terrible people. Come on, bucket head. Don’t you have a conscience?”

Without realizing it, you’ve been rubbing his ankle with the tip of your boot absentmindedly this entire time. His hand whips out to hold your thigh and stop your movement. Your heart stops.

“Quit it. Shortcake.”

You stare at him before bursting into laughter. “Shortcake? Is that the best you got?”

You grab his wrist and attempt to break out of his hold, but he retaliates quickly. You’re caught in an impromptu fist fight, blocking each other's movements so quickly that you're positive an outsider would hardly be able to register what just happened.

It ends with your unbuttoned shirt gripped in his fists and your legs wrapped around his middle.

“You're insufferable,” he growls, pushing you down until your back is against the crates and he’s caging you in.

You breathe heavily, his hard-on present against your thigh through his flight pants. He’s so big.

“You don’t mean that,” you smirk, reaching down and grasping him where he's hot and needy for you.

He whines, quiet and low, resisting the urge to buck his hips. You do it for him, rolling your body into his until there's no more distance between you, letting him feel how needy he's making you too.

“Fuck,” he groans when you reach into his pants and hold the length of him heavy in your hand, pumping gently and thumbing his slit. A bead of precum catches and you bring it to your mouth, letting him watch you savor it on your tongue. “Fuck.”

“Wanna make a deal?” you ask cheerily, and his head drops into the crook of your shoulder. He’s hunched in on you, hovering over you and making you feel so deliciously small.

“I don't make deals with bounties,” he murmurs, but it sounds broken. Half-hearted.

“First time for everything,” you hum, guiding one of his huge hands to your breast. You shiver at the sound of his heavy breaths, modulated through his vocoder. You wish you could feel them against your skin, against your lips and your chest. As much as you're looking for a way out, you can't help but admit that you're enjoying this, too.

“I could stay on this ship with you,” you murmur, taking his cock in your hand again. “Element of surprise and all that. No one would expect someone like me on your crew. You've seen me, I’m not a bad fighter.”

Mando thrusts into your small hand. “More trouble than it’s worth,” he gasps.

You chuckle. “I like you, Mando. We can both get something nice out of this. Just let yourself go, just this once.”

He mumbles something you can't hear, fucking into the dry grip of your hand like it’s the last barrier between him and heaven.

Pretty soon he’s spurting into your hand, groaning and almost collapsing on top of you. You’re a little surprised at how fast he finished. Maybe he does like you.

Your palm is sticky, and you make a big show of licking it clean for him. He grabs your wrist.

“Dirty,” he growls. You smile, a bright, genuine thing. Oh, he’s going to be fun.

[lowlights]

Beyond the Trees - Love, Intertwined Prequel

Series summary: Once upon a time…no, that’s not how your fairy tale goes. Din might have saved you that fateful day, but he was no knight in shining beskar armor. But the universe has a funny way of pushing people apart and bringing them back together again.

Chapter summary: The origin story- how Din rescued you from a terrible life. But he's not the usual kind of savior.

Din Djarin x f!reader ; 2.5k words

Warnings: Din and reader are younger here, mid-20s. Star Wars cursing, violence (Din gets into it), a bar fight. Reader does NOT have a kind or easy existence. Many mentions of her sad backstory and also threats against her. She does not experience violence in this story. Please read on to I See You and I See Us for the happy ending, because I promise everyone deserves it.

Series Masterlist

Mando’s world was very black and white. He dealt in absolutes, in rights and wrongs, in Creeds and secrets and oaths. He kept his head down and made his way through the unforgiving galaxy, leaving anything behind that didn’t concern him. 

Until you. 

“Girl, get back in here. You’ve swept those steps long enough, come finish the rest of your karking chores!” Aldrick bellows from inside the poor excuse for a cantina, the only one for kilometers in any direction. You stare at the deep green trees that sway in the distance, thinking for the thousandth time how you wish you could run. Run through the trees and beyond, to anywhere that wasn’t here. 

But you know you wouldn’t survive a day out there without supplies or weapons, and the cruel cantina owner made sure that you didn’t have access to any of that. Aldrick had “taken you in” when you were just a child in exchange for the relief of some old debt that your parents had accrued with the local spice runners. Everything on your tiny planet involved spice in some way. People were either running it, running to it, or running away from it. The world around you was chaotic and unsafe, and it forced you to grow up far too quickly. 

You did your best to keep your head down and stay invisible, behavior that likely had kept you alive these twenty-some years. You were smart, a characteristic you tried to keep hidden for fear of being recruited, and you preferred to keep busy working at the cantina. At least Aldrick was unlikely to barter you off; you were too useful and obedient. 

The devil you know, right? 

Taking one last wistful glance at the trees, you step back into the shadows of the cantina and busy yourself running drinks to regulars who have never bothered to learn your name. Aldrick only called you “girl” (or something worse if he was in a particularly bad mood) and some days you think you’ve forgotten the pretty name your parents gave you. 

After dropping off yet another ale of spotchka to a young spice runner who had taken up residence in the corner booth, you feel a chill creep up your spine as the cantina falls silent. You turn and look out of the corner of your eye, just enough to see a broad man in metal armor standing at the entrance. The light from outside silhouettes his form and casts a long shadow that almost touches your feet. 

“No one here for you, Mandalorian,” Aldrick declares, tossing the dirty washcloth off of his shoulder as he steps out from behind the bar. You don’t know what a Mandalorian is but it doesn’t escape you how everyone in the cantina is slowly reaching for their weapons. 

“Wrong,” the Mandalorian says with a slight tilt of his helmet. He drags his gaze across the room and you think he stops briefly on you before his visor settles on the young man in the corner. “Preeze Hatrusk, you’re coming with me.” 

The young man stands up, a bit unsteady from the steady stream of spotchka, and hooks his thumbs in his belt. “Not a chance, Mandalorian. I got business that everyone in this here cantina benefits from, and they ain’t about to lose the source of their credits. You’d be well-advised to turn around and leave. While you still got all your limbs attached.” 

The metal man says nothing, only pulling out a blinking disc that when pressed shows a spinning hologram of Hatrusk. A bounty puck. 

Preeze smiles, a toothy grin under menacing dark eyes. “Well, how much am I worth, hm? I promise you, it ain’t worth the trouble you’re about to get into.” His hand inches towards the blaster in his belt, a little inelegantly given his intoxicated state. 

The world around you freezes, every breath held as you all wait to see who breaks first. You’re exposed, far too close to Preeze for your own liking, but you’re afraid to move. You wonder if everyone else can hear how loud your heart is beating, or if it’s just you. 

“Last chance.” The Mandalorian’s low voice makes you shiver. 

“Eat druk, Mando.” 

All hell breaks loose. 

There’s shouting. Chairs fly. Someone knocks you to the ground. The Mandalorian struggles with Preeze who is reaching for his blaster that fell on the floor. Aldrick, who joined the fray, charges up to them with a chair lifted over his head. 

“Mando, behind you!” you cry out. You hug your arms to your body and try to scoot out of the way as the Mandalorian kicks Aldrick’s legs out from under him. He crashes to the floor, cursing as Preeze elbows Mando in the neck before he and the rest of his gang scurry out of the cantina. 

Mando, cursing himself in a language you don’t recognize, stands up slowly. Aldrick sees you huddled by a bar chair. “Girl, what in the karking hell is wrong with you? I’m going to beat you into next week, c’mere!” He lunges toward you and you brace for his impact. 

The Mandalorian surges up out of nowhere, headbutting Aldrick and knocking him out before he hits the floor. You stare, open-mouthed, at his crumpled body next to you. 

“Go home,” Mando commands, gathering up Preeze’s discarded blaster as well as some credits from an abandoned table. 

You clear your throat, struggling to make words form. “This…this is home.” 

Mando freezes. “He’s your father?” Your eyes are still on Aldrick, who is starting to stir. 

Panic settles deep in your bones, and not for the first time. Aldrick is going to make you pay for all of this. “He’s my…he owns me. Please, he’s going to hurt me when he wakes up. Help me, please,” you beg, look at him where you think his eyes must be. 

The man in the metal armor looks at Aldrick, then back to you. Your heart is pounding and tears are pouring down your face, silent and hot. 

He considers you, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly. “Fine. Get your things and let’s go.” 

“I don’t have any things,” you explain. You eye Aldrick who is starting to moan and shift on the ground. 

“Great. Grab whatever credits he has and come with me.” 

There’s no time to think, no time to process the consequences. You know where Aldrick keeps all of the credits, and you quickly steal the keycard from his pocket before hurrying back to the safe. You toss all of the credits - there are a lot of them - into a sack and run back out to the main room, where Mando is standing over Aldrick’s unmoving body. 

“Wh-what? What happened?” you stutter, freezing in your tracks. 

Mando holsters his blaster and reaches for your hand. “You’re right, he was going to hurt you. Time to go.” 

You take his hand and leave your world behind. 

The next few weeks are a blur. 

The Mandalorian - who said to call him Mando when you gave him your name - found a safe planet with a tiny cottage and an owner looking to get off-world. Your half of the credits more than covered the expense, along with necessities like clothing and supplies, with plenty left over. Mando needed to make repairs on his aging ship, which he did in between the supply runs. 

It was mostly quiet, and you didn’t mind it in the slightest. You weren’t used to freedom or the feeling of safety, and to say it was an adjustment was an understatement. Mando never made you feel unsafe, but he learned quickly not to make any sudden moves around you. You don’t know it, but his heart flinched every time he startled you. 

Eventually, though, things calmed down. You got into a rhythm. Wake up, make breakfast, and leave a tray for Mando while you go out and work on the garden and tend to the seedlings that he had brought back for you. An old, wild Tooka-cat named Shankari that the owner said liked to hang around decided to adopt you, so you sit with her for a bit. The rest of the day is spent doing chores alongside Mando, who you are growing increasingly comfortable around. 

Mando, in turn, becomes much more comfortable with you as well. You learn all about his culture and how he became a bounty hunter. He was still relatively new, just a handful of standard years in, and liked to tell you stories of his most stubborn bounties and how he bested them. This went on for weeks and weeks, and you start to wonder if there would be a time without your Mandalorian. 

He always calls you by the pretty name your parents gave you. 

One day, the clouds cover the usual sunshine and pour on you for weeks- this planet has a monsoon season. You’re stuck inside with Mando and swiftly run out of things to sweep or organize or clean. He watches you, helmet trained on your every move, but it never feels stifling. It’s a comfort to know someone is looking out for you, for once. 

“You should rest,” he tells you one day as you knead yet another ball of dough that will soon be a loaf of bread. 

“Rest?” you ask with a cocked eyebrow. 

He nods. “Take advantage of the downtime. Rest. Conserve your energy. Never know what’s coming next. I’m leaving to get the last of the supplies that we need, I’ll be back in three days.” 

You set the dough aside to rise, pack him a bundle of food, and try to take Mando’s advice. 

It’s been five days since he left. 

You rested for two days, enjoying the quiet rains and the books that the previous owner had left. On the third day, you got ready for Mando’s return. You turned down his bed, cooked up some soup, and waited. 

And waited, and waited. 

You had fallen asleep in the living room on day six, having taken up permanent residence by the window that looks out to the open field where Mando always lands his ship. Finally, that night when the moon rose high overhead, you hear the familiar metal screeches and whines and barely glance out the window before you’re throwing open the door and running at full speed to him. He’s hobbling down the ramp when you reach him. 

“Oh my stars, Mando, what happened?” you demand to know, voice trembling and slightly too loud. Your question pierces the still night. You wrap your arms around him and he sinks into you as you help him hobble back to the house. 

‘“Preeze Hatrusk and h-his men…they found me at a market the next planet over. I got out and I don’t think they followed me. But I need to g-get away from here. Just need to load up my supplies.” He barely got out the words as you helped him to the chair in the kitchen. 

You immediately gather the medkit from the cupboard while Mando starts peeling off his armor and torn shirt. When you return back to him, he’s bare from the waist up (save for the helmet, of course) and you can see angry bruises forming around several mean-looking gashes. 

Injuries were nothing new to you, having grown up in a cantina full of spice runners, and you set to work cleaning and bandaging. Mando doesn’t say much, instead just watching you quickly work on closing the deep gashes and applying a healing bacta cream with the lightest of touches. The bruises will remain for weeks still, but at least you can tell that he can breathe deeply again. You let your hand ghost over his chest, just to feel his heart beating steadily for a moment. 

“Will they come looking for you here? For me?” you ask him in a quiet voice, hands thoughtfully tidying up the medkit. 

“They don’t care about you, they don’t know that you took the credits. They think I did. They probably barely even remember you.” 

A benefit of making yourself invisible, you think. 

“Well, you can just hide out here, we don’t need supplies for a long time. They’ll forget about you, and the whole ordeal. We can just keep a low profile, that was the plan. Right?” you ask, settling into the chair next to him. 

He says nothing, and by doing so says everything. 

“No. No, please. I’m not…I can’t take care of myself,” you plead. An unseen weight blankets your body and you feel like you’re the one who can’t take a deep breath now. 

Mando reaches out and rests his hand on yours. “Yes, you can. You’ve been taking care of us both since we got here. You’ll be alright. Safe.” He punctuates that last with a squeeze of his hand before removing it and standing up. You ache to feel his warm skin on yours for just a moment more. 

He spends the next hour packing his things and loading up the ship. You want to help but he won’t let you, so you do the only thing you know to do: pack him some food. When you hand it over to him, he mutters a thank you and he pauses like he wants to say more, but instead turns around and boards the ship. He stops at the top of the loading plank and looks at you, hand hovering over the button to close the entrance. 

“Mando?” you call out, “Will I see you again?” 

He pauses for a long moment. “I hope so. When it’s safer.” 

He gives you a nod and you nod back with a small smile. You hope it hides your heartbreak. 

From the window you watch the ship finally take off, and look around the small cottage, your eyes settling on a bag in the middle of the table. You open it to find a massive pile of credits, and it occurs to you that this is what remains of Mando’s half of what you took from Aldrick. 

“What in the kark is he thinking?” you ask aloud. You feel a brush of fur on your leg and hear a loud meow in response from Shankari. 

Your heart is heavy and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified to be here alone, but it’s much better than where you were. Mando saved you from a terrible existence, and he didn’t have to. You owed him your life, and you hope you get to pay the debt to him one day. Somehow. 

At least you’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. 

You can do this. 

**

A/N: Don't hate me. But Din has a LOT of growing to do.

[hhike]

Overthinking

Din could see the blow coming. He was, at this point, a good enough swordsman to know how to parry her swing, but still not good enough to actually do it. At the last moment, Ahsoka flicked her wrist and turned the hilt in her hand so it was the pommel, not the blade that connected with Din’s helmet, the low and full-bodied bonk reverberating through the makeshift gym.

“You’re dead.” she said, deactivating her lightsaber, leaving the flickering glow of the darksaber as the only source of illumination.

Din shook his head to clear the rest of the ringing from his ears and assumed position, slowing his breaths as he held the darksaber in front of him. “Again.”

“Not tonight.” Ahsoka replied from the panel next to the door, slowly dialing up the lights to let her eyes adjust. “You’re fighting the blade again.”

“It’s heavier than it looks.” Din tried to hide his obvious relief when he deactivated the darksaber and felt its weight seep away. Instead of holstering it, he held the hilt out to Ahsoka. “I’m not lying, try it.”

“No.”

Din sighed. “This isn’t working, Ahsoka. I was better with the spear after only a week of training. This one seems like it has a mind of its own.”

“That’s.. not far from the truth. A lightsaber is a very sophisticated weapon.” she said, making the hilt of hers float an inch above her outstretched palm.

“Stop showing off.”

Ahsoka chuckled. “You’re treating it as an infinitely sharp sword, which it is, yes, but it also means you’re always worried about chopping your own limbs.”

Din absentmindedly brushed his fingers over the part of his thigh that was still covered by uneven scar tissue. Sometimes he swore he could still feel it burning.

“Exactly. But it needs to be a limb of its own instead, an extension of you. And you, you’re still fighting it. Pretty successfully, given that you still have both your hands, but you’re far from effective.”

“So how do I do that?” Din asked.

“Don’t try to do right by every mandalorian in the galaxy.”

“You said you wouldn’t get into my head again.” Din scoffed.

“I didn’t have to. I know that blade is a symbol, and it’s easy to see it weighs heavily on you.” Ahsoka said, stepping closer to Din, her voice softer, without the edge that came with yelling commands during training. “Start small. Nobody expects you to retake Mandalore tomorrow”

“I –” the protest died midway in Din’s throat. “Next week, then.” he finally said. It was as close to an admission as he’d wager at the moment, but he knew it was enough. He reached for his blade again, eager to try the kata again with Ahsoka’s advice in mind, but she took his hand in hers before he got there.

“No, no more tonight. You’re exhausted, even if you don’t feel it. One of us will get hurt.” she said, her hand and her gaze lingering just a bit too long. She smiled an uneven smile at him. “Go, I’m sure Grogu is up to some mischief, and we’ll continue tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Din said, looking for something better to say but settling on the only thing he was sure of. “Tomorrow.”

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Ares

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares

Lucifer

He cannot overstate what kind of damage this mortal was able to do in their first few seconds in the Devildom...

The instant they got to their feet, they had managed to incapacitate Satan and knock down Beel. Lucifer himself tried to get between them and Diavolo but…

If he hadn’t moved his head, if he was standing just ONE INCH to the left… he wouldn’t have a head anymore. Barbatos was there to intervene, but had he not they could have probably taken out the Avatar of Pride and done critical damage to the Demon Prince himself in one strike...

Frankly, Lucifer prefers not to dwell on that moment... He's sure Ares must be proud of this one...

He pretty much treats the mortal like a live bomb afterward, if he can get away with not interacting with them at all, that’s what he’ll do.

He’s NOT scared of them... much... It’s just that they have a bullish and uncooperative attitude at best and since they know they can take any of them, they don't even consider him - Lucifer, the eldest demon brother - a threat...

But you know what the most frustrating thing is? They won't give him an inch of respect, but they'll always listen to Levi! Levi!!

Look, Lucifer knows he may not hold a rank among the Hell's army and he might not have been a major player in the Celestial/Demonic wars of the day, but he's still the strongest demons here, dammit!! 😡

Lucifer finds nothing is more embarrassing than having to ask Levi of all people to keep the mortal in line because he can't... Oh, the humiliation… He hopes they leave soon...

Mammon

At first, he thought they were scary. But in time he thought they were scary… and also pretty damn awkward.

Mammon wasn’t there when they more or less wiped out the majority of his brothers in the Conference Hall but when he finally showed up he'd never seen Lucifer look so pale… If THAT doesn't make you shit your pants, he doesn't know what will.

Naturally, he kind of toned it down on the "stupid human" stuff real quick after seeing that…

But here's the thing. After the two made a pact together, Mammon started to notice that the MC wasn't all that mean, they were just… violent?

He legitimately thought that they couldn’t stand him for a while until one day a guy on the street called him a dirtbag. The MC threw a punch right there! No questions asked, they just decked that guy!!

It was kind of touching… and messy. Very messy. Did he mention that they’re terrifying yet? 😥

As it turns out, the MC has apparently spent a lot of their life just fighting things and being asked to fight things so they're not very used to showing non-violent affection… 

It took him awhile, but he realized that their way of saying, "I like you," is, "I will attack your enemies." So now all he does when his brothers tease him is say, "I'm telling MC!'' and they'll stop immediately. It's great!! 😁

Considers them to be his bodyguard when he goes out to gamble in some… shadier places. Most of the time not even the bouncers want to take on the MC, ain't nobody getting paid enough to lose that many teeth…

Leviathan

Okay, so. It's not very obvious anymore, but he USED to be on the front lines of the war against demons in the Celestial Realm. He was in charge of battle strategies, he led armies, and even now he still holds the highest rank of the royal navy!

So leave it to the kid of a war god to sniff all that out about him, huh…? They appeared to know all about his record the instant they saw him and they actually seemed to respect him for it!

For context, this mortal tells pretty much everybody to shove off but any time he’s around they call him “Admiral” or “sir” and actually pay attention to what he says! He can tell it drives Lucifer insane, but honestly? It’s a bit of an ego boost. 😌

It’s sort of cute when they come to him asking for tactical advice… They get just as into it as he does with his anime and any time he points out something that they haven't seen before they get so excited it's like they're a kid watching a magic trick. HUGE ego boost. 😏

Speaking of anime, it’s hit or miss whether or not they can watch any of it. Anything with good fight scenes (and let’s be honest, not that much talking) they’re on board for. But if the hero and the villain talk to each other for like an episode before throwing punches then the MC will just rant...

MC: “The enemy is distracted... Why aren’t they attacking yet??”

Levi: “Because the villain killed the hero’s best friend and they’re-”

MC: “They could avenge their friend right now if they ended things right here!”

Levi: “MC, we’ve been over this... That’s not how plot works.”

MC: “And now he got away!! See?? They should have killed him when they had the chance!”

Levi: “*sigh*... Let’s just play some CoD.”

Satan 

The last thing he remembered when the “human” hopped out of the portal was a sharp pain to the side of the temple and Asmo wailing as he fell unconscious…

Yeeeeah, not great. And unfortunately for the mortal the Avatar of Wrath tends to hold a grudge… 

For a comparatively brief moment in time, all of Satan’s considerable ire had shifted away from Lucifer and to their new housemate. They found their bed, clothes, pillows, food, and even their toothbrush cursed!

… But Ares kids must be built from some strong stuff, because half of what he employed didn’t even faze them! He even put an explosive spell on their backpack and not only did they tank the blast, it didn’t hurt them at all!! It was like they’re damn near immortal!

Annnnd they kind of are. Apparently the MC had taken a dip in the River Styx at some point before and became nigh invulnerable…

Was it maybe a little terrifying to know that they had kidnapped a nearly invincible demigod on the level of Achilles? Yes. Did that also mean that they must have had a weakness too? In theory....

Satan honestly devoted a depressing amount of time trying to uncover the “Achilles’ Heel” of his new sworn enemy… until…

The MC was walking with him and Asmo to RAD one morning when they passed by a group of lesser demons harassing a small puppy. Now Satan may be more of a cat man, but NO ONE fucks with animals while he’s around.

He was right about to go over and rip those demons a new one but the MC actually beat him to it! Apparently, the second that they realized what was happening, they launched themselves forward and started bashing the abusers' heads into a wall!

… Live by violence, forgive by violence because in that very moment Satan decided they weren’t so bad after all. He even joined in!

Oh, Asmo gave them both shit all day for the bloodstains on their uniforms and the scratches on their… everywhere, but it’s not like either of them cared. Righteous justice had been served and it was glorious!!

100% would team up with the MC in some kind of vigilante “punish-all-animal-abusers” gig. They have but to ask. 😌

Asmodeus

Oh they TERRIFIED Asmo when they first showed up! How else was he supposed to react?? They brought down his brothers like they were made of cardboard!!

Though he had to admit that the confident, battle-ready look they had about them was sexy as hell, he knew better than to go bear poking! 😣 He avoided them like plague until they finally asked him for a pact.

And then he discovered something… something very unexpected….

They're actually adorable!!!

Okay, like, not in appearance (they look like they could pile drive Cerberus for Pete’s sake!) but he discovered that they have NO CLUE how to handle physical affection. Like zero!!

The first time Asmo actually got the courage to try and hug them he expected them to toss him off, but instead they just stood there like a malfunctioning doll, all flustered and confused… It was so cute!!! 🥰

From that point on, Asmo would take every chance he could to wrap his arms around them or kiss their cheeks just to watch them try and fail to handle it. It's more fun than picking on Levi!!

It took two months for them to finally attempt any kind of reciprocation and even that was adorable! They pecked him on the forehead without thinking about it then nearly passed out from the realization. Apparently, they had never felt like kissing anyone before so he was quite honored!

The brothers know that if the MC's looking too mad to listen to Levi, they just need to call Asmo. A nigh invincible warrior becomes a LOT less scary after you’ve cuddled them into submission! 🤭

Beelzebub

Beel didn't like them one bit, at least not at the beginning. They had managed to get past him and actually attack Lucifer which was NOT a great first impression on their part...

He honestly saw them as a threat for a while, but unlike the rest of his brothers he didn’t avoid them. He just kept an eye on them.... constantly….

Look. Beel is a big guy. Stealth is not his strong suit… If he's tailing you, you're probably going to know about it because there's a six-foot something behemoth in orange following you around while pounding down bags of chips. He's not very subtle…

That being said, after following them around for a while the two finally got to talking and he realized that they didn’t want to hurt anybody or anything. They were just acting on instinct before.

After making the MC promise not to hurt any of his family, they got on much better terms. Hell, he actually got them into fangol!

Beel's sport of choice is pretty much just ultra-violent American football so the MC took a liking to it instantly! After enough begging, the coach let them try out and they got onto his team immediately.

He likes having them as a teammate! They're very good at the game, uh... even if they take it a little too seriously…

They once tried to convince his teammates to decorate the team bus with "the helmets of their fallen foes." They're REALLY into the sport… But hey, they haven't lost a game since they’ve joined. It’ll be fine!... Probably.

Belphegor

Hahaha… He’s in danger… 😥

It took one look at this mortal to make him rethink the whole, “Trick the Human” plan… Since when have humans looked like that?? They could crush his skull under their heel!!

It took all he had in him to play it cool when they first met because his internal monologue was nothing but screaming… THIS was the "human" he had to use to get him out of there?? How in the WORLD was he going to kill them?!

Admittedly, he had to think about it for a while. Belphie's a clever guy… and a demon. So who needs an honorable fight, anyway? If he can’t win one-on-one, then he’ll cheat!

He waited until the MC got the door open and didn't attempt a frontal assault… No laughter, no gloating. He just waited for them to turn their back, claws ready to dig out their heart, and then-!

MC: "Do you really want to try that?"

The MC must have had some kind of danger sense, because they didn't even have to turn around to know what Belphie was doing…

MC: "Look. I like Beel and you're his twin brother… So I'm willing to let this slide. But if you really want to try me…"

MC: *looks over their shoulder with the glare of a bona fide killer* "I won't hold back."

That was... very persuasive.

The MC brought Belphie down to the others peacefully with his tail between his legs and honestly Lucifer was more relieved that he wasn’t a bloodstain on the floor than he was mad… They could have killed him sooo easily… 

They did, indeed, forgive and forget about the whole “attempted murder” thing, though Belphie was never quite able to shake off how frightening they were in that moment… He had nightmares for a while.

Thankfully, Asmo clued him in that the MC would melt into a harmless puddle of fluff if they got even the slightest bit of physical affection... Oh, the sweet payback he could dish out... It’s cuddle time. 😏

[postapocalyptic-cryptic]

“Y’know, I don’t really blame them. Your face is very punchable… especially when you glare at me like that..” for starjack mayhaps...

HIIII I finally finished a thing for my hockey au. The premise is pretty basic. They're playing high school ice hockey. They're women for no reason other than I said they are. They're on opposite teams obviously. The rituals are intricate they're SO intricate.

Hockey references:

Under USAH rules, taking your helmet off during a game in order to fight someone is a major offense that almost always ends up in a major, match, or misconduct penalty and a suspension. When you see someone with a facial injury, it's pretty safe to assume they've done something stupid.

Ratchet is the Autobot goalie. Wheeljack mentions her pulling a hamstring and then mentions mobility because basic canvassing of the opposing team before playing involves noting the goalie’s weak spots. She’s essentially telling Starscream that low left shots are good today.

They meet at the edge of the woods behind the Cons’ home rink, as usual. It’s 8:30 in the morning and the just-risen sun highlights the frost on the branches and hanging in the air, covering the world in a hazy, surreal glitter. It’s November, cold now and getting colder. Wheeljack’s been in sweatpants for a month. Soon, Starscream might even stop wearing shorts everywhere. 

“Who’s filling in for you on first line?” Wheeljack asks as Starscream comes around the corner. 

“Hello to you, too.” Starscream kicks a chunk of ice out of the path. “Why so sure I’m not playing?” 

Wheeljack gestures to Starscream’s face. She’s got a black eye and a scabbed-over scrape running up the same temple. “No way there’s not a concussion to go with that. And you’re wearing makeup.” She shivers at the sight of Starscream’s bare legs under her basketball shorts, her breath freezing in the air between them. Too fucking cold for that. She takes a sip of her coffee. “Good morning, by the way.” 

Starscream holds a hand out for the coffee. “Too much cream. Needs more sugar.” 

“Make your own, then.” Wheeljack takes the thermos back and takes another sip. Starscream left a lipstick print on the rim. 

“Slipstream’s coming up to center Warp and TC,” Starscream says. “Third line wings’ll get rotated in with Onslaught’s line, which they’re not happy about.” Wheeljack gives her a blank look, and she clarifies, “Number 47, the skinny one with the long hair. She’s going to center Skywarp and Thundercracker.” 

“Oh.” Wheeljack turns that over in her head, replacing Starscream’s sharp hit-and-run style with 47’s quick plays. She’ll have to let everyone know during warmups. Without Starscream, it’ll be easier to keep an eye out for Thundercracker’s slapshots, but Slipstream and Skywarp will be dangerously fast on the attack. “Ratchet pulled a hamstring at practice on Thursday,” she offers. “She’s still slow to get down on the left.” 

Starscream nods. She pulls a protein bar out of her jacket pocket and unwraps it, breaking it in two and handing the top half to Wheeljack. She takes a bite and chews contemplatively, looking out into the parking lot. Optimus and Prowl just pulled in. They’ve got another ten minutes, maybe. 

“What happened?” 

Starscream goes to rub her eye, then thinks better of it and tucks a nonexistent stray hair back under her hat instead. “Oswego last weekend. That one girl’s got it out for me.” 

“How’d you end up with a black eye?” 

Starscream takes another bite and mumbles something incomprehensible. 

Wheeljack presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Starscream.”

“Wheeljack.” 

She’s losing the fight with the laughter. “Starscream. You’re suspended, aren’t you?” Starscream says nothing, and Wheeljack bursts out laughing. “Ha! Why’d you take your helmet off, dipshit?” 

Starscream blushes an indignant red and shoves Wheeljack’s shoulder. “Shut up! I wasn’t just going to stand there and take it! And she took the gloves off first. What was I supposed to do?” 

“I don’t know, not take your helmet off?” Wheeljack nearly drops her protein bar laughing. “You know, I don’t really blame her. Your face is very punchable. Especially when you glare at me like that.” 

Starscream shoves her again. She’s laughing now, too. When Wheeljack slips and falls into the snowbank she grabs Starscream by the edge of her jacket and pulls her down with her. They fall in a laughing, shrieking tangle. Starscream lands on top of her, breathlessly cursing her out between peels of laughter. The snow’s cold, Wheeljack thinks, but God, if Starscream’s this warm all the time, she understands how she wears shorts all winter. 

[dameronology]

figure it out {din djarin x reader}

summary: din djarin doesn’t usually get jealous. not until he met you, at least {for the lovely and wonderful @stargazingcarol​} - 2.5k words 

warnings: swearing 

this is completely spoiler free!! just some good old jealousy and some antics with the kid. enjoy.

- jamie

You had a complicated relationship with the Mandalorian. 

On one hand, you were colleagues…of sorts. He’d spent two years coming to your outpost on Corellia when he needed his ship fixing – and after becoming fed up of traipsing back and forth, he offered you the job full time. It was a mutually beneficial situation. You’d been desperate to get out the city for years, and you were also the only mechanic he trusted. The prospect of a job that would take you all over the galaxy was exciting, even if it meant tiptoeing around one another in the cramped hull of the Razor Crest (and that was before the addition of the Child). But, when you spent days and days in hyperspace with nobody else to talk to, it was only natural that you became friends. It had felt a little awkward at first, as though you were trying to force conversation with a man who just didn’t want to talk -- but then the Mandalorian’s barriers broke down, and things began to change.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when. It had probably been a few months in, not long after he’d saved your ass from a bounty who had thrown a punch in your direction. You hadn’t expected the Mandalorian to be so protective - and frankly, neither had he. It was after that he found himself doing things without realising; lingering touches on your back when he passed, his hands brushing your thigh whenever you were sat in the cockpit next to him. Then, you became unintentional adoptive parents to a weird, green creature - a bond between you that only seemed progressed naturally, as though you had no control over it.

One night, not long after you took the Child in, you’d both collapsed beside one another on the tiny bed in hull of the Crest. Usually, you would argue for a while about who got to take it, but on that night, neither of you’d had the energy. Under the covers of the dark and with the baby finally asleep, you were muttering amongst yourself - you couldn’t remember the conversation entirely, but it was sleepy, tired gibberish. Din found himself reaching to take the helmet off; he could hear you easier that way, and your voice was comforting enough to lull him off to sleep. In the quiet of the moment, and with the conversation between you reaching a natural stopping point, he’d gently closed the gap between you. It was simple; his lips on yours, only for a brief moment. Then, as though the Child had sensed that everything was no longer about him, he’d opened his mouth and let out a cry for attention.

You began to kiss more often after that; every night before bed, actually. As soon as the lights were off, Din would take the helmet off, give you a gentle kiss and then he’d drift off, holding you tightly to his chest. It was always that, followed by a good night, cyar'ika. Then the morning would come, and it would be good morning, cyar'ika followed by another soft kiss, before the helmet went back on and you both went about your days.

After a few months of that, you’d fallen into an easy routine. Neither of you had quite established what your relationship was, but it didn’t feel like you needed to. It’s not like there was anyone else around for you to have to worry about, or anyone else who would force you to define it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating; Din Djarin had never been the type of person to plan ahead, and you knew that more than anyone. The idea of becoming attached to him, only to lose him or get hurt was enough for you to at least want to try and work it out. You weren’t expecting a deep conversation, or even one that you could walk away from knowing whatever the hell was going on between you two. 

It was just that with the addition of the Child, and the two of you growing closer each day, you wanted an answer. You wanted to know if you were wasting your time; if this was simply a pit-stop on your way to finding a more permanent settlement, or if this was it. Though you’d never admit it, you wanted it to be the latter. Din was reliable, and he cared about you. He was sweet in his own way and he’d have gone to the ends of the galaxy to look after you. He was protective in a way that let you fight your own battles, but not in a way you’d ever have to do it alone. You felt safe with him - as though you’d found everything you were looking for, except neither of you had been looking at all.

You brought the question up on a slow morning. The Mandalorian was between bounties, and you’d briefly landed in a dusty outpost on a thick jungle planet to refuel and find some food. The kid was snoring away in his pod a few feet away, clearly feeding off of the relaxed atmosphere that you’d managed to create. You were laying beside him, the lights still off and your head buried in his neck. Both of Din’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, gripping onto you as though you might slip away into the darkness of the vast galaxy. 

‘What are we?’ You asked quietly.

‘Humans.’ Right, there was the dry sense of humour.

‘Din.’ You grumbled. ‘I’m serious.’

‘What’s making you bring it up now, cyar'ika?’ He asked. ‘It’s early.’

‘I was just thinking.’ You sat up, pulling the covers with you. ‘We’ve been doing this thing for months but neither of us have actually worked out what the hell is it is.’

‘We don’t have to.’ He replied. 

‘Right.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s just-’

As though the little bugger had sensed a sudden onset of tenseness in the room, the Child let out a loud cry. You immediately recognised it: he was hungry. Even if you were ready to throttle anyone who dared come near him, you didn’t have a hard time admitting that he had a penchant for the worst timing. With that said, the fact he’d slept through the whole night without waking once certainly helped the fact.

‘Hey, buddy! It’s okay!’ You heard the mechanical click of Din’s helmet as he turned on the lights, allowing you to leap out of bed and stumble to the baby. ‘We’ll get you some food.’

That wasn’t the first time that something had magically changed the subject whenever you tried to bring up the status of your relationship with Din. If the kid didn’t decide to pull your attention away, it was the Mandalorian himself who veered away from the conversation. He always had to check on a bounty, or rush off to see if the ship was on the right route. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was avoiding the subject entirely and you were starting to become frustrated.

After almost three weeks of trying to challenge him about it, you were close to giving in entirely. What if you were wasting your time? What if you were going to let yourself fall in love with him, only to find out you weren’t a permanent part of his plan? Fuck, did he even have a plan? Was that the life you wanted -

- it was at that point that your train of thought had stopped, because the Child sensed you were upset, and started bawling. Again.

A few hours after your fourth or fifth try at the conversation - once again to have it ended by the kid tossing a frog at you in an attempt to steal the attention back - the three of you ended up in a bar. It was a little cantina a few hours outside of Mos Eisley; it was much cleaner than the other bars you’d seen, and if it weren’t for your foul mood, you might have even enjoyed it. 

‘What’s up with you?’ Din asked quietly. 

‘Nothing.’ You murmured. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Your tone is off, cyar'ika.’

‘Leave it.’ You snapped. ‘I’m getting another drink.’

You moved the baby off your lap, placing him on Din’s instead. After digging around in your pocket for some credits, you quickly stood up and sauntered over to the other side of the bar, leaning against the wooden counter as you waited for your turn to be served. It wasn’t too busy - there were a few people floating about. Locals, you figured. It was a slightly fancier part of Tatooine, and you could see the difference in the people who were frequenting the establishment.

You were trying not to think about Din, or the fact he still refused to talk about what was going on between the two of you. You’d long surpassed the point of no return for your friendship - no, you were too invested now. Either he had to prove he was in it for the long run, or you had to walk away. Was that an unfair ultimatum? Not really. He’d started it, after all. 

‘What’s a pretty thing like you doing waiting for a drink?’

You glanced up to see a man beside you, a half-empty flagon of beer in his hand. He was tall, dark and handsome; the type you used to briefly date back on Corellia. He smelt of expensive aftershave, and his clothes gave the impression he was quite well-off. 

‘I could ask you the same.’ You replied. 

‘So you think I’m pretty?’ The man quirked an eyebrow at you.

‘No, I...I mean, yeahhhh.’ You turned to face him, offering him a smile.

‘You’re here with that Mandalorian.’ He glanced over his shoulder, before leaning a little closer towards you. ‘What’s his deal?’

‘Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.’ You snorted. ‘I don’t think he knows what his deal is.’

The conversation was completely innocent - after all, you had no intention of anything happening with whoever this guy was. And even if you did, weren’t you technically single? You certainly weren’t in a relationship, at least not according to Din Djarin. He had no standing ground, nor any right to be jealous. 

Still, that didn’t stop his entire body filling with rage the minute the man put his hand on your arm, and it certainly didn’t stop him immediately packing up all your stuff to leave the bar. Even the notion of another man touching you made him want to scream - let alone the actual sight of it. It was the way your new friend leant in a little too close, and laughed a little too hard at your jokes. You were funny, but you weren’t that funny.

‘We’re leaving.’ Din declared, suddenly appearing beside you. 

‘Okay.’ You shrugged, glancing up at him. ‘I’ll meet you back on the ship later.’

‘No, I mean we’re leaving.’

You snorted. ‘I think you’ll find that I’m staying right here- oof!’

You let out a small squeak as the Mandalorian grabbed you with his free arm, tossing you over his shoulder. Before you could protest, or even apologise to the man beside you, he was marching you out of the bar and into the cool evening air of Tatooine. All meanwhile, the baby was giggling at the site of you with your legs in the air and your face planted against Din’s back. 

The ship wasn’t far - probably not more than a two minute walk. Din had been conscious of the Child’s little legs when he’d parked at the outpost; he was becoming more independent now and insisted on walking places himself. It was just that he could only walk for five minutes before getting tired, but the little sod would cry if you tried to carry him.  He was lucky he was cute.

‘What the hell was that?’ You snapped, barely catching your balance as Din planed you on the floor of the ship. 

‘That man was flirting with you.’ Din simply stated. ‘I didn’t like it.’

‘You...’ you trailed off. ‘You didn’t like it?’

‘He was overstepping his boundaries.’

‘You were jealous, weren’t you?’ You let out a derivative snort, folding your arms across your chest. 

‘You knew I could see you.’ Din was still calm. 

‘And? It’s not like we’re in a relationship, is it?’ You murmured.

‘That’s not-’

‘ - let me finish!’ You cut him off. ‘I have been trying for weeks to talk to you about it, to see where I stand with you, and you always change the subject or try to run away from it! You have no right to be jealous, or to act like I’m with you because you have made it abundantly clear that I am not. Your high horse is basically a shetland fucking pony, Din Djarin!’

There was a silence between you for a moment. It felt good to have finally said it - you just wished you’d been a bit more gentle. Din had never seen you shout before, or even come close to losing your temper. He knew it was bound to happen but he had never imagined it being at him. Then again, if you’d tried to pick him up and force him out the bar against his will, he would have been angry too. (The thought of you even trying it was rather comical).

‘I was scared.’ 

That hadn’t been the response you were expecting.

‘Of me?’ Your voice was quiet.

‘I’m in love with you.’ He said bluntly. ‘That terrifies me.’

‘I...fuck.’ You felt as though the wind had been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with whatever grey smoke the Crest spat out when the engines were broken. ‘I love you too - but why does it scare you?’

‘Because it means I can’t ever leave you.’ Din continued. ‘And I want to give you the life you deserve but I don’t know if I can. Not with my job, not with the things I’ve done.’

‘Din.’ You took a step forward, his large hands enveloping yours as you did. ‘D’you think I care about any of that?’

‘I was afraid to ask.’

‘No offence, but you can be a bit thick sometimes.’ A small chuckle escaped your lips, even if tears were forming in your eyes. ‘I don’t care where we are or where we go, as long as I’m with you, then I have the life I want. That’s why I’ve been so off these last few weeks, because I was so scared you were going to turn around and push me away.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’ He said. ‘I’m not going to leave you - you have my word. I promise.’ 

‘So why don’t we just stop being scared and start just...being together?’

He briefly stepped away, hitting the control panel to turn off the lights in the ship. His helmet hit the ground with a thud, and a moment later, his hands were on your hips as he pulled you towards him. Din crashed his lips onto yours, closing the gap between you with a desperate kiss. You’d kissed before - more times than you could even begin to count - but this one felt different. It had meaning; purpose, in fact. It was as though the last few months’ worth of feelings that the Mandalorian had been pushing aside had finally broken.

‘I love you, cyar'ika.’ He quietly murmured again. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘Stop saying sorry.’ You tearfully smiled, forehead still pressed against his. ‘And I love you too, even if you’re a bit of a dumbass sometimes.’

‘Say it again.’

‘I love you, dumbass.’ You quietly said. 

‘Is that now your equivalent to cyar'ika?’

[from-a-reckless-writer]

38 Supercorp

"Fuck fuck fuckity fuck," Lena angrily chanted under her breath, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel as she slowed down. The officer behind her had thankfully silenced their sirens at the first sign that Lena was pulling up.

She forced herself to take deep breaths and calm her anger from explosive to just simmering below the surface. She really doesn't need this shit today.

The motorcycle pulled up next to her, if Lena played her cards right she could get out of this without giving up her license. She chanced a glance at her mirror, good thing she decided to wear a low-cut blouse. She's not above using her...assets if it meant getting out of this quicker.

The officer kicks down their stand and swings off. Lena collects herself, checks if her lipstick remains immaculate, she's played this game with enough business men before what's the difference with a police officer?

The difference, it turns out, is that the police officer happens to be a woman.

A gorgeous, blonde woman that made Lena choke on her own saliva, when she took off her helmet only to reveal deliciously perfect bone structure and luscious blonde hair flowed down her shoulders. It was like Lena was watching those pretentious shampoo commercials in real time, the only thing missing was a slow-mo effect.

Said gorgeous, attractive, beautiful--Lena needs more synonyms--knocks lightly on her window and Lena has to rub her three functioning brain cells in order to lower her window.

"Ma'am."

Oh, fuck her eyes are so blue.

"Ma'am."

Will I get more than just a fine if I invite her to my place?

"Ma'am."

Wait- Why drive back when we can do it here in the car? She looks like the car sex type, doesn't she?

"Excuse me, ma'am? Do I have your attention?"

Lena remembers a conversation needs a response from both parties if it wants to exist.

She snaps herself out of it--with the utmost effort, mind you--and clears her throat.

"Hi, officer."

Hi, officer? Hi, officer. What are you? A drunk bachelorette?!?

Lena fights the urge to bang her head on her steering wheel and tries to pay attention to the words coming out of the blonde's lips and not on how she's got the perfect Cupid's bow and what would it taste like pressed to hers?

She catches, "-license,", "-your fine." and at least three more Ma'am's.

Danvers, K.Z. She takes an important mental note.

"Ma'am your license please???"

"Oh. Oh yes. Yes. Right."

God, if she says please and ma'am one more time I'm going to commit a much bigger crime.

Lena fumbles for her purse, almost ripping open the zipper in her haste.

"Here, officer." She thrusts the card out of the window, wishing the blonde's hands would graze hers in the process.

"You can get your license back at the main office on Monday, ma'am. Considering it's the weekend today," she says absentmindedly, scribbling Lena a ticket.

"May I know the reason for your over-speeding ma'am?"

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck uhm uhm-

"Oh, uhm, I didn't want to be late for my daughter's birthday."

WHAT THE FUCk?

"Oh. A birthday huh?" The blonde breaks into a grin so bright it lights up Lena's entire useless empty lesbian soul.

The blonde much to Lena's gay panic, pokes her head in and looks at the assortment of gifts in her backseat.

"Looks like a lucky girl. You must be a great mom."

Okay, so what if she didn't know what Ruby wanted for her birthday and got her everything that Lena thinks a thirteen year-old wants? And so what if she used her goddaughter as an excuse, sue her, at least she got treated to this officer's smile right?

"Thank you. She's 13 today. Didn't know what she wanted so I uh- got everything..." she gestures weakly to the gifts.

"Well, I'm sure you're going to make her happy today."

Yeah, I'm also sure you can make me very, very happy, officer.

"Mm-hm. Yes, that's the goal."

"Well, I won't keep you any longer."

Oh no please you can keep me as long as you like.

"Just don't speed again next time, alright ma'am? Tell your girl I wish her a happy birthday."

Lena stays there seated like an idiot as her eyes remains glued to the officer's err, backside while she walks away and mounts her bike again.

God, what I wouldn't give for me to mount her instead.

She gives Lena a small salute goodbye that was not supposed to be as hot as it is, before fitting her helmet and making the bike roar to life.

Lena remains stationary for a few moments, replaying the whole exchange in her head again and again. Before getting shocked into the present by her phone's shrill ringing.

Sam's face lights up the screen.

Shit, Sam's gonna kill me.

******

Sam doesn't kill her, at least not directly.

She does make her heart stop though.

"Lena!" Sam greets. "Finally! Ruby's waiting for you. Here let me take these. I have somebody I want to introduce to you."

Sam grabs the gifts from her arms and doesn't even bat an eye at the number of it all. She's learned not to fight Lena when it comes to spoiling Ruby. The house is decked in streamers and confetti. Outside, you can hear the high-pitched giggling of teenage girls.

Sam drags her out into the garden where the real party is.

"Sorry, I'm late. I got held up by-"

Lena's entire being freezes. Her sentence remains broken.

"Ma'am? I mean Ms. Luthor? I mean Le-wait your Ruby's other mom?"

"Kara! This is Le- other mom? Wait what? Do you two know each other?"

"Ruby's got another mom?"

"OH MY GOD, YOU'RE FINALLY HERE!!!!"

Everything happens so fast, suddenly officer--named Kara, apparently--is standing there in Sam's garden, Kara is saying something. And then Sam is also saying something and then a red-head that Lena has no idea who the hell is, is also talking and before Lena could even process a single thing, she gets tackled by a thirteen year-old.

"Happy Birthday, Ruby," She manages to squeeze out as Ruby knocks the breath out of her. In the distance she can hear Sam go, "Ruby! Careful!"

"Your gifts are in the living room," she whispers in her ear and then Ruby is off dashing, with nothing but a yell of "Thanks Aunt Lena!!" into the wind.

And now, Lena is faced with the reality of being introduced to the officer she's been drooling over.

"Okay, so let me clear this up. You got pulled up, by Kara here," Sam shakes Kara, who she's got under her shoulder. "For overspeeding because, and I quote, 'You were late for your daughter's birthday'??? Did I get that right??"

"Uh yes, that pretty much sums it up," Kara mumbles, staring straight at Lena.

Sam's got a knowing look on her face that Lena wants so badly to slap out of her.

"Interesting." Sam smirks at her. "Daughter huh?"

"Oh my god, stop it. I only said it so she'd let me go faster," Lena bursts out. "Technically, I am Ruby's other mom. I'm the honorary cool mom."

She really wishes her face isn't as red as she feels it is.

"No, you're the godmother and I'm the cool mom," Sam says smoothly. "But, before we get off topic, this is Alex and this is her sister, Kara."

Lena has heard all about Alex, dashing FBI agent and Sam's recent object of affection. What she hasn't heard about is, Alex's younger, more gorgeous and Lena hopes not straight sister.

"Hi, good to meet you, Lena." Alex gives her a firm grip which she returns with a smile.

"Hi," Kara says shyly, turning to her, she's wearing glasses and it's such a far cry from the person Lena's met on the road. This version is softer, somewhat warmer.

The blatant difference doesn't really deter Lena's want to climb her like a tree, though.

"Hi," Lena parrots back, holding out a hand. Kara takes it so gently and Lena feels like she's going to pass out when the warmth of Kara's hand envelops her.

She's blushing from her head to toe and she doesn't really care if Sam--or Kara for that matter--sees notices.

"How come I got here faster than you did?"

Well, that's because I had to spend at least 15 minutes on the side of the road trying to calm my breathing, trying to flush out the fantasies in my head and wow you're really gorgeous, has anybody told you that?

Lena settles with, "Ah, well, motorcycles are faster than cars I guess."

Kara gives her that smile again and Lena feels her face breaking into one too.

"Well, doesn't matter. I'm just real glad you're here now, Lena."

"Me too, Kara, me too."

prompt list here

[illegal-spiegel]

“Mr. Coffee-Shop-Hotshot”

Pairing: Hikaru Hitachiin x f!reader Genre: fluff, angst, smut Warnings: jealous and possessive Hikaru, unprotected sex (wrap it up), a dash of degradation, choking, and I think that’s it lmao Summary: You’ve been dating Hikaru since high school but that doesn’t stop him from getting jealous of your coworker at the coffee shop Word Count: 4.1k words  A/N: characters are aged up!! Prompt #72 from my 1k Followers Event: “You’re Mine.”

You and Hikaru have been sweethearts since high school. The thing is, when you two first started dating, no one thought it was going to last, seeing as how you two were literally enemies until Hikaru kissed you to shut you up. After that kiss, you two avoided each other until Kaoru tried talking to you while pretending to be Hikaru. You weren’t blind though. You could tell it was Kaoru instead of his twin. You played along until the end though, only revealing you knew it was really him until he got his point across. His point was “I’m sorry for treating you so poorly. I’m just not very good with feelings and I didn’t know how to face you after the kiss without arguing with you.” You figured that Kaoru wouldn’t say something like that unless Hikaru felt that way himself. So, you grew a pair and talked to Hikaru after he was done with the Host Club. 

“It appears I’m going to be the man in this relationship.” was the first thing you said to him, to which he scoffed at because A. if anyone is going to be the man, it’s him and B. who says you two are in a relationship? 

You just kissed him and that easily proved your point. From then on, you two started dating, to everyone’s surprise. Just because you two were dating though doesn’t mean you two stopped fighting. While everyone else has their honeymoon phase, you two went right to the old married couple stage. They weren’t ever serious fights though. One time you two argued about who had better eyes. Hikaru couldn’t admit to you that it was definitely you and you couldn’t admit to him that it was actually him, so you both claimed that it was yourselves. 

After that phase ended though, you two went into the honeymoon phase, which just confused everyone, including you and Hikaru. Suddenly, him leaving his used cup on your bedside table didn’t bother you anymore. You’ll just bring it down with you when you go downstairs. Hikaru realized that he didn’t mind you having your clothes thrown out in every other direction in his room anymore. His maid will just clean it up anyway. No harm done. 

The honeymoon ‘phase’ was more annoying to everyone than the old married couple phase. Now, instead of you two arguing who wants the last piece of candy, you two are ‘arguing’ about who gets to kiss who last. It makes everyone gag. Honey senpai seems to think it’s really sweet though. 

That was four years ago and now, you two are just as bad now as you were back then. Everyone, luckily and unluckily, decided to go to the same university. It is way out of your price range but that wasn’t going to stop your boyfriend of four years from getting you to go there. “I’ll pay off all your bills, babe. Don’t worry,” he’ll always reassure you despite your worries and nagging. You refuse to let him pay for it all though, so you got a job. 

It was actually pretty easy to nail the job, seeing as how it’s at the coffee shop where you and the gang always went for energy boosters and to study. You were already friends with the manager from going in there so much, so when you asked if they were hiring, they practically hired you on the spot. 

Hikaru didn’t like you having a job though. 

“Why do you even work here? I can pay for everything, babe. You don’t have to worry about it. So why don’t you just quit? I miss hanging out with you,” he complains every time you leave for work, when he shows up to your work, and when you come back to your shared apartment. His argument, in your royal opinion, is stupid. If anything, you see him too much as it is. I mean, you already live with the guy and have half of your classes with him. What more does he want from you?

It took him a month to finally accept the fact that yes, you will pay for things yourself, and no, you are not quitting just because he wants you to. Once he realizes that you can secretly give him free coffee though, not that price ever mattered to him, he was happy. “Okay, but I also want a free muffin,” he finally agreed. 

It was like that for maybe half a year before new problems started to arise. Your boss hired a new guy who you don’t even know the name of yet but, oh, Hikaru hates him already. “I don’t like him. He smells like too much Axe body spray and he has a weird, purple piercing in his eyebrow. And! And, he has a tattoo. A tattoo! Who does he think he is,” Hikaru complains to you while you try to do homework. He had gotten your schedule mixed up and when he went to go see you on your day off, he ran into the new guy. You weren’t surprised that he could tell he’s new since Hikaru is practically there as much as you are. He knows everyone and, of course, everyone loves him. 

Not this guy though, apparently. 

“When he gave me my coffee, it tasted off! Then, I realized, he didn’t add sugar! I didn’t say anything about sugar!” he continues to rant, making you sigh and set your pencil down. You turn to face him now, placing your hand over his and soothingly rubbing your thumb over his smooth skin. 

“Baby, I’m sure it was an accident. He’s new, remember? I’m sure he just forgot to add it,” you reassure, giving his cheek a kiss once he takes a deep breath and lets it all go in one breath. 

“Fine. I guess you’re right. But if he messes up again, I won’t hesitate to say something next time!” You giggle at this and nod your head, giving him a proper kiss this time to relax him even more. 

“Okay, baby. You do that,” you tease before going back to your homework. This, of course, was just not okay. 

“Babe, we’ve been studying for hours. Let’s take a break,” he coos, moving closer to you and starting to place kisses along your neck. You try to ignore him and focus but your boyfriend knows you too well. Knows your body too well. 

“You mean I’ve been studying for hours. You’ve just been talking and playing on your phone,” you tease, a gasp ripping from you when he sucks and nibbles on your sweet spot. You feel him smirk against your skin, his hands coming to squeeze your thighs. 

“Fair point. Makeout with me a little and then, and only then, will I study,” he bargains, making you roll your eyes. 

“Fat chance,” you decline him as you playfully push him away, making him whine loudly. 

“But baby—”

“No. Study and then, and only then, will I makeout with you,” you bargain right back, a smirk of your own coming to your face. 

“You’re wicked,” he says with a dramatic gasp and a hand across his heart. When you don’t reply or even react, he groans before finally picking up his pencil. “Fine! You better take your shirt off too then,” he snaps before focusing on his work. Most of your study sessions go like this. 

The next day at work, the new guy, Ritsu, came in in the middle of your shift. Your boss introduced the two of you once he put his stuff away in his locker, the guy seeming nervous for his next shift today. You smile at him and shake his hand, reassuring him that you’ll help him out today. He seems to relax at this, thanking you before starting to get to work. Whenever he had a question or messed up, you were right there to help him. The day, overall, went pretty smoothly you think. 

At the end of your shifts, he grabs his things from his locker before walking to the front with you. “Do you need a ride home?” he asks as he walks over to his motorcycle. You smile at him but shake your head, taking your phone out of your pocket to check your messages. 

“No, that’s okay. My boyfriend is picking me up and taking me out to dinner. Thank you though!” you reply with a sweet smile, Ritsu flashing you a smile back as he climbs onto his motorcycle. 

“Okay, good. I didn’t want you walking home alone at night. I heard there was a robbery a couple of roads away from here,” he explains as he pulls his helmet on. 

“Oh yeah. It was at the corner gas station. That’s so sweet of you to think of me though. I’ll be sure to let you know if I ever need a ride!” you thank once more. He nods as he turns the vehicle on, bidding you farewell with a salute before pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road. 

You check the time and see that you have a few minutes until your boyfriend gets there. Luckily, he seemed to have left early because, within the next minute, he’s stopping right in front of you. “Well, hello there, good lookin’. Do you need a ride?” he playfully flirts. You hum and pretend to think about it as you walk over to his window. 

“Well, I don’t know. Are you going to show me a good time?” you playfully flirt right back. He hums as he happily lets his eyes trail over your body despite your hideous work clothes. He didn’t seem to mind them though. 

“Oh, you have no idea, baby. Don’t tell my girlfriend though.” You scoff as you burst into a fit of giggles, lightly hitting his arm before going to the passenger side. 

“Well, that depends. Am I prettier than her?” you reply, batting your eyelashes at him as you slide into the car and pull your seatbelt over your body. He hums and nods his head, putting the car in reverse as he replies. 

“Oh, most definitely. She’s like a fat cow,” he jokes, making you scoff and hit him again. 

“I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate you saying such things about her. What if I decide to tell her what you said about her?” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest as if you’re mad at him. You know for a fact that he’d never cheat on you. You always tease him that he’s too obsessed with you. ‘I love you! I’m not obsessed with you! There’s a difference!’ he’d always argue to your joking jab. 

Before he can leave the parking spot, he stops the car to look at you with this new glint in his eyes. “What if I eat you out so good that you can’t even remember your own name, let alone mine?” he whispers right into your ear, his tongue licking around the shell of your ear. You let out a shaky breath, not expecting his sudden change in this little game you two were playing. 

“I doubt you’re any good,” you sass, it lacking the power that you want it to have. He pulls away from the side of your head to make eye contact with you again, his eyes shining with a newfound lust. 

“Well, I’ve only ever been with my girlfriend, so it’s possible. You should hear the way she screams my name though. She’ll cum three times from my mouth and fingers alone before I even give what she really wants inside of her,” he says lowly, your eyes moving to watch his lips as he talks. You press your legs together, already starting to feel arousal bubbling low in your gut. 

“Is she any good in bed?” you decide to ask, bringing the attention off of him. You wait for him to say something along the lines of ‘no, she’s horrible’ but it seems he decides to stop playing your little game all of a sudden. 

“She’s better than good. She sucks me off like I’m a popsicle and she just got out of the desert. She’s always so desperate to unravel me but I never do only because I know it works her up even more. She then starts acting like a brat, trying to get her way. We both know that’s just her way of annoying me to the point that I punish her. Mmhm, her screams sound so good when her face is shoved into our mattress,” he replies, his voice dropping an octave or two. You gulp at this, feeling your panties dampen with your slick. 

“No wonder she’s your girlfriend,” you whisper, your throat suddenly too dry for your liking. He only hums before continuing with his driving, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it once you two get on the road. 

“What do you want to eat? I’m kind of in the mood for Mexican,” he says to you as if he didn’t just make you so horny that the only thing you can think about is having him inside of your mouth instead of food. 

“That sounds fine,” you say softly, trying to think of anything but that. He smirks at the way you sound, which is slightly wrecked, and starts to head in the direction of a Mexican restaurant that you two like. That night ended, of course, with him deep inside of you and grunting out all sorts of deliciously dark things into your ear. 

Things continued on like normal for a while. You went to work but didn’t get to work with Ritsu again for a week, so Hikaru never ran into him again. The day you did work with him though, he seemed to be struggling more than usual. So, when there was a break in customers, you decide to ask him what was up. 

“Sorry. I got into this fight with my girlfriend, Mei, this morning,” he explains, a frown hanging heavy on his face. You nod your head, only too familiar with that feeling. You and Hikaru don’t have serious fights a lot but you, obviously, have them just like every other couple. 

“It’s okay. I understand. Do you want to talk about it? Maybe I can give you my opinion or some advice?” you offer, wanting to help him feel better. He thinks about your offer for a moment before sighing and giving in, starting to tell you everything that had happened that morning. You two occasionally pause to help a customer but always end up focusing back on his situation. As a woman yourself, you look at his story from her point of view and figure out what might be the cause of her frustrations. 

“Okay,” you say once he finishes his story, “I think I see what the problem is.” You then tell him what you think and what he should do to mend their relationship. After hearing your advice, he realized what he did wrong and gets so excited that he hugs you. 

“Thank you so much! It all makes sense now! No wonder she was so upset! You’re seriously a lifesaver! I owe you one!” He hugs you tightly, making you giggle and return the hug. 

“It’s no problem at all,” you reassure. You two pull away when you hear the bell ring, automatic smiles coming to your face to greet your new customer. Your eyes widened when you saw your boyfriend instead though. A very angry and brooding boyfriend at that. “Babe? What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be here for another hour?” you ask confusedly, walking around the counter to give him your usual hug and kiss. 

His eyes are on Ritsu though. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you not want me here? Am I interrupting something?” he snaps, his eyes squinting at Ritsu as he says this. Your brows furrow at his words, stopping in front of him and dropping your arms since it’s obvious that he’s not going to give you a hug. 

“What? Well, I’m working but—”

“Oh, sorry to bother you then. I’ll let you get right back to it,” he snaps, turning his glare to you before leaving without another word. He doesn’t stop or turn around when you call after him either, making you sigh as a frown comes to your face. 

“What’s up with him?” you mumble, trying to think as to why he would be mad. That’s when it hit you. You hugging Ritsu? Did that upset him? But why? You hug guys all of the time. Well, not all of the time. And then again, they’re his friends too or your family. You snap out of your daze when the bell jingles again, signaling a new customer. You sigh and go back behind the counter, smiling and greeting the customer happily. Guess you’ll just have to talk to him about it later then. 

When you get off work and you get back home, you find that Hikaru isn’t home. You think back to what he was telling you yesterday, remembering him telling you his plans for today. You check the time on the microwave before looking at your fridge for any notes. He doesn't have any plans right now that you are aware of and he didn’t leave a note telling you where he was going or when he’ll be back. Maybe there was an emergency? That just makes you worry more though.

You let it go with a heavy exhale, trying not to read too much into it. You don’t have to know where he is every second of every day. 

You go to your bathroom to take a shower and get the smell of coffee off of you. You end up accidentally using his body wash though, the smell of cinnamon and ginger filling your nostrils. It’s not your favorite but it’s what he’s been using for years. He pulls off the smell really well though. 

You step out of the shower and wrap yourself up in a baby blue towel, leaning against the sink to look at your skin in the mirror. After applying some lotion to your body to make you feel extra nice, you leave the bathroom. You stop at the door though when you find Hikaru sitting on the bed, his feet still on the floor and his hands hanging between his knees. Now you’re even more concerned. Normally, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to take a shower with you but now he won’t even look at you. 

“Hikaru,” you call out softly to him, seeming to bring him out of his daze. You walk over to him and come to stand in between his legs, making him sit up straighter. His eyes glaze over your bare collarbones and neck, something spurring to life in his eyes as water droplets cascade down your soft skin. 

“You’re mine,” he says suddenly, his eyes snapping to yours. Your eyes widen a bit at this random declaration, your brow raising curiously at him. 

“What?” is your brilliant reply to him. You gasp when he stands and switches your positions in a flash, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you fall back onto it. You gape up at him, your hands clinging to the front of your towel. 

“You heard me. You’re mine!” he growls, his hands snagging your towel away from you before you can even attempt to stop him. His eyes wander your body, a dark look in his eyes as he takes his sweet time admiring your naked body. 

“Hikaru,” you breathe his name, goosebumps crawling over your flesh. He hums in response, one of his knees coming to the bed so he can lean over you, his fingers starting to trace random lines and patterns into your skin. 

“That’s right. Say my name, baby,” he coos, his fingers coming to tweak your nipples. You moan his name in response, back arching up into his hands. He watches you with attentive eyes, not daring to look away from your lewd expressions or wet hole for even a second. He loves how quickly you react to his touch, your body always craving his as much as his craves yours. “Who do you belong to?” he asks as he crawls completely over you, staring into your eyes as he lets his hands crawl down your body. 

“You,” you whisper breathlessly. 

“Who?” he growls, suddenly shoving two of his fingers into your drooling heat. 

“You, Hikaru!” you cry, back arching when he slips a third finger in. He hums lowly as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, scraping the pads of his fingers against your g-spot to get you really moaning for him. 

“That’s right, baby. You’re all mine, now and forever,” he whispers before pulling his fingers out, making you whimper. He brings his dry hand up to your throat, squeezing it lightly as he stares into your eyes. “Shut up! Dirty whores like you don’t get to cum until I say so,” he hisses, not letting your neck go as he uses his other hand to remove his pants and boxers. “‘M gonna fill you up, remind you that you only belong to me,” he mumbles, his hand frantically trying to pull his member free. 

Your brows furrow at this as you bring your hands up to his chest. Before you can question him though, he starts to push into you. You both groan in sync as he slips inside, your eyes rolling back into your head for a moment. You forget about his words for now, your brain only thinking about the way he feels inside of you. 

He just barely bottoms out before he’s already pulling back to thrust back in, starting a frantic pace. You moan his name loudly, your nails lightly scratching his chest, causing him to hiss. He keeps up the frenzied pace, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. 

You both cum almost at the same time, Hikaru finally giving you permission to cum after denying you your orgasm over and over again. He keeps true to his word, pushing deep inside of you and coating your walls white. He stays inside of you for a while, his chest heaving as he tries to get air back. He slowly releases your throat, and instead brushes his fingers against your cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes shining with regret. You’re confused for a moment, thinking that that’s some of the best sex you’ve ever had. Then you remember his words from before, how he kept saying you’re his and that no one is going to take you from him. 

“What’s going on, my love?” you whisper, still a little breathless. He looks away from you, starting to worry his lip between his teeth. 

“Don’t leave me for him,” he whispers, and if you weren’t just a couple of inches away from him, you wouldn’t have heard it. He pulls out of you then and moves to lay beside you, putting his back to you. 

“What? Hey. Hey, look at me,” you say worriedly, pushing yourself up onto your elbow as you use your free hand to gently trace random shapes into his back. It takes him a minute but he eventually turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling instead of you. “What’s all this ‘leaving me’ talk about? We’ve been dating for years, Hikaru. Why would I want to leave you for someone else?” you ask with furrowed brows, starting to run your hand through his hair to help soothe him. He leans into your touch, his eyes finally meeting yours. Despite your reassuring words, he looks scared, worried. 

“What about Mr. Coffee-Shop-Hotshot? You seemed to like him a lot,” he grumbles, his mouth turning into a scowl just at the thought of the man. You can’t help but smile at how jealous he is, your heart swelling with the amount of love you hold for the man before you. 

“You dope, he was asking me for advice about his girlfriend. That hug happened because he was thanking me for basically saving his relationship,” you inform, a smirk on your face as you watch the realization come over his face. 

“Oh,” he squeaks out, his face turning sheepish and red. You snort and move to lay your head down on his chest. 

“You’re such an idiot. You should know by now that you’re the one for me, idiot and all,” you tease, gently rubbing his chest and abdomen. He huffs and wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly to him. 

“Whatever. As if you wouldn’t get upset if I was hugging another girl,” he accuses. 

“You act as if another girl would even come near someone as ugly as you,” you tease, obviously joking. 

“Hey!”

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[clareguilty]

The Naked Thing

Hello! I was dying without air conditioning a few weeks ago and decided to make it Mando Smut Mandalorian/f!reader Rating: Explicit | No Warnings Word Count: ~2900

The Crest falls out of hyperspace too soon, and you go flying. Curling around Grogu in your arms, you twist in midair so that your back hits the console to avoid crushing him. A lever digs into your spine, and you curse loudly. That’s going to bruise. Oh well. What’s another?

“What the kriff, Mando?” you snarl. Grogu seems unbothered, blinking at you and probably learning way too many swear words for a child of his size.

Mando pulls himself off the control grid with a pained groan, helmet swiveling as he takes in the damage.

“The good news,” he begins after a moment, “is that we lost them.”

That is good news, you agree. You were lucky that the army of bounty hunters and ex-imps hadn’t kept track of you. If you had shaken them off your trail, then that would earn you a head start to a safer system.

“The bad news is that they shot out our hyperdrive.”

“Dank Farrik,” you curse again, then glance at Grogu. Maybe you should watch your mouth more?

“...And our temperature regulator and our heat shields.”

You decide that it is an appropriate time for as much foul language as you please.

“What does that mean?” you ask. You hadn’t grown up around ships -- spent the last dozen years on the same dead-end planet until Mando picked you up. The most you were good for was turning a knob or flipping a switch here and there. Usually you just kept an eye on Grogu while Mando did all the piloting and bounty hunting and whatnot.

“We’ll have to travel sublight, but we can’t land planet side because without the heat shields any atmosphere worth a damn would burn us up. Our only option is a New Republic Outpost. We’ll be able to land there, and we’ll be safe while they repair the Crest. I’ll chart us a course and let you know how long it should be.”

“You know,” you snap, “we wouldn’t be in this mess if you weren’t so scared of droids. If we had an astromech on board, then we could get the hyperdrive repaired without having to crawl our asses through deep space in the hopes that whoever picks us up doesn’t want us dead.”

Mando doesn’t say anything. You don’t know if your words meant anything at all to him because you can’t see shit behind his helmet. Huffing, you take Grogu down to the hold. Not long after, the engines fire up again.

It takes a few minutes to set in, but its quick enough to be noticeable. The ship is getting hotter. Like… unbearably warm.

You fill a canteen with water and make sure that you and Grogu are both hydrated. After a little bit of digging, you manage to find a portable air circulator. You and Grogu sit directly in front of the current, doing your best to keep cool.

Mando comes down after a little while, he cocks his helmet when he sees you.

“It’s hot,” you whine.

“The temperature regulator is shot too. We don’t have a way too cool the ship down or shield the heat of the engines.”

You sigh. “How long until we can get repairs?”

“34 hours. Will the kid be okay for that long?”

Grogu hasn’t outwardly complained about the heat, mostly just sitting in front of the circulator with his eyes closed and ears flapping, but you’ve been worried as well. “He’s kind of… amphibious,” you frown. “I’ll get him a basin of water to sit in and put him in the fresher with the circulator. That should keep him cooled off.”

Mando nods. “Thank you. Will you be okay?”

You shrug. There’s not much you can do. As long as you stay hydrated then you should be able to last 34 hours.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“For what?” All you’ve done is curse at him and berate him for not having an astromech droid.

“For looking out for him back there. You saved all of us with that droid popper. And the move with the cannon was impressive.”

You aren’t expecting genuine praise from Mando. It always felt as though you were dead weight to him. Through all the planets you’ve been on -- and been chased off of -- you’ve always felt useless.You can’t fly, you’re not the best shot, you can barely take care of his kid. It means a lot that he doesn’t actually hate you. 

“I’m starting to get the hang of this,” you grin. You had never considered yourself a hero or adventurer, but you had commandeered a cannon and shot down three imperial fighters.

“I’ll be up in the cockpit if you need anything. Just knock.” And he’s gone.

‘Knock’ means that Mando is probably going to take his helmet and armor off, which means you also get a few hours of total privacy. You set Grogu up in the fresher with a basin of water and the circulator -- though it pains you to give up the weak, artificial breeze.

It’s only gotten hotter, and your already filthy clothes are starting to became unbearable. You had gotten splashed with gore and grime and who knows what in your escape, and it wasn’t pairing well with the heat onboard.

Stripping out of your clothes, you sprawl naked on the metal floor. It’s dusty, but slightly cool, and you plaster as much of your skin to the durasteel as you can manage.

Time passes with you systematically rolling across the floor of the hold to try and keep from baking. It’s bearable only because you know there will be an end. As long as the ship keeps chugging along towards the space outpost, then you will be saved.

The hatch to the cockpit opens, and you leap to your feet. Mando clambers down, jumping when he sees you.

“You’re naked,” he raises his hands -- his bare hands -- and backs against the ladder.

“You’re naked.” you point.

“I have a helmet and pants on,” he says. But that’s all he has on. His chest and arms are bare, and it’s more skin than you’ve ever seen before on the man.

“I’ve never seen you out of your armor. That has got to be more scandalous than me being naked.”

You must have made a point, because Mando doesn’t respond. Instead, you both just kind of… stand there. You can’t tear your eyes away from his chest and from the angle his helmet is pointed it seems he’s having a similar issue.

“Did you, uh, need anything?” you finally manage to ask. Your mouth is dry, and you take another uncoordinated drink from the canteen, shivering as some of the water spills down your chest.

Mando coughs. “I just wanted to make sure the kid is okay.”

“Oh,” you turn to open the fresher door just a crack. You had checked on him just a few minutes ago, and he still seems fine. After a moment of pause, Mando comes up behind you and you can feel the heat of his skin against your back.

Grogu is asleep, curled up just in front of the circulator and the basin of water so that the cool air blows over him. The fresher is several degrees cooler than the rest of the ship, and while it feels amazing, you don’t want to let the heat in.

“I’m going to go back up now,” Mando says quickly, and then he’s gone through the hatch once again.

You resume your circuit of laying on the floor, but it feels like the ship is only getting hotter.

That’s when you take to banging on the hatch to the cockpit. “Mando, I’m going to kick your ass! You had better get us to that outpost or find a way too cool this ship down! I spent years on Tatooine, and this is the hottest I have ever been in my entire life!”

“I can cut the engines to stop generating any heat, but then we’ll just be coasting through empty space and we’ll never make it to the outpost.”

You huff. “At this point you should just freeze me in carbonite.”

Mando does not freeze you in carbonite, but you do eventually make it to the New Republic outpost. They give the three of you a small dorm and Mando arranges for the Razor Crest to be repaired. You don’t have any credits between you, so you wonder what he offers in exchange.

You toss your gear into the room and head out to get food for everyone. You always enjoy being in New Republic space. No one is out to murder you or imprison you. The officers are usually nicer. Everyone likes the Skywalkers.

A friendly droid loads you up with several plates of food, and you stop to check out the holonet broadcasts on your way back. Things in this corner of the galaxy are a little hectic -- something you just witnessed firsthand -- but its less gloomy than it used to be.

Mando is sitting on the lower bunk when you get back. He’s back in his full armor, but you can read his posture pretty well. Grogu is playing in the corner, levitating some rocks you had found for him a few planets back. You set the tray down, fully intending to take your portion and eat out in the hall or in one of the communal sitting rooms. Before you can even turn away, Mando has already grabbed a plate of food and tugged his helmet off.

“WOAH,” you raise your hands in front of your face, ducking your head before you can see too much. Curly hair. Tan skin. Moustache. If there is one thing you’ve learned, it’s that Mando doesn’t let anyone see him without his helmet. It’s a cultural thing, and you respect that. “What is with you being naked today?”

Your eyes are open, but very pointedly looking at a wall nowhere near him. He shifts for a moment, and you wait for some kind of explanation.

“Look,” he finally begins, “we’ve been through a lot together at this point. I’ve traveled with you longer than anyone since I was a foundling with the watch. You’ve saved my life as well as Grogu’s many times, and we just survived one hell of a fight. Not to mention, I saw, um, all of you today. I figure it’s only fair.”

You’re touched. It’s an honor that Mando trusts you enough to remove his helmet. For as long as you have been travelling together, you’ve assumed that you care for him far more than he cares for you. “You don’t have to,” you say. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I trust you,” he repeats.

You turn to face him. His eyes are so soft. Tired and kind and the warmest brown. He stares at you, taking you in for the first time with his own eyes and not the visor in his helmet. It’s unreasonably intimate considering he was staring at you naked with the helmet on just 16 hours before.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of cute?” you laugh and look away, smoothing your hands over your pants. There’s food in front of you, and you use that as a welcome distraction.

“I’ve never trusted anyone enough before now to see me.”

How can he just say things like that? You try to drown the rapid beating of your heart behind some kind of bitter vegetable.

Mando begins to eat as well, slowly and unsurely. He picks at a few different dishes before finally speaking again. “You’ve, uh- I mean… you’re beautiful as well.”

You laugh loudly at that. It’s so shy. This man had seen you overheated and completely naked lying on the floor of his ship. You roll your eyes and shoot him a wink. “Something you like in particular?”

Mando chokes, coughing for a minute before chugging down half a glass of green jelly juice. He finally regains his composure, but his voice is rough when he speaks again. “I’d say the best view was from behind.”

It’s the last thing you expect from him. He’s so shy and reserved and has always backed down from your defensive teasing. It’s a moment before you can pull yourself together. Still, you aren’t sure what to say. Instead, you cram some shredded raw crustacean in your mouth and hope you aren’t too flushed.

Mando offers to take the trays back. The dorm bathroom has a shower with running water and you intend to take full advantage. Grogu rolls a rock at your feet as you head into the bathroom, and you lightly kick it back to him. “Are you tired of putting up with us yet? You’ve been a baby longer than I’ve been alive. I bet we seem like idiots to you.”

Grogu, predictably, says nothing. He makes a raspberry noise with his lips and plops down into a sit.

The shower is one of the greatest gifts you’ve ever enjoyed in life. Hot water, high pressure, steam and soap. You take your time washing up and letting the jets work out all of the kinks in your muscles.

When you slide the stall door aside, Mando is standing at the sink. Helmetless. Shirtless.

He jumps slightly, staring at the floor as you step out of the shower. 

“We have got to stop doing this naked thing,” you say. It doesn’t actually bother you. You like that Mando trusts you, and you’ve never been shy about being naked around others, but he’s too attractive and it drives you nuts.

“I rather enjoy it,” he manages to pull his gaze from the floor to shoot you a wink. Your pulse speeds up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Mando,” you step forward. You’re still steaming from the shower and dripping wet. He’s never been this cheeky before, and you kind of enjoy it.

His gaze darkens, eyebrows rasing. He reaches out to grab your waist, pulling you in and pinning you against the sink. You gasp at the feeling of his skin on yours, leaning back as he crowds you against the basin.

“Grogu is napping,” he whispers.

“I think the shower will fit both of us,” you breathe.

He’s already working at the buckle of his pants, toeing out of his boots. You drag him back into the shower with you. The jets hit his back, and he melts a little. You wrap your hand around his cock, and he looks like he may collapse. His eyes flutter shut, one of his hands slamming against the wall by your head.

You lean in to brush your lips over his skin as you stroke his cock. You’d never even seen this man’s face before today, and now you’re kissing your way over his jaw and down his neck. His other hand grabs your ass, kneading the flesh and pulling you closer so your hips brush his.

Your thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, and he shudders. It happens so fast, you didn’t know he had spun you around until your cheek is against the shower wall. His hands are glue to your hips, digging into your ass and pulling you to him so he can grind his cock against your slick skin.

“Please,” you whine. You haven’t had sex with anyone since you began travelling with Mando, and opportunities to get yourself off come few and far between with three of you on the Crest. You’re desperately horny, and you’ve wanted to fuck this man since you found him in that godforsaken desert.

He lines himself up and drives his hips forward, sinking into you with one solid thrust. You bite your forearm to muffle your moans, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch.

“You good?” he asks, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. 

“Move,” you say, demanding but desperate.

It takes a moment to find leverage in the tiny -- smaller than you first assumed -- shower stall, but Mando begins to fuck you at a steady pace. You reach down to rub your clit, clenching around him. You’re going to finish quicker than you’re used to -- probably because you’ve been turned on since you saw Mando shirtless on the crest.

From the way Mando’s hips twitch and his rhythm falters, you guess that he’s close to coming as well.

His hands are everywhere. Your hips, your ass, trailing over your stomach and and reaching up to squeeze your breasts. His fingers brush your throat and you nearly come from the touch alone. He feels the way you tighten around his cock and places a hand on your neck, squeezing your jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

You come so hard your knees give out and your vision goes white. Mando keeps you from collapsing in a bruised heap on the shower floor by simply continuing to fuck you until he comes as well.

It’s not a lot of space, so you’re slumped together under the spray of the water. You manage to wipe yourself clean in a few swipes and stagger back out so Mando can actually wash up. He’s much quicker than you were, and he’s out of the shower by the time you’ve finished rubbing scented moisturizer over your skin. The New Republic sure knew how to treat their guests.

“I think we should definitely keep doing the naked thing,” he grins.

[phykios]

Five Times Percy Jackson Cheated At School (And One Time Someone Cheated Him) [read on ao3]

thank you as always to @darkmagyk for inspo and beta-ing 💙💙💙 and thank you to @arosnowflake for the homer idea!

1)

Percy squints at the paper prompt again, tilting his head, as if the new angle will extract some hidden information. It doesn’t change. The font is the special dyslexia-friendly one used by most departments at NRU, so he isn’t misreading it, either.

Your final will be an 8-10pp (TNR, 12pt, double-spaced) research paper expanding on one of the topics discussed in our class so far, or an alternate idea of your choosing, to be submitted in writing by May 7 with footnotes and bibliography. By 10am on the Wednesday before the Thursday class you will submit online a 750-word essay (word count does not include footnotes) on the research thread you have pursued that week (no written assignments due Week 6 or Week 12). 

Percy might hate college.

“Your neck bothering you again?” Annabeth asks, coming up behind him, her hands already on his shoulders. She’s sweaty, dressed in workout clothes, having just come back in from a jog. 

“My neck is fine,” he says. “Just preemptively freaking out over my Roman history final.”

He tilts his head back over the top of his chair, staring into the upside down, prettily frowning face of his girlfriend, and it does nothing to improve his mood.

“How bad is it?”

“Eight to ten pages,” Percy says, “not including footnotes.”

“Ouch.”

“And,” he grimaces, “it’s a topic of our choosing.”

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

“Anything I can do to help?” She squeezes his shoulders lightly, an open invitation. 

He shakes his head, stretching his arms back to grab her waist. “Promise not to break up with me when you catch me crying at 4AM over it.”

“Promise.” And she seals it with a kiss, bending down to reach him. “Dad wants to know if you’re free on the 16th.” 

“The 16th?” He wracks his brain. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t conflict with sailing, or Greek Club, or the monthly intra-pantheon relations council meeting that Chiron and Clarisse both guilted him into joining. “Pretty sure. Why?”

“Dinner--Charlotte’s out of town that weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll let him know. Now,” and she grins, “are you going to stare at that computer all day, or do you want to come and take a shower with me?”

Percy slams the computer shut. 

He doesn’t think about his paper topic for a while after that.

***

To his great dismay, Percy gets to her dad’s house first on the 16th. Drama in writing group 🙄 she texts him as he gets to the door, be there asap.

Great. Alone in the house with his girlfriend’s dad. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door. 

Not a minute later, Dr. Chase opens it. Last time they went to visit, Percy and Annabeth had ended up waiting outside for almost a quarter of an hour. “Oh, Percy,” he says, fumbling his flight helmet off his head. “Goodness, I thought I’d lost track of time again. Come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” Percy says, stepping inside and shedding his jacket. “Annabeth’s running late, but she said she’d be here soon.”

He frowns, looking so much like Annabeth that it throws Percy for several loops. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “I’m sure we can entertain ourselves well enough until she gets here.”

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass. 

“Oh!” starts Dr. Chase. “Right, yes. Come in. Would you like something to drink?”

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

A few minutes of staggered conversation later, it becomes eminently clear why they need Annabeth between them. It’s not the awkward small talk that doesn’t go anywhere (“How’s school going for you?” “It’s okay.” “Good, that’s good to hear.”) or the fact that Dr. Chase doesn’t really grasp how to relate to younger kids (“Have you heard of this website called ‘Vine’?”), but more that it’s just painfully obvious that the two of them don’t really know where they stand with each other. 

Now, he knows that Frederick Chase doesn’t hate him. Objectively, he’s aware of the fact that, if it weren’t for him, Annabeth never would have reconnected with her father in the first place, and he kind of owes him for that. Also, Percy knows that he’s a pretty chill guy--a little scatterbrained, but chill. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make a good impression, though. Or that Dr. Chase thinks that Percy is smart enough for his daughter. Because, like, Percy isn’t smart enough for Annabeth--that much is obvious. Dr. Chase was courted by Athena. Percy barely made it out of high school calculus.

“Would you…” Dr. Chase hedges, plucking off his glasses and giving them a quick wipe with his shirtsleeve. “Would you like to see some of my current research?”

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.” 

At the very least, hopefully Dr. Chase will talk enough for the both of them, eating up time until Annabeth gets here.

A new spring in his step, Dr. Chase leads Percy to his study, where he’s got a setup worthy of Cabin Six: on his desk is a massive map of the Mediterranean, littered with miniatures of tanks, planes, and ships. Ringing the room are wall-hangings, depicting different types of planes, half of their structure in x-rays like people in an anatomy textbook, sandwiching the giant viking sword which hangs directly behind his chair. Every inch of floor space is occupied with a pile of books, some serving as additional desk space for mugs, notepads, spare toy soldiers, and, in one case, what looks like the leftovers of a handful of celestial bronze spearheads, melted down into shiny, useless nuggets. 

“You know I primarily study aviation,” Dr. Chase is saying, tidying up as he walks around the room, “but my colleagues and I are collaborating on an interdisciplinary re-evaluation of the entire North African theatre in World War II. It’s fascinating stuff; until very recently, they used to call it the ‘war without hate,’ given the lack of partisan roundups and, ah, ethnic clashes that you see in Europe--absolute garbage, of course. As if there weren’t civilians caught up in the fighting, too!” He chuckles, pleased at his own joke. Percy forces a laugh out of himself. “Anyway, with my prior experience studying the invasion of Sicily, I was brought on to assist in piecing the timeline together, working backwards from 1943.”

“Cool,” says Percy, filling the natural gap of conversation.

“Extremely! Operation Husky was a terrific endeavor of airborne, amphibious, and land-based combat.”

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

“Though, I must admit, I am having a little trouble retracing some of the ships.” Peering over his map, he leans down, fiddling with one of the ships. “You see this one here? The Palmer?”

Stepping up to the desk, Percy crouches down so the little toy ship is at eye level.

“Well, based on official records, the Palmer was supposed to have arrived at the rendezvous point at the same time as all the other ships, but ended up delayed by two days, and I can’t… quite…” He moves the ship again, frowning. “Figure out… why…” 

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks. 

Dr. Chase points to the map. “From Alexandria to Malta.” 

“They probably just hit a bad couple of currents,” Percy says, standing up. 

Tilting his head, Dr. Chase peers at him. “How do you mean?”

“If you’re going through the Cretan Passage, you’re going to hit all kinds of West-East currents which will push you backwards.” Snatching up a pencil from a nearby book stack, Percy lightly sketches on top of the map, tracing along the North African coast. “There are tons of overlapping currents in this area that push boats around in circles, especially around Sicily. That’s one of the reasons why so many historians figure that Homer was referring to the Strait of Messina when Odysseus goes through Scylla and Charybdis, here.” And he circles the strait, with a confident flourish.

When he pulls back, Dr. Chase is staring at him.

Percy blinks. “Um… sorry I drew on your map.”

“You--I have been trying to figure that out for weeks.”

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

But Dr. Chase just laughs. “You can make it up to me by helping me with these next.” Clearing crumbs off of southern France, he bends over, pencil in hand. “So, say you were trying to get from Marseilles to Tunis…” 

Forty-five minutes later, still embroiled in battle recreations of the Mediterranean theatre, they don’t hear Annabeth letting herself in with her key, not even registering her presence until Dr. Chase, grasping for a notebook, spots her leaning against the doorway. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Oh, Annabeth, dear! I’m sorry,” says Dr. Chase, going over to give her a hug. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can see that,” she says. “What are you guys doing?”

“Percy here has been assisting me with naval movements,” he says, proudly.

Lacing her fingers with his, Annabeth steps over to Percy, studying their battle map. “Really?”

“Oh yes, he’s been phenomenally helpful.”

She kisses his cheek, pleased. “Look at you, Mr. ‘Phenomenally Helpful.’”

“It was pretty fun,” he admits, warm all over.

“I’d bet. Although, I guess this means we should probably order in for dinner…?”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dr. Chase smiles. “Yes, I suppose we should. Does pizza sound all right to you two?”

“Let me take care of it,” she says, slipping from Percy’s side. “You guys looked like you were in the middle of something. Extra olives, dad?”

“Don’t forget--”

“And anchovies, Percy, I know.” She rolls her eyes, taking out her phone.

Rather than the three of them move into the kitchen, Annabeth ends up bringing the pizza in with her, because of course she has opinions she’d like to share about the Allies’ naval movements. 

“You know, Percy,” says Dr. Chase, “I must say, you have a real knack for this kind of thing. Have you thought about what you might major in yet?”

Ah, the million drachmae question. “Not yet,” he says, fiddling with a pencil. “I figured I’d get through my gen eds first and then see which one I hated the least.” 

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

“Specifically maritime history, I suppose. Your predisposition to sailing and ocean currents would be a huge asset to your research.”

“But--wouldn’t history have, like, a metric ton of required reading? I’m not really sure that’s my area.” He has a daughter with dyslexia and ADHD; surely he’d understand Percy’s hesitation.

But he just shakes his head. “Graduate programs these days are very favorable towards interdisciplinary methodology, I sincerely doubt you’d have to barricade yourself in the library. And recently there’s been a significant push to make the field more accessible to students with disabilities, including things like digitization, screen reading for people with vision impairments, and even restructuring programs all together so that students no longer have to memorize the Encyclopedia Britannica in order to pass their general exams.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, Dr. Chase,” Percy says, “But history class isn’t like talking over naval movements with you.” He thought back to the paper that had lowkey been haunting his dreams. “Like, in my classical history survey, I can’t just… talk about currents and battle plans. I have to come up with a topic on my own, and then write about that.” 

“Surely something involving Roman naval movements would be well within your skill set. You have a second sense about these things,” he chuckles, “clearly.”

Percy glances towards Annabeth, hoping she’ll back him up, but she looks thoughtful. Considering. Like she’s actually thinking about her dad’s proposal. “I can’t just choose something in naval history.”

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?” 

If it was anything like his afternoon with Dr. Chase, it might even be fun. And school isn’t supposed to be fun. 

He repeats that thought to Annabeth as they drive home. “School isn’t supposed to be fun.” 

“No,” Annabeth agrees, “but I don’t know… I like my intro art history class way better than anything we ever did in high school because I actually care about it. Maybe if you write about stuff you’re good at, like my dad suggested, you’ll like it more.” 

The idea follows him all the way to bed, where he’s still mulling it over at 2 in the morning. Before he can chicken out, he grabs his phone, shooting off a quick email to his professor with his potential paper topic, then rolls over, eventually falling asleep.

By morning, he has a response. 

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

With shaking hands, Percy calls his mom. “Yes?” 

“Hey mom.”

“Percy?” He hears her perk up, almost visualizing her sitting up in her chair. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Mom instincts. They can always tell when something is different. His heart throbs in his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, smiling stretching across his face. “It’s just--I got my paper back.” 

Percy had ended up writing his paper about the Roman navy movements in the Battle of the Aegates in 241 BC. It was probably the most fun he’s ever had on a school assignment, or at least the most fun he’d ever had writing a paper. 

“And?” She sounds expectant, hopeful. His mom has always had such faith in him, even with thirteen years of schooling to prove her otherwise. 

He looks back at his email, just to make sure he’s reading it right. “I got an A.”

She gasps. He can hear the scrape of the chair as she stands up. “Percy, that’s wonderful!” 

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

He smiles into his fist, inordinately pleased. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so happy for you!”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I’m so proud of you, Percy.” Her voice is soft now, like twilights on the beach with blue marshmallows. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this. You should be very proud, too.”

“I am.” And he is, weirdly enough. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I can.” His mom must be grinning, her eyes sparkling. “I always knew you could do it.”

“Sally?” He hears in the background, muffled. “Is that Percy?”

“Paul, Percy got an A on his Roman history paper!”

A second voice crowds its way in, equally excited. “An A? That’s great, kiddo! Congratulations.”

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

“I bet that feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“Well, it is very well-deserved,” says Paul. “That was some great work you did. I could tell how passionate you were about your topic just from your first sentence.”

“Thank you.” Maybe he should be worried about all this praise going to his head, but damn, is it nice. “Listen, I have to go get started on dinner, but I just wanted to give you a call.”

“Of course,” says his mom. “I want to hear from you more, okay? Tell me more good news! Like when are you and Annabeth going to--”

“I’m working on it, okay?” says Percy, smiling even more broadly. “I’ll keep you posted, promise.”

She laughs, tinny and happy. “You’d better. Congratulations again, sweetheart.”

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

And he hangs up, puts his phone down on the table, tilts his head back, and sighs, full, happy, a release. 

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all. 

2)

“You don’t have to do this,” Frank says, hushed. “All you have to do is walk away.”

Five Greek Fire bombs, cloudy yellow, are lined up on the table in front of him, neatly laid out in front of five twenties. From the side, Frank stares him down, surrounded by an army of morbidly curious Romans. Someone turned off the music and turned on the lights a while ago, stopping the party in its tracks, every eye on Percy and his opponent. Figures, his first college party all year and he causes a scene. 

Percy grips the edge of the table. “He insulted the Mets,” he says for the millionth time. “I can’t let that shit stand.”

Frank sighs. “Annabeth?” he asks, hoping to stop this nonsense.

Turning to his side, Percy sees his girlfriend, two drinks in, her cheeks lightly flushed, but solid as she stands beside him, supporting him. Her eyes are hard, fierce, the warrior gaze of Athena all but leaping out of her. “Do it,” she says. 

William, the sour-faced Roman legacy of Juventus, scowls. “A hundred bucks on the table. Sixty seconds. No throwing them back up.”

“Deal.”

“Frank,” Annabeth calls. “Start the clock.”

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds out his phone, thumb primed, hovering over the screen. “On your marks, in three… two… one…” 

He hits zero, and Percy grabs a shot glass. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brings it to his lips, and throws it back.

It’s… not what he expected.

The tequila is awful--no getting around that. Even to Percy’s untrained taste buds, having really only ever had some of Gabe’s sour beer (under duress) and some of the Demeter cabin’s strawberry wine (on his eighteenth birthday, a celebration for actually getting to graduate high school), he can tell it’s cheap, rank, unrefined shit, like he’s drinking straight toilet cleaner. But the garum, the weird Roman condiment that the shot is mixed with, the one that Percy had never heard of before, it’s… it almost tastes like the fish sauce that comes with the pork and rice noodles from the Vietnamese place down the corner of his mom’s apartment, only less… fishy? Yeah. Less fishy.

It’s a weird taste. It’s not bad, by any means, it just--straight up, it just tastes like saltwater. Like the sea. 

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

He looks at William, and grins. “You are so fucked.”

The assembled Romans cheer, spectators at a gladiator show, as Percy knocks back the rest of the Greek Fire bombs, one after another, clearing them all in under thirty seconds. Annabeth swipes up the cash, shrieking as she throws her arms around Percy. William wanders off, red-faced and glaring, as whoever turned the music off before flips it back on, the night, and the party, saved.

Silly Percy. He should have known what was coming next.

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” he shouts at Annabeth over the loud music.

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

“Seriously,” he slurs, tipping forward on his feet. “You could be a model.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Remember when we were fourteen,” he yells, bracing himself against the wall, “and you got kidnapped by that monster?” Slightly soberer but still a little flushed, she bites her lip, nodding. “Well, I followed the rescue party--I told you that, that I snuck out of camp to follow the rescue party? Right?” 

“You did.”

He takes a sip of water, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Feels goofy as fuck. “We got hijacked by Aphrodite halfway through, and when I saw her, I thought--I thought, ‘Holy shit, she looks a little like Annabeth.’”

Her brows shoot up, smile pulling at her lips. “Really?”

He nods. “Totally! But you’re way, way p--” 

Still smiling, she silences him with a kiss, the lingering taste of hard cider on her tongue. “I appreciate it,” she murmurs, grinning, “but you probably shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Gross.”

From out of nowhere, like he always does, the weasley little shit, Nico di Angelo is suddenly in their space, looking surly and emo as ever, red solo cup in his left hand. “Nico!” Percy crows, grabbing for him and missing. “How’s my favorite cousin?!”

Ducking his wildly swinging limbs, Nico grimaces in the way that Percy has to come to recognize as his attempt at a smile. “Better’n you,” he says, a little wobbly. “What’s up with him?” he directs towards Annabeth.

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“What!” Percy pouts. “He insulted the Mets.”

“Aren’t you s’posed to be, like…” Nico snaps his fingers, words momentarily escaping him. “A--representation… person? For the Greeks?”

Percy waves his hand, hitting the wall. “Fuck that. The Greeks can handle themselves. The Mets are sacred!”

“Are you with anyone?” Annabeth asks, momentarily taking up Percy’s usual role of concerned parent friend while he is drunk off his ass. Theoi, he loves this girl so much. 

Nico shakes his head. “No, but Will and I are staying with--”

A thought suddenly blooms in Percy’s tequila-soaked brain. “Nico!” He shouts.

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

Percy pushes himself off of the wall, outstretched arms managing to box Nico in, falling on his shoulders and trapping him. He’s still a short, skinny little shit, the fuck, when are his Big Three genes going to kick in? “I need to talk to you about the thing.”

“The what?”

“The thing! The--the,” then he leans in, scream-whispering over the pounding bassline. “The thing.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“You know, it’s…” Percy licks his lips, language escaping him for a hot second. “Round. Metal. Jewelry thing.”

A beat, then Nico’s eyes widen. “Oh, that thing.”

“Yes, that thing!” Pulling back, he pulls Nico towards him, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a half-headlock. Annabeth watches, bemused, lips pursed as she tries not to smile. “I need to borrow Nico for a sec,” he says, words spilling out of him. “Back soon. Later. Soon.”

Her eyes crinkle, grey sparkling. She’s so fucking pretty. “Drink your water.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then together, like some three-legged beast, the two boys lurch away deeper into the party, Nico leading them towards the kitchen. “Where’re you taking me?” Percy slurs. “‘M I being kidnapped again?”

“If I’m helping you plan out this stupid proposal,” he grumbles, pouring himself more vodka, “then I need to be less sober.”

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

“Where’s Annabeth?” Percy mumbles, looking back towards the house. The party is still raging, someone’s muffled Spotify playlist making a real racket, the greatest hits of ABBA still bouncing around his skull.

“Simp.” Nico, swaying a little, tries to stand up from his kneeling position, only to fall heavily back down on his knees. “She’s right where you left her.”

Discussing Percy's proposal plan had led to more drinking. More drinking had led to the two of them discussing their shared preference for blondes. (“Malcolm is pretty cute,” Nico admitted, flushing, and Percy almost screamed, “Isn’t he?! Sometimes I think about Annabeth with short hair looking like Malcolm and I almost start crying because she’d be so cute!”) Which then led to even more drinking. Which then led to general bitching about their lives, about Percy's hard-ass classics professor Dr. Bauer who he actually really liked but just pushed him so hard and expected so much of him, and Nico's half-brother Zagreus who was causing some family drama by picking fights with Hades all the time and also hooking up with both Thanatos AND the fury Megaera, which, ew, which then led to Percy inhaling his drink, nearly choking to death on unspecified college punch, Nico laughing at him all the while, as he had the most incredible idea.

"Nico!" He shouted, crushing the red solo cup. "Can you resurrect Homer for me?"

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

"Seriously! I need to ask him something for my paper."

"Percy." Nico gazed at him, all the power of the Ghost King boring into his soul, deep and haunting. Percy stifled a burp. "You're a fucking genius."

Which is how they found themselves around a shallow hole they had dug in the backyard, a large bottle of Pepsi originally intended as a mixer pilfered from the kitchen along with two slices of pepperoni pizza dumped on the grass beside them.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," he says, uneasy even through his drunken haze.

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

“Fuck you, I’m doing it.” With all the force of a tiny, angry kitten, he snatches up the Pepsi bottle, wrestling with the twist cap for a good ten seconds. “I wanna give that bitch a piece of my mind for making me cry in school.”

Percy looks at him sideways. “Hector killing Patroclus got you, too?”

He snorts. “Fuck no. Achilles didn’t pay his dues to the dead.”

“Seriously?”

The cap pops off, and Nico tips the bottle over, dumping flat, lukewarm soda into the shallow hole. “It’s the ultimate dishonor!”

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

“Let the dead taste again,” Nico mutters. “Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the guy who’s related to both horses and water.”

“I’m not related to water, I just control it.” 

The dirt turns black, dead soil mixed with sticky sugar water. Nico drops in the pizza, and begins to chant, that same ancient Greek that Percy heard in a dream once, talking of death and memories and returning from the grave or whatever. It’s still creepy as shit. 

Despite the warm California night, the air thickens with chilly fog. Silence, impenetrable, surrounds them, blocking out the noises of the party. From the earth, blueish, vaguely person-shaped figures begin to form, like thunderous clouds before a storm. “Which one is Homer?” he asks, hushed.

“Shh!” Nico hisses. 

Like little wells of gravity, the fog begins to coalesce. On one of them, Percy can almost make out, like, fingers. “Um, Mr. Homer? Sir?”

The figure doesn’t say anything. It lowers its mouth, drinking the soda out of the dirt. When it raises its head, Percy can see it more clearly, curly hair and milky white eyes and a straight nose. It--he?--seems a little more solid than your average run-of-the-mill ghost.

Nico frowns, eyes closed, concentrating. “What’s your name?” he mumbles. 

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

It--there’s a sound, like hissing, only it’s not coming from the mouth, Percy thinks. It sounds like it’s coming from the earth. “Nico?” he asks. “You good?”

The ghost opens its mouth again, moaning, raising its hands. Weakly, unsteadily, it stumbles forward on feeble legs, tripping over the shallow hole in the dirt.

“Nico?” he asks again, a little more forcefully. “What’s going on, dude?”

Nico blinks, slowly, mouth hanging open a little. “Uh.”

The… thing… raises itself up on its hands? He guesses, and knees, crawling its way over towards them.

Now, Percy may be drunk off his ass, but he has seen enough movies to know exactly what the fuck is up.

Moving with a speed he didn’t quite think was possible right about now, he grabs Nico’s wrist, and pulls him up, dragging him along as he lurches towards the house. “Percy…” Nico moans, stumbling over a rock. “I think I fucked up.”

“You think?” Percy wrenches the door open, tossing Nico inside, before following in after, throwing himself against the door. 

Nico groans, throwing his arms over his face. “Dio santo, my head.”

“Forget your head,” he says, “did we just raise a Homer zombie?!”

Panting, Nico stares up at him, sprawled on the floor of the house. “Oops.”

Percy thunks his head against the door. He does not have nearly enough mental capacity to deal with this right now.

But, he thinks ruefully, at least it’s just one. Even drunk, he’s pretty sure he can handle one zombie.

Nico’s eyes widen. 

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

Turning around slowly, he pulls aside the little curtain on the window. “What?” Nico asks. “What do you see?”

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

Slithering up behind, Nico peers over his shoulder. “That’s… not great.”

“Nico,” Percy says, eyeing the horde which slowly shambles closer, half-decayed bodies in togas bumping into each other, almost identical to the drunk college students inside, as the song changes, once again, to ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight).’ “Please go get Frank and Annabeth.”

The following Monday, an announcement is sent out to the entire campus: Per new department guidelines, students may not utilize the ambassador of Pluto to interview the dead for academic purposes.

3)

Percy attempts to flatten his hair. He readjusts his shirt. He almost wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, before he realizes what he’s doing, and clenches them instead, nails digging into his palms. He turns to Annabeth. “Do I look okay?”

“Ooh, ‘Mapping Funerary Monuments in the Periphery of Imperial Rome.’”

“Annabeth.”

She looks up from her brochure. “Relax, seaweed brain, you look fine. You look better than most people here.”

“That’s because I bring down the average age of presenters by about thirty years,” he hisses, eyes darting about at the milling mass of attendees, all packed into the hotel ballroom. 

Dr. Bauer had alternately convinced/pressured/guilttripped him into attending this year’s annual conference for the Society of Classical Studies to talk about the research he’d been doing with her. This year, the conference was held in San Francisco, so at the very least Percy didn’t have to spend five hours stressing about his poster presentation while simultaneously up in the air. But now that he’s here, in the ballroom, surrounded by strangers who know way more about this subject than he does, who are actually smart and probably never nearly flunked out of school or got kicked out or--

“Hey.” Annabeth takes his hand. “I know that look. You deserve to be here just as much as any of them.”

“Do I? I feel like any moment someone is going to come over and throw me out for trespassing.” He vaguely recalls something similar happening to him as a kid after he had ducked into the lobby of a semi-nice hotel to dodge what he had thought, at the time, was just a weird stalker, but had later realized had only had one eye. In any case, the hotel security guard had practically picked him up by the scruff of his neck, tossing him back out into the street. 

“That’s just your imposter syndrome talking,” she reassures him. “No one is going to throw you out.”

He sure as shit hopes so. It would be a shame to have done all this work for nothing. 

Glancing back at his poster, Percy can’t help but feel… good. Accomplished. Proud. About a school assignment, of all things. 

His poster traces the development of the prow from the Greek penteconter, to the Roman liburna, and finally to the Byzantine dromon, looking at artistic depictions in history. Percy had picked the topic himself, spending hours in the library reading, writing, and hand-drawing cross-sections of the ships on the poster board when the images he had gotten from the Cambridge University library had been too small. It had been grueling, frustrating work, but fun, too. And not nearly as much reading as he had feared.

Dr. Chase proofread it for him. Dr. Bauer signed off on it. And Annabeth had taken one look at it, smiled, then kissed his cheek.

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

Though now he’s kind of torn between showing it off and hiding it away before one of these attendees figures out that he doesn’t belong.

He rocks back and forth and his feet, pursing his lips, randomly clicking his tongue. Annabeth nudges him. “Your ADHD is showing.”

That’s when, finally, one of the attendees steps up to his poster. He certainly has the look of a professor, in a black cable knit sweater with grey, curly hair and a receding hairline, thin, rimless glasses perched on his nose. He squints at Percy’s poster, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Interesting,” he murmurs, in a thick German accent. “Very interesting. This is yours?”

“Um.” He glances at Annabeth, who is frowning at the brochure, silently sounding out words that she can’t read. “Yep. All mine.”

“Very interesting.” He leans in closer, tilting his head. “So you agree with Pryor and Jeffreys about the skeleton-first construction, then?”

Percy blinks. Pryor and Jeffreys had written The Age of the Dromon, arguing that the ram, which had been a key feature of Roman liburnians, had gone away in ancient ship construction because of developments in how they built the hull. Right. “Yes,” he says. “The skeleton-first construction is a lot stronger than the, um,” shit, what was the name for this, Leo had only told him about a million times--oh! “Mortise-and-tenon!” He nearly shrieks. “The mortise-and-tenon method. It, um, it wears out a lot more quickly than the frame, so… yeah.” He clears his throat.

He nods. “Very interesting.” 

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else? 

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Who are you working with?” 

“Um, June Bauer?” He winces at the accidental question. 

He frowns. “I’m not familiar with her work. Where does she teach?” 

What a loaded question. “Uh… New Rome University.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s--she used to teach at Northwestern, if that helps. Um, retired,” Percy says.

The frown stays, but at least he doesn’t ask any more questions. “Hmm. Well, this is excellent research, nonetheless. I look forward to reading your dissertation.” Then, distracted by something else, he wanders off, chin still attached to his hand. 

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks. 

Percy shrugs. “Beats me. Also, what’s a dissertation?”

“It’s like a senior thesis, but, like, five hundred pages long.”

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.” 

“Maybe later,” Annabeth smirks. “It looks like you’ve got company.”

Sure enough, a smallish group of four people are approaching, led by Dr. Chase, making a beeline straight for them. “Here we are,” Dr. Chase says, gesturing. “This is the project I was telling you about. Percy, would you mind going over your poster for us?”

“No problem, Dr. C,” says Percy, smiling his least-grimace-y smile. 

As one, the adults all turn to look at him, faces politely blank, expectant.

Percy swallows. “So,” he begins, “um, this research is about the development of ship construction in the Roman empire…”

He trips up on some of the words, and at one point, he sees Dr. Chase squint in the way that usually means that Percy is speaking too fast, but all in all, he doesn’t totally fall flat on his face. His audience looks engaged, nodding along as Percy moves from point to point, and no one accuses him of being a giant fraud, which is pretty nice. 

At one point, Percy turns to the poster to indicate a specific point on his ship diagrams. When he turns back, his audience has suddenly multiplied, four people turning into a whole goddamn crowd. Each person gives him their undivided attention almost unblinking.

His mouth goes dry. “Um…” 

Dr. Chase, bless him, saves his ass once again. “Would mind starting again from the beginning, Percy?” he asks, a little bemused himself at the amount of people that had suddenly appeared. 

Silence stretches on for a moment, the muffled noise of the rest of the conference like a dull roar in his ear. 

Annabeth, behind him, coughs. 

“S-sure. No problem.” 

Swallowing, he closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose. Why, oh why did he let Dr. Bauer talk him into doing this again?

He pictures the tides of Long Island Sound, gentle and rocking, unhurried and unbothered, tries to match his breathing to them. When he opens his eyes, unfortunately, the crowd hasn’t disappeared. Everyone is still staring at him. 

But Annabeth stands next to her dad, flashing him a big smile and two huge thumbs up.

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

“Okay,” he says. “So, about the middle of the first millennium CE, ship construction went through a couple of major developments…”

This time goes much, much more smoothly. He’s not sure what it is--though it’s probably Annabeth, her face fixed in a gentle smile as she watches him speak. Gods, what did he do in a past life to deserve someone as amazing as his girlfriend? 

That’s the only reason he can do this. Hell, that’s the only reason he even thought to do this. If he didn’t have Annabeth there, encouraging him, cheering him on, he never would have had the confidence to put himself out there like this. She’s there to pick him up when he doubts himself, there to listen when he can’t explain himself, there to give him feedback when he needs to practice. 

She makes him feel so strong. She makes him feel like he can take on the world--or at the very least, that he can impress a handful of academics.

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far. 

“Excuse me,” says a nasally, pinched looking older British guy, face lined as though he lived his life in a state of perpetual squinting. “I find your conclusions to be suspect--wouldn’t the frame method be more susceptible to breaking than the mortise-and-tenon?”

Well, most of them, anyway.

Percy shakes his head. “You’d think, but no. If you look at the study by Steffy, you’ll see that the three-finned ram from the Athlit wreck was designed specifically to break the mortise-and-tenon hull by causing the planks to flex, so that they’d dislodge the joinerys right next to them. A blow like that can cause the wood to split right down the middle.” A blow like that had sunk Sherman Yang’s ship when they tested it out on the lake at camp last summer, the naiads practically hurling him out of the water so quickly Percy didn’t even have to dive in to save him.

“How were you able to do these strength tests?” asks another listener, an older woman with a thick Hungarian accent.

“Hands-on battle simulations,” Percy replies, easily. “We took our models and tested them in as accurate a simulation as we could make.”

“And how big were these models?” 

Percy holds his hands apart, a vague, entirely inaccurate estimate. “About thirty meters, give or take.”

Her eyes widen. “How on earth did you get your hands on such a large ship?”

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

He had forgotten--most people didn’t have dads who could summon shipwrecks from the bottom of the sea, dropping them off at Camp Half-Blood with nothing but a sand dollar and one or two exhausted, pissed off hippocampi who had had to drag them all the way there.

“Um,” he stammers, licking his lips, thinking fast--c’mon, Percy, think! “I…” He swallows, panicking. “I… b… built one.”

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

Simultaneously, every mouth in the crowd drops--in shock, outrage, and even excitement. “You built one?!” the woman yelps. 

Oops. “I had help,” Percy says, quickly. 

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

“Where?” The first man asks, his bushy brows flying above the rim of his glasses.

“At my… summer camp…” 

Dr. Chase sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I mean,” Percy chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, trying not to sweat too obviously, “it was either that or lanyards, am I right?”

Dr. Chase, thank Athena, raises his hand, ready to step in. “What Percy means to say, I believe,” he says, attempting to draw their attention, “is that--”

“That’s amazing!” says another woman, probably a grad student attendee based on the fact that she’s wearing jeans. “Do you have pictures?”

Oh this is not good. “Um, not--not on me, but--”

“I do.” Annabeth takes out her phone, holding it up to the person next to her.

Percy blinks. “You do?” He doesn’t remember her taking any pictures.

She shoots him a look, two parts exasperated and one part “shut up and let me handle this,” with just a dash of fondness in the mix. Pointedly, she looks at him, eyebrows raised, indicating that he should continue.

Oh. She’s using Mist. And he needs to keep their attention on him so that they buy it. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Any more questions?” 

His audience placated for now, passing around Annabeth’s phone, he manages to finish up his presentation. After fielding a few more questions, people start to peel off, distracted by other posters and presenters in the ballroom. When everyone has finally wandered away, Dr. Chase comes up and pats Percy’s shoulder awkwardly. “Nice work,” he says, and he seems like he means it. “A little touch-and-go there for a while, hm?”

“A little.”

He chuckles. “Still, you should be proud. I don’t know how many undergraduates would be able to handle that kind of pressure.”

“I mean,” Percy says, shrugging a shoulder, “it’s about on par with leading an army. Maybe a little less.” Honestly, maybe even a little more stressful. If a monster had decided to attack the convention center and interrupt his presentation, he probably would have been relieved.

He’d been worried for a moment that he’d undone all those years of work in making Annabeth’s dad like him. And that he’d be charged with some sort of academic fraud, for the whole “I have a boat” thing without proof. Thank the gods for Annabeth, as always.

She’s looking at him now through narrowed eyes. She at least can’t be surprised--that was far from the dumbest thing she’s ever seen him do. At least his “I spent most of my time at magic greek mythology summer camp” covers are normally better than hers. As someone who spent his formative years in the real world, he’s usually pretty good at keeping the demigod thing under wraps. 

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand. She pulls him off, through the dispersing crowd, lacing their fingers together, sweet and intimate, out of the hall and then down another one, and through a smaller corridor. Bringing them up to a little door, with a shake of her wrist, she pulls out her Estruscan keyring bracelet. About several of the keys have found themselves used in various misadventures, vanishing once their purpose is fulfilled, but her favorite key is still there. And, just like a clever child of Hermes, it can pick just about any lock. 

Inside is just an empty room, a little staging area surrounded by tiered desks going up, no more or less remarkable than any of the other conference rooms they’d visited before. 

“What--?” His question is cut off by Annabeth’s mouth on his. 

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

It's a while before they separate again. “You’re so good at this,” she tells him, unbuttoning his shirt.

He runs his hands along the lines of her flanks. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he grins. He’d practice kissing her all day long if he could. 

She smiles, shaking her head. “No, not this,” though she does lean in for another kiss, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth. “I know you’re good at this.” They break away, Percy pulling her shirt over her head, Annabeth shucking off his. “But history. Presenting.” She runs a finger over his chest, kissing his cheek, headed towards the sensitive spot on his jaw. “Gods, you’re so smart.” 

Something about the praise vibrates through his chest. She doesn’t sound surprised, or anything, just--turned on.

“You had all those crusty academics eating out of your hand. Just, so impressed by you, knowing you know way more than they do about naval history. When you were explaining the--” Her compliment is cut off with a moan, as he leans down and starts sucking on her throat. Her blouse has a high neck, so he feels no guilt for using his teeth.  

“Watching you today, gods.” Her breath is labored as his fingers play at the waistline of her skirt. “And then thinking of you defending your dissertation.” He bites at her jugular, and she lets out a long, deep moan. 

“I don’t know what that means.” Do academics fight each other? Like, with weapons? He’s pretty sure he can take most of the people he met today. 

“It means you get to show off how smart you are,” Annabeth says, grasping his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. “I was born the day my dad defended his. Gods, it's going to be amazing to watch you go.” She yanks his belt out of his pants, tossing it to the floor. 

They miss the panel on recent translation efforts. But Percy can’t say he minds one bit. 

And when Annabeth presents him with a positive pregnancy test two months later, Percy definitely knows he made the right decision. 

4) 

He almost doesn’t realize he’s having a dream-vision at first.

It has been literal years since he’s had a demigod dream. Hell, it’s been a long while since he’s had a dream, period--being a new dad to a one-and-a-half-year-old saps too much of his energy to even think about dreaming. Once Junie is put to bed, when he’s out, he is fucking out, and he does not have the brainpower to spare to manifest any messed up subconscious fears.

Which is why when he blinks open his eyes, taking in the too-bright colors of the Parthenon and the gleaming shine of the bronze statues which are somehow all looking at him--also, you know, how the Parthenon is complete, standing as it did thousands of years ago, and not crumbled into ruins--he knows, immediately, he is being contacted by a god.

And only one god in particular would bring him to Athens.

Without even checking, he heaves himself up off the ground, folding into a kneel. “My lady Athena,” he says, “can I ask for what quest you’ve brought me here?”

“Impertinent as ever, Percy Jackson,” rumbles the goddess, but Percy doesn’t think he can sense any ill will towards him. He hopes, anyway. “Perhaps I have summoned you here for a social visit.”

“Perhaps,” he says, choosing his next words as carefully as possible. “But I assume you have too much to worry about to randomly check up on your daughter’s boyfriend.”

He lifts his head, catching her expression--stoic as always, but maybe with just the barest hint of a smile. “You assume correctly. You have become, contrary to my initial expectations, very wise in the time that I have known you.”

“Thank you.” He knows better than to do anything but accept the compliment for what it is.

“I have observed your work as a scholar in recent years, and I must say that I am surprised, yet pleased, that you have chosen to pursue such a path. I had not thought you to be suited for a world of old men and dusty papers.”

He grits his teeth. Don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait--

“I understand, as well, that though you and my daughter have,” and here her careful composition cracks, just the slightest, the tiny lift of her lips falling, “made a child together.”

Percy swallows. He figured, you know, in the abstract, that Athena would know about Junie, but hearing her say it out loud is… well, he’s just glad that Dr. Chase has always liked him. “Yes, my lady.”

“It is customary in your time to marry prior to childbirth, is it not?”

“It is.” Oh, fuck, is she going to smite him for that? “I--that is to say, we, Annabeth and I, we, um, we definitely want to get married, but, Annabeth kind of…” 

He trails off. He can’t tell Athena, goddess of war, that his daughter pissed off the queen of heaven! And if he does, he definitely can’t imply that it was because she was being too stubborn!

“I know well of my daughter’s history with my father’s wife,” Athena says, smoothly. “I come to you now with an offer of peace.”

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

Raising one graceful arm, Athena turns, indicating the structure behind her. “Look upon my temple,” she intones. The white marble shines even more powerfully against the blue and red paint, intricate scenes and figures ringing the top of the columns. “In the time of Pericles, it was built to commemorate the victory of Hellas over the armies of Xerxes the Great. It was to be the shining beacon of our world, a triumph of our power and influence over the race of men.”

The race of men might have had something to say about that, he thinks to himself.

“But it was not to be,” Athena says, mournfully. “As our influence waned, so too did our temple, until its might was all but forgotten.” 

Before his eyes, the paint fades away, ceilings and columns collapsing, the destruction of the Parthenon playing out in front of him. 

“Some two hundred years ago,” she says, her voice taking on a darker, more dangerous tone, “a grave insult was paid to the ruins of my ancient sanctuary.” Like curtains falling on a stage, darkness swallowed up the structure, swift and impenetrable. “Many treasures were taken from my temple, stolen, by foolish, greedy men, spirited away far to the north, where they have languished in unworthy hands.”

He narrows his eyes. She can’t possibly be talking about--

Athena turns back to him, her eyes blazing, somehow twice as tall. “Retrieve my treasures,” she commands, war personified, “return the prizes of Athens to their rightful place, and I shall give you my support against my father’s wife.”

“You…” Percy leans back on his haunches, staring dumbfounded up at the goddess. “You don’t happen to mean the Parthenon Marbles, do you?”

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

“The same,” she says, imperious as ever.

Fantastic. “Welp,” Percy says, slapping his thighs, scrambling up. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to decline. Nice seeing you, by the way. I’ll tell Annabeth you stopped by.”

Her sharp gazes pierces him, full of fury. “You dare to refuse my support?”

He snorts. “When it means trying to get the UK to give the marbles back, absolutely. Do you know how stubborn they are about this?”

Lightning flashes behind her, nearly blinding him. “You will regret this,” Athena says, dark and foreboding. “You may have your father’s goodwill, but the queen of Olympus is clever and cunning, her displeasure swift and merciless.”

But Percy still shakes his head. “When Annabeth and I get married,” and it’s definitely a ‘when,’ it’s just a matter of when precisely, like after Junie can sleep through the night maybe, “I’d rather take my chances with Hera than try and untangle that particular can of olives.”

A growl, and a snap of her fingers, and Athena disappears.

With a start, Percy wakes up. Junie had gotten her chubby little hands around his nose, and had decided to pull.

“Ow, ow, Junie, hey,” he squawks, attempting to dislodge her grip from his face. “Hey, I’m awake, it’s okay.”

She laughs, illegally adorable, her grey eyes sparkling, squeezing harder. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs along with her. “You got my nose, you win.”

As if she were waiting for him to admit defeat, she lets go, clapping her pudgy toddler hands together. 

“That’s right,” he picks her up, raising her above his head. “Barely sixteen months old and you already know how to take me down, don’t you? Just like your mommy.”

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

Junie really is the best parts of both of them. She’s got her daddy’s hair but her mommy’s brain, quick and sharp and painfully adorable. She’s already learning to read Greek, Annabeth sitting her in her lap and sounding out vowels together, Annabeth taking her finger and tracing it over the letter shapes. This kid absorbs information like a sponge, which Percy can only assume is the natural conclusion of taking a son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena and mixing their DNA together. 

Thinking about his dream, he frowns. “What do you think, Junie,” he asks his toddler. “Should I take her up on her offer?”

The baby says nothing.

“I mean,” he tilts his head, “Greece has been trying to get the marbles back for two hundred years. UNESCO has top lawyers on this. What does Athena think I can do?”

Junie blinks at him.

“On the other hand, I do really love your mom,” he admits, “and I really want to marry her. You’d like that, right? To have your parents be married?”

There’s no way she can understand what he’s saying, but she moves her head like she’s nodding. Or maybe she does understand. She is Annabeth’s daughter after all. 

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

Several months, a college graduation, and one relocation to Boston later, Percy growls, hurling his pencil at the wall. Mother fucker. Fuck the British Museum, fuck his tiny laptop screen, and fuck the Italian prick who decided to have the least ADHD-friendly handwriting of all time. 

Why the hell is he doing this again? Like, seriously. Why in all of Hades is he, an inexperienced, snot-nosed, first year master’s student deciding to tackle the return of the fucking Parthenon marbles of all things. Like, what is wrong with him? 

Roughly scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Percy stands up. He has to go for a walk, clear his head, or he might actually explode. 

Then he catches a glimpse of the photo pinned to the fridge.

Percy’s mom had taken it, a candid of Percy and Annabeth and Junie on a sunny day in Central Park. There, in perfect 1080p, Junie is laughing, at what he can’t even remember, her pudgy fists yanking on Percy’s hair, while her mother and the love of his life does nothing to extricate Percy from her grip, her face screwed up so hard she had tears in her eyes. 

Percy had talked a lot of shit to the goddess of war’s face, but truth be told… Hera still terrifies him a little. Which, he assumes, was her goal all along, but it would be nice to marry Annabeth without fear of something going terribly wrong--or, gods forbid, something happening to Junie. That simply was not a risk he was willing to take. Percy is content to spend the rest of his days as Annabeth’s life-partner and roommate, if it means that the queen of the heavens won’t have a reason to take out her issues on his children.

Even if the engagement ring in the back of the pantry is gathering dust. 

Sunlight, wan but warm, falls in from the window, landing perfectly on his pile of open books. “I know, I know,” he growls, speaking to the air, rubbing his face so it doesn’t get stuck in a permanent glare. “I just--I just need a few minutes, okay? Let me go down the block and get a coffee or something. Two minutes, Lady Athena.”

The light fades. Percy takes that as an acquiescence, angrily scribbling a note. He’s not sure when Annabeth and Junie will be back, but even angry as he is, he doesn’t want to worry them.

Snatching up his jacket, he slams the door shut, stomping out of his apartment building and down the streets of Boston. He must be accidentally doing his wolf stare, because people are practically flinging themselves out of his path as he hurtles down the sidewalk. Literally--some girl is walking her husky, and the poor dog actually whimpers, cowering as Percy rounds the corner. 

Coming to a stop, Percy slaps his hands over his face, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. 

He might be in over his head a little.

Sighing, he looks to his right. He’s standing outside of a Starbucks. 

Percy doesn’t drink coffee, Annabeth does. And he knows exactly how much of a coffee snob his girlfriend is. Starbucks? Overpriced, overrated, over-sweetened garbage.

He pushes the door open, sliding up to the counter. “I’ll take a… iced mocha, I guess,” he says. “Large.”

“No problem,” chirps the barista. “I’ll have that out for you in a minute.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

One thing Starbucks does have going for it, though, are really good napkins for doodling.

Slumping down in his uncomfortable metal chair, elbows resting on the hard, faux-wood table, Percy takes out his pen, and doodles aimlessly on the brown napkins. No, not that pen. Just because it can write doesn’t mean that Percy wants to risk slicing his face open every time he has a stray idea. Completely out of the blue, Annabeth had gotten him a nice set of pens, and ever since then, Percy always keeps one on him. Now, if he could just remember to use the little notebook she had gotten him, too.

Percy is not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn’t have an image in mind, just lets his pen move, drawing endless chains of triangles and stars, nebulous shapes which form themselves into Greek letters. After he catches himself writing γλαυκῶπις for the eighth time in a row, he sighs, dropping his pen, and picks up the cup, taking a sip.

Yuck. At least the chocolate outweighs the coffee taste a little.

Gods, and their cups are always, like, drenched from condensation--not that Percy can feel it, but there’s practically a whole other drink on the outside of the plastic, dripping all over Percy’s pile of doodle napkins. That must be why they give out so many.

Grumbling, he mops up the mess, ink smudged into a blue-brown slurry.

He stops. 

He squints at one of his doodles. 

Not that anyone else could tell, but Percy had apparently been trying to recreate the signature of Ottoman sultan Selim III, the guy who had supposedly authorized the Earl of Elgin to take the Parthenon Marbles. Percy had been staring at copies of his signature all damn day, trying to tell if it had been forged or copied, but classical Arabic was just so far beyond anything he could even begin to wrap his head around. It was gorgeous work, but even looking at it made Percy’s eyes swim.

This particular doodle is not his best attempt. It looks nothing like the signature. It’s smudged, blotchy, but in a way that’s… weirdly familiar. 

Snatching the napkin up, Percy bolts from the Starbucks, leaving his mocha behind.

Taking the steps of his apartment building two at a time, he bursts into his kitchen. His set up is exactly how he left it, books spread out all over the table, laptop shut and laid askew, the dry, half-eaten remains of his morning muffin on a plate on top of his encyclopedia of illuminated manuscripts--except for one book, the one on Ottoman history of the nineteenth century. It’s been opened, its pages facing the door, in the exact opposite direction of all the other books. 

“Hello?” he calls into the apartment. “Anyone home?”

No response. 

Percy approaches the table. 

From the pages, Selim III stares at him, his portrait rendered in black and white, sitting just above a figure of his signature, his tughra. 

Percy picks up the book, squinting. 

The signature is crisp, clean, a work of art all by itself. 

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

Opening his laptop, he pulls up the scans of the documents in the British museum, zooms in on the letter’s seal.

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares. 

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

In a daze, he fires an email off to his new grad advisor. Hopefully he won’t mind Percy sticking his nose in where he doesn’t belong. Hey Dr. T--was looking at the Parthenon marbles docs in the BM (don’t ask) and I noticed this weird smudge on the tughra. Lazy scribe, maybe?

And he closes his computer.

Later that night, while he puts Junie to bed, he gets a response. not sure. sent it to a colleague for a closer look. 

He can’t even be bothered to really think about it though, not with Junie looking up at him with Annabeth’s eyes, and asking for another book. “Alright, kiddo,” he acquiesces, settling in beside her. All her story books are in ancient Greek, and at age two, she’s starting to recognize the letters. “Which one are you thinking?” 

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

“Dolphins, eh? Getting Mr. D on your side early, I see. As smart as mommy.” He leans down and kisses her forehead before he starts to read her the story of the sailors and their sudden dolphin madness. 

***

“Huh,” Percy says to himself a few weeks later, as he and Annabeth are chilling on the couch, watching some Netflix.

His advisor has forwarded him an article from the BBC (New evidence suggests Elgin documents to be forgeries) with an accompanying note: Amazing catch! 

“What is it?” Annabeth asks, nudging him with her elbow--a feat, since she also has an armful of a squirmy Junie to deal with.

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

That gets her attention. Anything Parthenon-related does. “Really?”

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels his lips pulling at the sides of his mouth. 

“My mom is probably your biggest fan right now.”

He starts. “What did you say?”

Turning back to the TV, she still manages to cast him a weird look. “I said, my mom will probably love you for this.”

A beat, then Percy practically somersaults over the couch, darting into the kitchen. Wrenching open the pantry door, he shoves his hand behind their collection of flours, fingers grasping for--

“If you’re looking for any more sacrificial cookies,” Annabeth calls after him, “we burned them all when Junie got a cold.”

“Remind me to make some more,” says Percy, pulling out his prize. It’s a little dusty, streaks of flour clinging to the blue velvet. “I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

“Oh yeah?” She chuckles. “What, did Olympus put in a special order?” 

Percy slides back down next to her, ring hidden in his closed fist. “Can I have the baby for a sec?”

Eyes fixed to the screen, Annabeth passes her over. Junie’s hands automatically reach for his nose, ready to grab, but Percy places the ring in her grasp instead, kissing her forehead. “Hey, babe?” he asks Annabeth, handing her back. “I think our daughter has something for you.”

Annabeth takes her without a second glance. 

Then she does take a second glance.

Ring closed in her pudgy toddler fist, Junie holds it out to her.

Annabeth gapes. 

“So,” Percy says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “quick confession: I wasn’t just working on the marbles for fun.”

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

“Your mom told me that if I helped get the marbles back, she’d back us against Hera if we ever got married. So…” He trails off, waiting for her response. As close as he is, he can see the tears start to well up in her eyes--a good sign. “Shall we?” he prompts.

“Oh thank all the gods.” Annabeth is crying, because she's Annabeth. And because she's Annabeth, she also wastes no time in transferring Junie to her other side, and holding out her hand so Percy can slide the ring on her finger. “I was so worried I'd have to have Chase on my Masters’ diploma, too.”

5)

Percy is making sauce when his phone lights up. He hits speaker. “Hey.”

“Hey man,” comes the tinny voice of Magnus. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Percy says, “I figured you were dying or something.”

Magnus’ eye roll is almost palpable. “Very funny. What’s up?”

Bringing the spoon to his lips, he blows on it, taking a taste, before reaching for the salt. Needs way more. “Do you happen to have any Varangian guards in Hotel Valhalla?”

“Varangian guards? Uh, maybe. Probably. Why?”

“I’m doing a thing on the attempted reconquest of Sicily,” he says, lowering the heat a little to a simmer, “and I’m having some trouble piecing together the Battle of Montemaggiore. Know anyone who was in it?” 

Magnus hums. “I’ll ask around. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?”

Rifling through their little spice cabinet, he makes a mental note to get a new thing of hot sauce, tipping the rest of it into the pot. “If you have anyone who fought under Harald Hardrada, that would be great.”

“Hardrada? I’m pretty sure he lives on the fifth floor.”

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

“Yes!” He picks up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you think I could come up and talk to him sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were doing something on Homer’s identity?”

He groans. “Backburnered for now until she stops driving me crazy.” No matter how many times Percy tells her, he can’t just drop the “Homer was actually an Egyptian woman” bomb without some serious evidence backing that up. And forgery is not one of his strong suits. Hence the need for a different topic for the time being.

“Has everyone ever told you your life is weird?”

“No, why do you ask?”

His phone suddenly vibrates, shocking him so badly he nearly drops it into the saucepan. Almost home, texts the love of his life, a shot of serotonin directly into his bloodstream. V hungry

“Sorry, Magnus, but I gotta run. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Say hi to my cousin for me.”

“Can do.”

“And make sure you pick a date soon! Sam needs to know so she can schedule her flight home.”

“Soon as I can.” You know, when his brain isn’t melting from grading undergrad papers. And making sure Annabeth and Junie are fed. And that Annabeth doesn’t lose herself in graduate school. And finding Junie a new preschool after she destroyed a classroom last month because of a monster. His toddler is a badass. But he’s a little worried she’s gonna follow Mommy and Daddy’s example as far as school goes. 

Sometimes, he thinks that their wedding just won’t ever happen. With Athena on board, he figured it would happen sooner or later, but time just… keeps getting away from them. Which isn’t the end of the world. A lifetime at Annabeth’s side is all he really needs, Mrs. Jackson or no. But he’s seen the silver fabric she weaved for her wedding dress. It would be a shame for all that hard work to go to waste.

And, yeah, he wants to see his little Junie dancing down the aisle flinging seaweed before her mother. He wants his mom to cry a little and he wants all his friends to be there to celebrate with them. Is that so much to ask? 

Speaking of his two favorite girls--”We’re home!” Annabeth calls from the hallway. “Junie, go say hi to daddy!”

Her bare feet slapping against the floor, his daughter comes toddling in, making a beeline for him. “Hey, kiddo,” Percy says, scooping her up. “How’s my best girl?”

“She’s just fine, thanks,” Annabeth says, setting her work bag down on the table. “Tell me I don’t have to wait for dinner--Margie kept me for the entirety of my lunch break, and I am starving.” 

“Just gotta make a salad and we should be good to go.” But he makes no move to finish chopping vegetables, entirely too enraptured with the way Junie smiles when Percy sticks his tongue out at her. “Let me guess,” he says. “Does my best girl want some olives?”

“Peas,” Junie says. 

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

She giggles, waving her arms. “Elaia, daddy!”

“Fine,” and he kisses her nose. “Extra olives for you.”

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

Handing her back to her mother, Percy sighs. “When am I going to get a kid who likes anchovies?”

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

“Reputation isn’t that bad.” Hardrada is saying. “The production isn’t what it should be, but lots of her lyrics are still on point.” 

“The production ruins it,” Percy insists. “And as a follow up to 1989? It's just bad.” 

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

“You can’t argue with the genius of that one.”

“It is terribly inconsistent,” Percy shoots back. “Yeah, ‘The Archer’ and ‘Daylight’ and ‘Miss Americana’ are sublime, but ‘ME!’? Come on!”

“Are you one of those people who thinks she peaked at Red?”

“Red is a bop from start to finish,” Percy fires back. “But she definitely peaked at folklore.”

“Thinking she peaked at folklore is just pedestrian when ‘tis the damn season’ exists!” Hardrada yells, drawing his axe, which is then promptly flung over Percy’s head. 

As the only mortal in a room full of armed, excitable, undead Taylor Swift stans, Percy beats a hasty exit, Magnus and Jason covering him as he flees, because they’re just so thoughtful like that. Percy’s pretty sure he saw Magnus take an arrow to the knee, going down in a heap, before he shuts the door to the hotel, finding himself in a Forever 21. 

Looking over his notes later as he gets back to his apartment in the North End, he frowns. They had spent… approximately twenty minutes talking about Sicily before getting solidly off track. Who knew an eleventh century viking would have such intense feelings about pop music? 

And now he’s singing “seven” to himself as he unlocks the apartment door, because it's a good song, and because it made him think of Annabeth. And he always wants to think of Annabeth. 

“Hey, babe,” he calls into the apartment, toeing off his shoes. “I’m back!”

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yep! Totally fine!” she says, unconvincingly. 

“Alright,” he calls back. “Let me know if you need something.”

Moving Junie’s toys out of the way, he drops down onto the couch, grabbing his laptop. Hopefully he can make some sort of sense of the… notes… that he got from Hardrada. Though he’s probably going to have to trek out to Beacon Hill again, which, while not really out of his way, does mean he has to hike a bit from the Park Street station through the Commons, which makes him super sweaty and out of breath. It’s just embarrassing, walking into a hotel full of the greatest warriors of Valhalla, and Percy can barely handle a hill. 

However, he’s not so out of practice that he can’t sense Annabeth coming up behind him. “You good?”

“What do you think about getting married by the end of the month?”

“Sure,” he says, pecking at his computer. Damn autocorrect ruining all the Norse names. He keeps forgetting to download the right language package he needs. “But I thought you wanted to wait until after you turned in your portfolio?”

“Well… I might not be able to fit in my dress if we wait much longer.”

That gets his attention.

Percy turns around, slowly. Annabeth is grinning, holding a thin little piece of plastic with a circle on the end. She wiggles it. 

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

“What? No!” Percy slides his computer off his lap, twisting around to face her, up on his knees. “No, no, not at all. I’m not mad.” She slings her arms around his neck, pregnancy test warm against his skin. “I just…” 

Eyes warm, she looks into his, unafraid. “What is it?”

“It’s…” It’s silly, is what it is. But this is Annabeth. If he can’t tell her, who can he tell? “I just feel bad that I’ve gotten you pregnant twice before getting married.”

“Well, at least I’m not nineteen this time,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But maybe we wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t such a horndog.”

Percy snorts. “Me? What about you, Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before my first lecture’ Chase.”

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

“It’s Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before your first lecture’ Jackson.”

Grinning, he presses his mouth to hers. After all this time, she still smells like lemons, her lips soft and warm. “Not yet it’s not.”

“Then let’s make it happen.”

And, well, Percy can’t think of a better plan.

+1

Jamie hisses. “Fuuuuuck,” she whispers, the sound dropping like a stone in the dead lecture hall. “Goddamn shit fuck ass.”

And the worst part is, she’d actually spent a lot of time preparing for her Latin midterm. She’d made flashcards, she’d drilled noun endings, she’d even slept with the textbook under her pillow for fuck’s sake. 

Typical--the moment she sits down to take the test, it all goes out the window. 

“Legistne carmen longum de Troiano,” she reads under her breath, as though saying it out loud will unlock some hidden secrets of the cosmos. 

Nope. Nothing. The multiple choices remain as inscrutable as ever.

“Psst.” 

Jamie looks up. 

There’s a four year old staring at her. 

“Hi,” Jamie says. 

“Hi,” says the four year old. Junie, her name is, she thinks. 

Mr. Jackson, Jamie’s Latin TA, will bring his kids to class with him sometimes--his wife works full time, and Jamie guesses that they can’t afford a babysitter. She’s a cute kid, quiet, usually sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, drawing or even knitting, sometimes with her little sister playing with toy ships next to her. 

Now, she’s still staring at her. “What’s up?” Jamie asks.

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.” 

She squints down at her test sheet, attempting to visualize her flash cards. That’s… “Bello” is the right answer.

The fuck? The fucking four year old can speak Latin? “Thanks,” she whispers. 

Junie beams at her.

Darting her eyes to the front of the lecture hall, Jamie spies her professor, Buck, completely conked out at his desk, his chest rising and falling with his snores. Percy is nowhere to be seen, his laptop open at his chair. “What’s the next one?” Jamie turns her paper so that Junie can see better.

“Pluto Proserpinam infelicem cepit,” she announces, perfectly accented.

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.” 

The door to the lecture hall opens. Jamie whips around in her seat, startled, and sees her TA, walking down the steps. From the corner of her eye, Junie disappears, booking it to her dad, who scoops her up without missing a beat. “Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Were you bothering my students?” Then he glances at Jamie. “Sorry about that--hope she wasn’t too annoying.”

But Jamie shakes her head. “It’s fine.” Dammit. 

Still smiling, Percy makes his way back down to his seat. Junie grins at her over his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her dad’s neck.

At the beginning of the semester, Professor Buck had droned on and on about Mr. Jackson, about how he was one of the best up-and-coming classics scholars in the world, how he could have had his pick of PhD programs, and how NYU was lucky to have him. He got first pick of assistantships this semester, apparently, but had volunteered to teach Latin 1001, and they should all be grateful, because he had done some beautiful new translation of Virgil for his Master’s thesis, and they were all going to learn a lot from him. 

Turning back to her exam, Jamie snorts. Of course a guy like that would have a kid who could speak perfect Latin. 

She really should have just stuck with German instead. 

[starjane312]

Kit Tanthalos x OC

Big Masterlist

Masterlist

Chapter 19

We are eating and celebrating the Wedding. Everything is going nicely. I wander off with Kit. She swings our hands back and forth. I laugh.

J: I love you.

K: I love you too.

I face her. Suddenly she gets pulled away from me. It’s a Troll.

J: KIT !

They get pulled up by a Rope. I start running to the feast to Boorman. Who’s killing one of the Trolls.

J: They have her.

He looks at me. Tears streaming down my Face. He pulls me into his arms.

J: Why does this always happen ?

B: I don’t know but we’re gonna get her back.

J: Promise.

He holds out his Pinky. I hook it with mine.

J: Then let’s go.

We grab our weapons, change our clothes to something more Appropriate and start walking to Skellin.

When we arrive the sun is up again.

J: How do we get in there ?

B: One Person sneaking in there ? Maybe. Six of us ? Impossible. I’m begging you. Let me do this. I’ll get in get’em out meet you on the other side.

J: Like hell I won’t go in there.

Ja: You’re not going anywhere without us.We’re rescuing Willow.

S: And Kit.

E: And all the other People they took. Cut down any troll that may come our way.

G: She doesn’t mean undermining their confidence, do you ? 

J: No Baby face she doesn’t.

G: And a new nickname, how nice.

S: So when you fought your way out the last time and slaughtered all those Trolls. You went Right out the Front ?

B: Yeah about that … When I said Slaughtered. I didn’t actually mean Slaughtered. More like I slaughtered their Pizzazz.

S: Their what ?

The next thing I know I’m walking through a Shit drain.

J: Boorman, I hate you.

S: What are we walking through ?

B: It’s best not to get to specific.

G: Pretty sure it’s Troll Poop.

B: What’d I just say ? I’ve had ten years to think about exactly how I would get in and out of this Rank cesspool without anyone realizing I was ever here.

J: Then you got caught and never returned to your Sister.

B: Thought you didn’t hate me ?

J: Doesn’t mean I’m not angry.

He leans against a wooden wall and falls right through it.

B: Ow my coccyx.

J: Idiot. “Never notice i was even here”

B: Don’t mock me.

J: What else am I supposed to do ? Applaud for your Geniusness ?

Ja: I know you are frustrated, angry and concerned for Kit Jane But we have to keep going.

I sigh and walk after Boorman through Tunnels. As we come to a very small bridge very close to the deep end I inhale sharply. 

J: Have I ever told you about my Dying fear of heights ?

B: What else is there ? Thunders, heights.

J: Very small spaces, the tunnels are killing me and moths.

G: Moths ?

J: Yes, twinkle toes Moths.

G: Okay.

We keep walking. I press myself against the wall. Jade holds my Hand.

Ja: Remember who this is for.

J: Kit, My Kit.

Ja: Yes, your Wife. Good. Now, keep walking. 

I don’t listen to Graydon and Elora talking. We arrive and Fight of Trolls. We knock them out. The cauldrons start Bubbling like Crazy. 

G: Uh Guys ß

Ja: Should it be doing that ?

B: Uh no, that is definitely unusual.

I look at Elora and the Wand.

J: Uh your wand is glowing like Crazy.

S: Why is it doing that ?

Elora doesn’t look like she’s doing that on purpose.

S: Well make it stop.

E: How ?

She points her wand at the cauldron.

E: Stop shaking Avagdu ! 

It starts getting worse.

J: Ok how ‘bout we all calm down a little.

Ja: Yeah just Relax.

E: I am relaxed ! Okay ?

B: You don’t sound relaxed.

E: I’m telling you this has nothing to do with me. I don’t know what’s going on but I don’t have any … any, any,

G: No, No,no,no,no !

And she sneezes. The rumbling stops.

Ja: Gesundheit.

J: Better now ?

She nods. 

J: Ok let’s go.

We change into the uniforms.

J: These stink. But let’s do this. I want my Wife back. 

I watch as Scorpia nad Boorman kiss.

Ja: Scorpia they're coming, we need to go.

I put on the Helmet. We follow Boorman through tunnels. Elora stops.

G: Are you ok ?

I look back and see her leaning against a wall.

Ja: Is that you ?

J: Are you doing that ?

Ja: Elora ? Unclench. Seriously, you’re gonna kill us all.

G: When I concentrate on the next one sometimes I don’t sneeze at all.

E: I’m not gonna sneeze.

G: It’s nothing to be Ashamed of. I-I didn’t.

B: Come on. Hurry up. Follow me.

He stops at a crossing. 

B: Uh …

J: Are we close ?

B: Uh … Don’t worry, you’ll be with Kit in no Time.

E: You’re Lost.

B: No, I'm just getting my Bearings.

Jade grabs my Arm. Knowing that I wanna strangle him.

Ja: You’re too tall. Noone will believe you’re a Troll.

B: I sell it with my Performance. Unlike you four Not even remotely convincing.

J: I will take out my Axe and convince you of it’s performance.

Trolls come our way. We bow submissively.

?: This damn day. Got word of a spill on Triton level. I need a Krom unit supervisor down there to oversee the mop crew. Dipshit.

He points at Graydon.

G: Me ? Oh … N-No. Thank you though.