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phykios · 3 years

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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!

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.

“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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

#my fic #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #perseannabeth #darkmagyk #percy should be a classics major and here's why #the percy major for the stem hating author #also i feel like i have to say:#1) classics conferences are not like that #2) if only it were that easy to get the bm to return looted antiquities 🙄#pjo fic #percabeth fic #percy jackson

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

In Times Past

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bruce Wayne’s life doesn’t exist beyond the fake storylines he performs for the media and citizens of Gotham. Maybe the only person that can change that is someone who knew him before Batman ever even existed.

Word Count: 8,200+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual harrassment

A/N: As I teased before, this was inspired by this scene from Batman Begins.

Bruce could sense Alfred’s tension when he walked into the kitchen that morning. The man was not one to hold back his thoughts and feelings. It was both a blessing and a curse. But Bruce sensed it was the latter today.

Before Bruce could even get a sip of coffee in, Alfred tossed the Sunday newspaper in front of him.

On the front page was a photo of Batman, far too high of a resolution for Bruce’s liking. ‘BATMAN: SAVIOR OR MENACE?’ the headline read.

“A little too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Alfred asked with a hint of sass.

However, Bruce controlled his reaction.

“Not the first time I’ve been photographed, Alfred.”

“You’re dancing with the devil, Master Wayne.”

“So, what? You want me to lay down the cape because everyone in America has the ability to take a photo on their cellphone?”

“Of course not,” Alfred retorted. Though Alfred secretly wished every day that Bruce would say goodbye to the Batman. “I just thought perhaps you should be putting a bit more effort into Bruce Wayne’s life if you really want to throw Gotham off your trail.”

Then he tossed another newspaper. This one of Bruce Wayne, the other mask he wore.

‘Bruce Wayne Lights Up the Room at Charity Ball.’

Alfred points to the date…it was 9 months ago. And it was unfortunately the last time Bruce Wayne was in the press.

“You better start creating alibis, Master Wayne, or the dark web will start to putting two and two together…”

Bruce sighed. He knew Alfred was right. But he hated all that went with what he had to do. He’d rather face off with Gotham’s deadliest criminals than go galavanting around the city as the self-absorbed and reckless playboy persona that he’d created.

“There is a birthday party for Eaton Elliot next weekend. Naturally, being old family friends, you received an invitation,” Alfred explained. “Plenty of press will be there to note your attendance. Seems rather convenient."

Bruce recognized the name. It was the older brother of Thomas Elliot, a childhood friend that he slightly lost touch with. He’d see him or his parents at various events, and things were always cordial.

But it didn’t really matter how absent or quiet Bruce was when it came to maintaining such relationships. Everyone forgave such behavior when it came to saving face with the only living member of the Wayne family. Bruce could spit in the faces of Gotham’s elite and they’d probably thank him for it.

“Black tie affair, as always,” Alfred added as he slipped the invitation to Bruce. “Perhaps you could bring a date…”

Bruce glared up at the butler. “Dates make it harder to make a quick and quiet exit, Alfred.”

“Well, maybe that’s the point, Master Wayne.”

————

Just like he was on patrol or working on an op, Bruce had prepared for every single scenario. He made a plan that would be the most effective in the shortest amount of time. He didn’t want to torture himself any longer than absolutely necessary.

When Alfred asked him again if he was planning on bringing a date, Bruce had only replied with a mischievous smirk.

Because he walked in with a girl on each arm.

It wasn’t the classy or gentlemanly thing to do. And that was exactly the point.

Conversations paused, attention was turned, and flashes went off.

Bruce Wayne made his entrance.

He carefully fell into the groove of being the spoiled brat everyone had painted him out to be. It had been awhile since he played the part, but Bruce always found it easy when he was surrounded by these kinds of people.

Bruce made sure to slightly slur his words. He would get too handsy with his dates. He would rudely interrupt people to share his own useless opinion on whatever topic was leading the conversation. He never looked waitstaff in the eye.

But now it was time for the finale.

Bruce whispered a certain suggestion into the ears of his dates.

They shared a look that proved they were both game.

The three of them stumbled into a bathroom – one out in the open that most of the guests would be steered toward.

The kissing began and clothes were quickly shifted.

There was a split moment when Bruce wondered what this would feel like for a man who actually wanted to be in this situation.

The two woman managed unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal echoing in the all-tile bathroom.

But just as they unbuttoned and then unzipped his pants, Bruce’s cellphone rang loudly.

Right on cue.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Bruce whined. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” his words stumbled out. “But I just have to take this call.”

“Aww. Brucie. You’re no fun,” one of the women fussed.

But Bruce gave off enough dominate energy that they didn’t try to fight him on it.

Hair disheveled, mouth swollen and pink, lipstick stains on his skin and his pants and belt barely put back together, Bruce stumbled out of the bathroom first.

The two women didn’t bother to stay back and spread out their exits, making it very clear what had just happened – or what it looked like just happened.

It didn’t matter that Bruce didn’t actually have sex with them, every woman in Gotham wanted to say they’d shared a bed with Bruce Wayne. His two dates would lie to save face and get street cred. Bruce hated that he knew that, that it was guaranteed.

Dozens of people, who were socializing near the bathroom, stopped what they were doing and watched with judgmental looks. Some men looked jealous. Some women looked disgusted and eyed the two women up and down.

Then there was the flash of a camera.

Bingo.

Bruce wouldn’t have to linger much longer now.

He played up being somewhat embarrassed.

But just as he put his phone to his ear to take the fake call that Alfred dialed, he saw the last person he expected.

It caused him to do a double take and freeze.

His focus fell for a moment as they made eye contact.

Why did she have to be here?

Why did she have to be one of his witnesses?

Why did it hurt so much to see how she looked at him as if he were a stranger?

And why did she have to look so god damn beautiful?

Y/F/N Y/L/N.

The Y/L/N family were another one of Gotham’s elite – well, they used to be.

Y/N’s father was once worth billions. But being born into wealth didn’t guarantee intelligence or the skills to properly run the family business. When Bruce and Y/N were in high school, Y/N’s father filed for bankruptcy and confessed that the family was about to lose everything. With the announcement, the press also exposed Mr. Y/L/N’s many lustful affairs.

What came next was a messy and brutal divorce that the media ate up.

Out of spite, Y/N’s mother remarried her ex-husband’s biggest competitor, maintaining her status and wealth, and making sure she still came out on top. It was the greatest revenge and even Y/N had to give her mother credit for the ingenuity of it all.

Bruce remembered how terrible it all was for Y/N, who was used as a pawn in her parents war against each other.

Having had enough of it, Y/N fled Gotham and chose to live with her eccentric great aunt in London and finished her last year of high school there.

But Y/N didn’t run away from Bruce. They emailed, texted, video chatted, called.

They had always been good friends.

The elites of Gotham always suspected the two would get married. But both Bruce and Y/N pretended to ignore such whisperings.

But when Bruce shifted his life, when he changed his life’s purpose, when he started becoming a vigilante…he stopped taking Y/N’s calls and he stopped returning them.

He told himself it was better that way. He couldn’t handle any distractions. Batman didn’t have time for personal relationships, so neither did Bruce Wayne. But more importantly, Y/N deserved someone who would prioritize her – even just as a friend.

Now Bruce needed to get actually drunk.

Putting the phone back to his ear, he broke eye contact and made a beeline for one of the bars.

“Did you forget to tell me about the guest list, Alfred?” Bruce muttered evenly to the phone, knowing that Alfred would easily be able to hear his anger and irritation.

“How was I to know who RSVPed yes or no…” Alfred bit back. But he knew exactly who Bruce was looking at.

Bruce frowned as he ended the call abruptly and asked for a whiskey.

“I don’t know, man. She’s not my type,” a man said to his friend.

The two of them were just a foot or two away from Bruce.

“What do you mean ‘not your type’? She’s fucking hot.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful. But she’s so stiff and uptight. Look, she’s had a resting bitch face all night.”

Bruce’s grip on his face tightened as he easily put together who they were talking about. It was moments like these that Bruce hated being lumped together with men like this.

“You’re an idiot,” the friend said with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Alright. If you’re so obsessed with her, why don’t you go over and talk to her?”

Bruce saw his window.

With a sloppy haste, Bruce turned right into the two men and just happened to spill his drink over the man who was about to make a move on Y/N.

Bruce laughed and spilled another drink on the bar as he tried to grab some nearby cocktail napkins. “Gentleman, gentleman…I so dearly apologize.”

Both of them were clearly annoyed, but then realized who he was.

Bruce gripped them by the shoulders and made sure his eyes were struggling to stay open. “I could be wrong…but it’s possible…that I have been over served.”

He broke out into a chuckle and both men forced their own laughter.

Bruce subtle glanced over to where Y/N had been standing. She’d disappeared.

He’d spared her…for now.

“I think it’s time I go home,” Bruce told them too loudly. “Do me a favor? Wish her congratulations for me?”

The two men looked at one another. “Congratulations? To who?”

Bruce frowned in confusion and looked around. “Isn’t this an engagement party?”

They tried to hide their laughter. “Wayne, this is a birthday party. For Eaton Elliot.”

Bruce’s brows shot up. “A birthday party? Look at that!”

Then he turned around, zigzagged his walk, and threw a wave over his shoulder.

But Bruce wasn’t that lucky.

Because when he made his way to the valet, he found Y/N waiting patiently with her back to him.

Her fancy dress and gloves seemed to do nothing to help protect her from the cold night.

Bruce could’ve left. He could’ve left her alone, gone back into the party, and made more of a fool of himself.

But next thing he knew, he was walking forward.

“Waiting for your car?”

Y/N didn’t turn to him, but it was clear that she heard his question and recognized who it had come from. “I didn’t drive. They’re getting me a cab.”

Bruce nodded slowly even though she wasn’t looking at him.

All charm had left his body now that he had quit the act. It wasn’t going to do any favors for him. He needed to do this on his own, as his real self.

Y/N finally turned with a slight attitude and Bruce was taken aback at how she was even more beautiful up close.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?”

He smirked. “I’m here for the party, of course.” He didn’t want to play the part anymore – not with her. But it was second nature at this point.

Her lips pursed at his response.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Y/N sighed. “Between you and me, I’m only here as a favor to my mother. She wouldn’t get off my back about coming. I tried to leave sooner, but…”

One of the valets hopped up the steps. “I’m sorry, Dr. Y/L/N. It can take awhile to get cabs in the area at this time of night.”

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile and opened her mouth to say she’d walk home.

“I’ll drive her home,” Bruce spoke before she could. Then he handed the valet his ticket.

Y/N looked at him with confusion and a bit of annoyance. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Bruce just gave her a look that said he absolutely did.

Then Y/N gestured back to the party. “You’re just gonna abandon your dates?”

The way she asked made it clear that Y/N had seen Bruce stumble out of the bathroom with the two of them. He also didn’t miss how she emphasized the plural.

“They’ll be fine,” Bruce told her.

He took a step toward her. “Let me give you a ride, Y/N.”

She took in a deep breath.

She knew she needed the ride. Only an idiot would walk home at this time of night, even if the walk to her apartment was a relatively safe one for Gotham standards.

Y/N just nodded.

A minute later, an Aston Martin drove up.

Bruce offered his arm to Y/N and helped her down the stairs before opening the passenger door for her.

He handed the valet a few bills, not even noticing they were all hundreds.

“Where to?” Bruce asked her.

“Oh, umm…” Y/N quickly gave him her address.

“I know you’ve been gone awhile, but you definitely shouldn’t be walking around the streets of Gotham at night.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m aware. I moved back awhile ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. Well, why would you? It’s not like you kept in touch.”

The car filled with silence.

Y/N stared out the passenger window, looking at the skyscraper lights of Gotham

It seemed Y/N had no issue with staying silent for the whole car ride.There was nothing awkward about it for her.

But Bruce knew there were things he needed to say. “I’m sorry.”

This was the last thing Y/N expected and her head whipped to him.

But Bruce kept his eyes on the road. “For disappearing like I did.”

Y/N slowly turned back to the passenger window and said nothing.

Bruce didn’t expect to win her forgiveness. He would have to deal with that. But at least he could apologize.

“Y/N.” Bruce said it ever so quietly, like he was forbidden from speaking it. “This isn’t…I’m not…” Dammit. What was he even trying to accomplish right now? “Back there–”

“Back there?” Y/N interrupted his fumbling. “Oh, you mean the threesome you had in a bathroom at a party?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Everyone bought his performance. Unfortunately, even Y/N.

Bruce pulled over and Y/N realized they were at her building already.

“You can say whatever makes you feel good, Bruce. Have at it.” Then she threw open the car door.

She put her hand on the handle to help herself out.

But she hesitated.

No. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Y/N spun around to face Bruce, his blue eyes already waiting for her.

“You used to be kind. Strong and brave. You were better than all of them.”

And for the first time, Bruce really saw the damage he had done.

“Is that boy really gone?” She searched his eyes for the answer. “What is the act and what is the truth?” She whispered. “Huh, Bruce?”

He wanted to tell her.

Bruce had never felt the urge to expose his secret ever before.

But right now? Right now, he wanted to take Y/N back to the manor, drag her down to the cave, and show her all of his secrets – every single one.

But he couldn’t. And he knew that.

Bruce kept his face reserved.

His brow furrowed for just a second as he took Y/N in. All of her. Her eyelashes. Her lips. The styling of her hair. The dip of her neck.

“You became quite the woman, Y/N.” He told her. “And a beautiful one at that.”

Y/N blinked at the statement. Her mind desperately tried to decipher the hidden message in his words, in his actions from the night. But she came up with nothing.

She wanted to say that she knew he was using flattery to divert her attention from what she wanted to know. But it was also clear that he genuinely meant what he said as well. His eyes seeming to be taking in every moment of being in her presence.

If Y/N weren’t so irritated, she probably would’ve been more taken aback by his compliment, feeling vulnerable and almost embarrassed.

There wasn’t any point in pushing.

So Y/N took in a breath. “Thank you for the ride, Bruce.”

He just nodded. Then he watched her walk to the door of her apartment building. He probably lingered a few moments too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to once again put distance between them.

————

Alfred brought down food and an espresso to the cave.

When he looked up, Y/F/N Y/L/N’s face was on the giant screen.

“Working on a case, Master Wayne?” He asked with his usual sarcasm.

Bruce ignored the question. “She attended undergrad in Metropolis and then went to grad school in New York City.”

“Yes, I can see that…considering you have her student records exploited all over the screen,” Alfred responded with a smirk. “She’s been living in Gotham again for a few years, working as a psychiatrist. Even volunteers her services at Arkham – pro bono.”

That caught Bruce’s attention. He turned away from the screen to look at Alfred.

“I found no record of that,” he argued.

“Yes. Well, her mother is rather embarrassed by it. Thinks it gives the family a bad image. She insisted Y/N’s philanthropy was kept secret, even approved the NDAs herself.”

Bruce gave him a look, utterly confused how Alfred had access to such information.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Never underestimate the power of gossip, Master Wayne. Most family secrets cannot be found on the dark corners of the internet.” Then he smirked. “You would gain quite the knowledge if you didn’t turn your nose up at it.”

Bruce smiled at that and turned back to the computer.

“So, I take it that it was good seeing her?” Alfred pressed.

Bruce tensed at the question. “Not entirely. I’m certain that she hates me.”

“Hates you or hates the character you’ve so carefully created?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just Bruce Wayne to her.”

Alfred opened his mouth to say more.

“Leave it, Alfred.” Bruce cut off before he could.

“Well, it appears I’m not the one struggling with leaving it alone, Master Wayne.”

Like many of Gotham’s elites, Alfred had humored the idea that Bruce and Y/N would make a marvelous couple. Like Bruce, Y/N didn’t let money and power sway her morals or damage her good and kind heart.

Alfred had always enjoyed having her over and listening to her and Bruce’s laughter as they caused trouble around the manor and entertained themselves.

But he also saw how her departure effected Bruce, no matter how much the teenager had tried to hide it at the time.

Maybe Alfred was an optimist or a romantic, but he still believed there was a chance for the two of them. But Bruce, quite frankly, would have to get over himself and his stubbornness.

————

Bruce was looking down at the city from yet another rooftop. It had been a quiet night. And he hated nights like that. It was always ended up being the calm before a storm.

“Batman?” Alfred spoke into his comms.

“Yes.”

“It appears there’s been a breakout at Arkham. The media hasn’t caught wind of it yet. But law enforcement has already been dispatched.”

“I’m on my way,” Bruce announced as he slid down a fire escape and made his way to the batmobile that he’d hidden in the shadows of an alley.

“Master Wayne…” Alfred knew to only use codenames on comms.

Bruce tense. “What is it?”

There was hesitation from the butler. “Y/N was scheduled to work a shift there tonight…”

Bruce said nothing. But his foot pressed the gas pedal down further than necessary.

—

Y/N was sitting with a patient when the alarm went off.

The people that worked there called them inmates, and corrected her every time she chose not to use that title.

Harleen Quinzel had been sitting across from Y/N for almost 30 minutes when they were interrupted.

“Oh, fun!” Harley clapped and giggled as the sirens filled their ears.

Harley and Y/N had formed an interesting relationship. The criminal seemed to like her and looked forward to her visits. She never threatened Y/N or tried to manipulate her.

Y/N believes she won her over by addressing her as Dr. Quinzel and often asking her professional opinions on trends and news in their industry.

Most people there only referred to Harley as if she was property of the Joker, no matter how many times Harley clarified that she wasn’t his anything anymore.

“Does this happen a lot?” Y/N asked her, trying to remain calm.

“Not enough, if ya ask me!” She laughed.

Y/N made the mistake of opening the door and seeing that the majority of the cells had been opened and prisoners were slowly making their way into the hallway.

“Not good,” Y/N muttered.

“Don’t worry, doc. I’ll protect ya! Us gals gotta stick together.” Harley said from behind her shoulder.

Y/N whipped around and looked at her and then at the table she’d been sitting at. “Dr. Quinzel! How did you get out of your restraints?”

“Oh, I’ve always been able to. I just leave ‘em on to be polite.”

Y/N sighed. No one had explained any sort of protocol for such a situation.

“Where the fuck are all the guards?” Y/N asked.

Suddenly the lights shut off.

“Yippy!” Harley cheered.

Y/N turned to her and softly grabbed her shoulder, but gave her an insistent look. “Harley, we need to get somewhere safe.”

Her face did dip to serious for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about me. But you’re right. Not everyone in here appreciates a shrink…”

To her surprise, Harley starts pulling her through the darkness with a purpose.

Y/N had no idea where she was planning on taking her. It seemed all the doors were in lock-down mode, leaving her stranded. If she survived tonight, she’d definitely be bringing that up to the board.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Y/N yelped at the sound.

Someone had either gotten a hold of a gun or security guards were opening fire.

Either way, it caused chaos to erupt.

Suddenly the dark hallways were being filled with a stampede of prisoners. Either they wanted to take down the guard who was shooting or they were getting an adrenaline rush at the concept of their peers attacking their wardens.

The crowd ripped the two women apart. Y/N was shoved up against the wall and her head slammed against the cement.

Y/N swore under her breath from the pain.

“Is that…No, it can’t be…”

A voice called out over the madness.

A chill went up Y/N’s spine. She’d know that voice anywhere.

The Joker.

He wasn’t one of her patients. All researchers and doctors were forbidden to speak with him – especially after what happened with Harley.

But that didn’t stop the Joker from knowing who Y/N was. He whined and whined about feeling left out. “All my pals get to chat with her and all I get to do is look!”

Now, Joker was free from him isolation.

Y/N suspected he was behind the breakout.

And he was going to make a slight detour. A detour that was doing whatever the hell he wanted to with Dr. Y/L/N.

Y/N didn’t even bother hiding her fear. With a new found strength and endurance, she started shoving her way through the mob.

“I hear you and my pumpkin’ pie have gotten close.” Then his smile dropped. “Too close, if ya ask me.”

Y/N ignored him as another prisoner shoved into her shoulder.

“I don’t appreciate you putting ideas in her head!”

Y/N stopped, realizing she had miscalculated her escape and had come to a dead end.

So she slowly turned around to face him, putting her back to the wall. “And what ideas are those?”

“Independence. Self respect. A life beyond crime and incarceration,” he spat.

Y/N realized he had his goonies flanking him, only making her odds that much worse.

“Those aren’t ideas. They’re a reality, a possible future,” she defended.

Joker didn’t like that answer one bit. He threw himself against her, once again slamming Y/N into the wall.

He gripped her chin roughly and smiled with his yellow teeth. “You know…she’s not the only doctor I’d like to break in. And in more ways than one, if you catch my drift,” he giggled.

Then his eyes raked over her body, up and down. His hands slid down her hips and the side of her legs until they got to the hem of her pencil skirt.

Y/N shoved him away with all of her strength.

But that earned her a slap across the face from him.

Joker gripped her waist tightly pressing her between the wall and his body. “I’m in charge now, doc. And I’ve got a few lessons to teach you.”

His hands grabbed at the buttons of her blouse and with one jerk, he ripped open her her blouse.

But before he could go any further, a few of his lackeys cried out in pain.

Y/N swore she heard the sound of objects whipping through the darkness.

She didn’t want to let herself feel any relief. But she hoped Harley had made her way back to her. She’d probably pack an even heavier punch once she realized Y/N needed protecting from her asshole ex.

But when Joker turned around and Y/N followed his gaze, Harley was nowhere to be found.

Yet three men were on the ground, unconscious.

“Well, well, well,” Joker muttered in amusement. “Has Batsy come out to play?”

Next thing Y/N saw was a shadow dropping down out of nowhere and taking out even more of Joker’s men.

Joker seemed to be prepared for such an interruption. Because he grabbed a knife from somewhere hidden on his body and ripped Y/N off the wall. He pressed Y/N’s back to his chest and put the tip of his knife to her throat.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Joker sang.

To Y/N’s shock, Batman stepped into what little light was in the hallway.

“Long time, no see!” Joker screamed so loudly that Y/N flinched. “Did you miss me, Batsy? And you came all this way to see little old me?! How very sweet!”

“Your attempted escape was a failure,” Batman stated. “There’s nowhere for you to go. All the exits are blocked. Arkham has been contained.”

“What a shame! I really felt this one was gonna work!” Joker laughed.

Batman took a step toward him. “It’s over, Joker.”

“You’re probably right,” Joker shrugged. “But I really wanted to have some fun with doc here. So, if you could give us some privacy.”

Batman’s eyes flickered to Y/N’s for a brief moment. “Let her go,” he warned.

“How about…no?” Joker laughed.

Just as Batman was about to make his move, Y/N grabbed the wrist of Joker’s arm that held the knife. She twisted it and dived in such a succinct motion that it was obvious Y/N had been trained.

Whipping herself out of Joker’s grip, she twisted Joker’s arm so roughly and quickly behind his back that he had no choice but to drop his knife from the pain.

Then Y/N was now facing him, and with one swift swing of her leg, she kicked him right in the groan.

Batman saw his opening and rushed forward, cuffing Joker in place.

While Batman neutralized him, Y/N stumbled for the knife that Joker had dropped, still not feeling safe and out of danger.

She looked around, realizing that the police had filtered in and apprehended all the escaped prisoners. Some were already locked back into their cells. Other’s were in handcuffs with guns being pointed at them in warning.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” his voice made her whip back around.

How the hell did Batman know her name?

She squinted wearily at him.

“You can drop the knife,” Batman told her quietly.

Y/N blinked and looked down at her hand, having forgotten that she even grabbed the knife. And she now had a vice-like grip on it.

Her hands were shaking when she dropped the knife and the clatter echoed in the hallway.

She eyed the Joker, not trusting any sort of weapon to be in his vicinity, despite being handcuffed now.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Batman noted, as if he could read her mind and hear the concerns she was thinking.

Police officers surrounded them now.

“Until next time, doc!” Joker sang loudly.

Batman stepped between him and Y/N, shielding her from even being seen by the lunatic.

Y/N eyed him, wondering if he did that on purpose.

“This way,” he directed lowly as he led her out of the hallway.

Y/N was surprised when he escorted her all the way out of the building.

Wasn’t this supposed to be Gotham’s Dark Knight? A disappearing act? An urban legend that some people still didn’t believe in?

When they got outside, there were even more officers. The night was flickering blue and red from all the patrol car’s lights still being on.

Commissioner Gordon was having a field day with Arkham’s warden, yelling at him about lack of protocol and no protection for the volunteers and workers that had gotten caught in the crossfire.

But finally, the reality of what just happened was starting to set in for Y/N. And she realized that her entire body was shaking.

All of a sudden, a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked up to see that Batman had draped it over her. When and where he’d grabbed it, she had no clue. But the warmth was helping, so she didn’t question it.

“Thank you…for saving me back there.”

Was that a smirk on his lips? Was Batman amused by her?

Why was it so comforting when he was a mere stranger?

And his eyes, even when they were surrounded by a cowl and dark paint, they still felt familiar. Y/N had a similar feeling to deja vu.

“Looked like you had it handled,” he replied.

“Oh, I definitely didn’t. But thank god for those self-defense classes.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a second.

“Make sure you get checked out by the paramedics,” he told her gently, but insistent.

It was far too gentle for his Batman alter ego. But she caught how it sounded like it personally mattered to him.

Y/N looked behind her, where the ambulance was.

But when she turned back around, Batman was gone.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was being surrounded by two paramedics and Commissioner Gordon who was careful not to push her by asking too many questions at once.

“Does he always do that?” She asked him in a daze.

“Do what?” Gordon asked.

“Disappear like that?”

Gordon smiled and nodded. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

———

“What’s the gossip of the privileged this week?” Bruce asked Alfred at breakfast a few days after the outbreak.

“Something specific you’re looking for, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked as he poured Bruce a big mug of coffee.

Bruce glared at him, knowing he was playing coy with him.

But he put his pride aside. “How is she doing?”

Alfred took pity on him. “She took some time off work. But seems to be handling it better than expected. Makes quite a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Her being psychiatrist and all.”

Bruce just nodded with a dazed look.

“You could always see for yourself…” Alfred added.

Bruce snapped out of his daze and looked up him questioningly.

“You could go see her,” Alfred confirmed.

“Alfred, don’t you start.”

“Start what, Master Wayne? Pushing you to form any sort of relationship?”

Bruce sighed and got up from the breakfast nook. He didn’t want to fight with him, so he’d made his exit before that happened.

“Batman has plenty of friends,” Alfred stopped him. “But what about Bruce Wayne, hmm? Who are his friends?”

“You saying we’re not friends, Alfred?”

“I’m all you’ve got, Master Wayne. And that’s my point.”

Before the discussion could go on any further, the doorbell rang.

The two men shared a look.

No one stopped by the manor.

Alfred made his way over.

Bruce figured he’d wait where he was. But the front entrance was too far away from him to overhear any conversation.

A few minutes later, Alfred walked in with an unreadable expression.

“Dr. Y/L/N is here, Master Wayne. She is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Bruce opened his mouth to tell him to make an excuse and get her to leave. But Alfred was already disappearing, making it clear that he would do no such thing for him.

When Bruce walked into the drawing room, he found Y/N’s back to him as she looked at the family heirlooms and trinkets that were displayed on the shelved.

She was dressed casually, which caught Bruce off guard since he’d only see her in formal wear and professional outfits since their reunion. Her hair was in a messy bun and she didn’t appear to be wearing much makeup, if any at all.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, making her quickly turn around.

“Hi,” she replied.

Bruce stepped further into the room. But neither of them moved to sit in any of the many seats that surrounded them.

“I heard what happened. How are you doing?” He asked.

She nodded and shrugged. “Alright.”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Bruce admitted.

Y/N ignored his comment and her eyes went around the room. “I missed this place,” she thought aloud. Then her eyes fell back to his, softening. “I missed you.”

Bruce was taken aback from her confession. Seeing as the last time they were together, she was rather blunt about how disgusted and disappointed in him she was.

The energy between them felt so different than last time.

To his surprise, Y/N stepped toward him. And she didn’t stop until she was at a proximity that most would call rather intimate.

There was a voice in the back of Bruce’s mind, urging him to close the last bit of distance and place his lips on hers. But he managed to ignore it. That didn’t stop his heart from beating faster, though.

Y/N stared into his eyes for a few seconds, almost like she was searching for something.

“I have something that belongs to you…”

Bruce waited, not sure what she could possibly have to give him.

But then she pulled out one of his batarangs from her coat pocket, offering it to him.

She had found it embedded in the wall when she had gone back down to grab her personal belongings that night.

Bruce kept his face composed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

But he grabbed it from her anyways.

“He’s you,” she whispered. “Or I guess…you’re him.”

Bruce let out a breath, “Y/N…”

She took step away from him. “Don’t lie to me, Bruce.”

So he shut his mouth and said nothing instead.

“I’ve been doing some research. Things started lining up,” Y/N explained. “The first Batman sightings were right around when we stopped talking. The more Batman was in the press, the less Bruce Wayne was. And when he was, it was never positive – like it was meant to be a distraction.”

Her eyes went sad. “I never understood how the boy I used to love could grow into the man I’m so disappointed in. It never made sense.” She paused. “But when you wonder if the man himself is the mask, it all fits.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce hung his head slightly. “I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.”

“I’d never share your secret.”

“I know,” he answered instantly.

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bruce…living like this has its consequences.”

Bruce said nothing.

She stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “You can’t change the world on your own. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N wasn’t giving him advice. She was offering him something.

Her trust.

Her secrecy.

Her love.

He shook his head, but gripped her hand tightly. “You would just end up in the shadows with me. And I…I can’t do that to you.”

“I’m stronger than you think,” Y/N defended.

“I’ve always known how strong you are, Y/N.” His jaw tightened at even the thought of being selfish. “You deserve more than what I can give. Gotham will always come first. That’s the sacrifice I made. That’s what is required. I can’t be what you need.”

Y/N studied his face, knowing that there would be no winning with him.

She nodded once, not even slightly hiding her heartbreak and disappointment.

Then she stepped closer and gave him a slow kiss on the cheek.

“It’s not a one time offer, Bruce.”

Bruce couldn’t move a muscle. He was rooted in place.

He heard Y/N have a short conversation with Alfred, then the door closed, and she was gone again.

———

Bruce Wayne was a fool.

Alfred could probably make a list, in seconds, with a hundred reasons why.

But, no, Bruce Wayne was a fool for believing Y/N would give up so easily.

Two weeks later, Y/N was at Wayne Manor again.

Bruce knew something was going on when Alfred didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

In one of her arms was popcorn seeds, twizzlers, sour patch kids, and chocolate covered pretzels. In the other arm was a case of beer.

Y/N barely said hi to Bruce as Alfred helped her out of her coat and took the things out of her grasp so she was no longer struggling to hold it all.

“I’m here to use your theater,” she announced.

And with that, she walked right past Bruce like she owned the place.

Bruce looked at Alfred and silently asked, ‘What the hell is going on?’

“I believe you have a guest to entertain, Master Wayne.” Then he looked at the items in his hand. “And I believe I have some popcorn to make.”

Bruce still didn’t move.

“You successfully closed yet another case last night, it’s Friday night, and you have a beautiful woman who decided she wants to spend her time with you. Best you don’t keep her waiting, Master Wayne.”

Bruce narrowed his gaze as if telling Alfred they’d discuss this matter at another time.

“I presume you shouldn’t go empty handed,” Alfred added quickly and handed Bruce two beers from the case in his arms.

Bruce chuckled, but started walking away. “I’m surprised you even let this stuff in the house, Alfred.”

When Bruce reached the theater, Y/N had already started a movie.

He watched her a for a moment before she could realize he'd joined her.

Y/N looked like she belonged there. Even after all this time apart, she just burrowed herself a cozy nook in Bruce’s life.

It was something she had been able to do even when they were kids. When Bruce had his mood swings or his depressive episodes, Y/N didn’t scare. She just found her way to stay at his side without upsetting him further.

Bruce grabbed the seat to the left of hers.

They weren’t really seats, more like small beds. A dozen were placed in the theater.

A couple could easily share one, but Bruce wasn’t planning on even approaching that fine line.

When Bruce sat down, he didn’t look at Y/N. But she gave a shy smile at his joining.

It was a long movie – almost a 3 hour run time.

And Y/N almost made it.

Without only 30 minutes left, Y/N had fallen asleep. Meaning Bruce’s attention was now taken from the movie.

He got up and grabbed one of the many blankets in the trunk hidden in the corner and placed it carefully over her, before silently leaving.

This was not a one time thing.

These type of visits continued.

Bruce knew Y/N and Alfred had to be in cahoots together.

Y/N seemed to always come to the manor when Bruce needed her most.

Alfred would force Bruce out of the cave and moments later, the doorbell would be ringing.

On the bad nights, she wouldn’t make him talk. She wouldn’t ask questions or try to make him magically feel better. Sometimes she would talk – mostly about mundane things. She’d tell Bruce about her day or how her neighbor always left baked goods at her door or about the new show she started watching. Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything at all, just sit there silently and make sure he wasn’t alone.

Sometimes she would bring coffee and pastries.

Sometimes Bruce would just walk into the library and find her reading.

Sometimes she would sit and chat with Alfred as if he was the reason she was visiting, and not Bruce.

Bruce couldn’t sleep one night. Nothing specific was causing his insomnia. Just the overall weight of being so many people.

It was 3AM when Y/N texted him to open the door for her because she didn’t want to wake Alfred.

When Bruce did so, Y/N was standing on the other door in sandals and a slightly transparent coverup that barely showed the outline of the bathing suit underneath.

He said nothing, but his face clearly showed that he wanted to know why the hell she was there in the middle of the night.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Y/N told him quietly. Then she shrugged a bit,“I decided I wanted to go for a swim."

Whether she was lying for his benefit, Bruce wasn’t sure. But he followed her to the indoor swimming pool like a sailor would follow a siren.

Without hesitation, Y/N kicked her sandals off and tossed her coverup on the nearest chair. And the next second, she was diving into the pool.

Bruce smirked at her nonchalance, but made sure to hide it when she breached the surface once again.

“Doesn’t your apartment building have its won pool?” He asked.

Y/N smiled and tilted her head back to get her hair wet again and out of her face. “They put too much chlorine in it.”

Bruce crossed his arms, “I see.”

“Coming in?” She asked teasingly.

He shook his head.

“At least keep me company,” she requested.

Bruce glared playfully at her, knowing the game she was playing.

But he finally sighed and nodded.

He was in cotton shorts and a t-shirt. But he decided to sit on the edge of the pool and dip his feet in.

He watched as she swam around, looking as natural in the water as a mermaid. She had always loved swimming as a kid and it appeared not much had changed.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He finally decided to break the silence.

Y/N swam to him and crossed her arms on the edge of the pool to rest and tilted her head to look at him.

She shrugged, “The usual: stress, nightmares, insomnia, too much caffeine.”

Bruce’s concern spiked instantly. “Nightmares about what?”

She watched him for a moment, seeing how quickly her subtle comment triggered him.

“You’re not the only person who’s seen fucked up things, Bruce.”

An hour later, Y/N asked for a towel.

When she climbed out, she was taken aback by Bruce wrapping it around her shoulders and rubbing her down gently. It was innocent, but subtly intimate.

As their eyes locked for a prolonged time, and he seemed to realize what he’d done accidentally.

Y/N cleared her throat. “I should head home and let you try to get some sleep.”

“You could stay,” he offered. “I mean, we have plenty of bedrooms here,” he quickly added and saved himself a bit.

“Is that…what you want?” Y/N asked slowly.

Bruce knew what she was trying to ask. He didn’t trust himself to answer the way he should, so he didn’t answer.

“Let me drive you home,” he asked as they left the indoor pool and started toward the front entrance.

Y/N ignored the request until they were at the door. She turned to face him with a smug look, “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. Thank you.”

She hesitated before kissing him on the cheek. “Get some sleep, Bruce.”

————

Months after Y/N’s visits started, Bruce was doing some research for a case on his tablet as he ate dinner.

“Margaret Caulfield’s engagement party is tonight,” Alfred broke the silence of the manor as he took Bruce’s finished plate.

Bruce looked confused on why he was supposed to care.

“Y/N will be there,” Alfred added.

But Bruce still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“Master Wayne, when you attend all those sufferable parties, what is the first question people ask you?”

Bruce thought for a moment. “When I plan on settling down, I guess.”

“Now imagine that, but magnified by about 100…and that is what Y/N’s experience is at those same parties. That young woman is one of the brightest people in Gotham and all those people care about is who will put a silly ring on her finger.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, now understanding what Alfred was getting at. “I’m not her boyfriend, Alfred.”

“And you’ve made damn sure of that,” Alfred said a little too harshly.

Bruce watched him carefully.

“Y/N has fought off every one of your attempts to be a miserable recluse.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare try and tell me her efforts are wasted,” Alfred cut him off. “I’ve seen a change in you. And she has asked for absolutely nothing in return. She’d never ask you to pick her over Batman. Though she bloody well should!”

He wasn’t done.

“You’re not living, Master Wayne. And I won’t apologize for wanting more for you.”

Bruce just sat there and took it.

Alfred took in a breath, calming himself down. “There’s a suit waiting for you in your bedroom. I’ve decided I’m going for a evening walk.”

——————

Y/N didn’t know how many more champagnes she’d have to shrug to start feeling the buzz she so desperately needed.

Not even an hour of being at the party and she’s already been asked 15 times if she was seeing anyone. And when she answered no, half of those ended in them trying to set her up with someone.

As Y/N was trying to think of an excuse to escape, an old family friend approached her – a friend of her grandma’s unfortunately.

“Y/N, dear, let me see those hands!”

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes and snap, but she did as requested.

“No ring yet,” the woman teased, but she was also genuinely disappointed.

“That would be my fault, actually.” A voice said behind Y/N before she felt a hand on her lower back.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, how nice of you to come!” The woman beamed. “Now, Y/N, why wouldn’t you tell anyone that you and Bruce are an item?”

“My fault again,” Bruce chuckled, “I’ve always enjoyed a good secret.”

Before she could ask more, Bruce smiled politely. “If you could excuse us for a moment.”

He steered Y/N to a private area of the party.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed at him. “The press are gonna have a field day. You and I will be every headline tomorrow.”

He smiled at her frantic concern.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m serious!”

Bruce captured her lips, silencing any further panic from her.

Y/N was completely caught off guard, but he wasn’t letting her go so easily. And soon, her hand went to the back of his head and she kissed him back.

Damn all the people who were probably watching them.

When Bruce finally let her pull away, he smirked at her dazed look and cupped her cheek.

She matched his smirk.

But then reality set in like a splash of cold water and she frowned.

“Am I – Is this your new cover?” She asked shakily, so scared that the answer was ‘yes.’

She could tolerate being Bruce’s friend for the rest of her life. But she wouldn’t survive being used in such a way. She couldn’t live in a fake relationship with a man she actually loved. She’d rather watch his sloppy persona with girls hanging off of him.

“No cover-up,” he muttered to her. “Just me and you – the real me.”

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

I worked so hard on this 😩 Please let me know your thoughts.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman reader insert #alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth & reader #batman fic #batman universe #dc #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batboys #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne angst #batman angst

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supimjustwriting · 4 years

Text

Happy Anniversary! Didn’t I Mention That?

Obey me Brothers x Reader

Summary: It’s been one year since you’ve been together ~! Wanting to surprise your lover. You decide to do the sneaky, sneak. Unknowingly causing them slight unease.

Author’s Note: This took a lot longer than I thought. Respect to all the writers who regularly write headcannons! Any who ~ I hope you enjoy this little flower patch.

Lucifer

- He trusts you wholeheartedly. At least that’s what he wants to believe. Your eyes are only on him, correct? Then why are you talking to his brothers more? Why are you always excusing yourself when he tries to invite you out? Is there someone else? If so, he’d like to talk to them.

- Lucifer being the avatar of pride, will not approach you first. Surely you have your reasons for your behaviour or your guilt will make you come to him.

- Relief washes over him as you wrap your arms around him, planting a kiss on the crown of his head. He’d never admit it but without you around, work has been more stressful.

- A rare smile graces his lips as you lead him to the house gardens and show him a candle lit dinner. Adorned on the table was a simple white table cloth, followed by his favourite meal and a cake that read ‘Happy Anniversary!’

- He should’ve known it was some human tradition that you were planning. That night, he holds you close whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You should’ve told him you were planning something. Now he’s gonna repay you tenfold.

Mammon - When he doesn’t see you around. Your phone is blowing up with text messages! Text him back that you’re busy and he’ll simply spam you with crying emojis. How can you do that to your first and your boyfriend!?

- Every time he catches a glimpse of you in the House of Lamentation, he’s always crossed whether he should approach you head on or play it off as if it was nothing. He’d hate to admit it but he was starting to miss his favourite human. Why weren’t they hanging around the great Mammon?

- By the time it’s your anniversary. This boy is crying in your arms, simply enjoying the fact that you’re talking to him again. Not that he’ll admit it.

- He’d be embarrassed at the simple celebration, claiming he knew what you were planning all along. The snow haired male promises that next year it’ll be him spoiling you instead.

Leviathan

- Poor boy wasn’t surprised when you started avoiding him. He knew it was too good to be true that a useless otaku like him would ever get a girlfriend. Though that doesn’t mean he won’t be jealous. He is the avatar of Envy after all.

- If he sees you sneaking around, he’ll jump to the conclusion that you enjoy spending more time with his brothers than him. He’ll be noticeably more irritable and most likely start avoiding you back.

- Old habits die hard though. He’ll catch himself turning to empty air when asking where he possibly put something or he’ll call out your name in his room to get your opinion. He never realized how much you too really hung around together. Maybe this was part of his character development.

- Like Mammon, he’s almost in tears when you slip a letter under his door wishing him a happy anniversary. Scratch that. He was in tears and he couldn’t help but compare it to one of the scenes from his favourite anime.

“This is just like that scene from ‘I Don’t Understand What My Human is Doing!”

Satan

- Everything looked fine on the outside. Key word looked. Wherever the male walked you could practically feel the anger radiating off him. Of course, he’d hide it under his signature smile. Satan wants to be the best boyfriend he could be. So, he should be able to trust you, right?

- There’s no way you would be seeing someone else. He’d smell the new demon right away and get rid of them, have a nice chat with them. The blonde didn’t want to resort to stalking you. So, instead he buried himself in his books.

- Satan is as red as a rose when you present him with a book he was looking for, along with a happy anniversary card. He felt foolish for letting his feelings get ahead of him and sang nothing but praises for you.

- A few days later you receive a 9 page poem about all the reasons why he loves you. <3

Asmosdeus

- No one has ever captured his heart the way you had. You two were together for almost a whole year and now you’re avoiding him!

Oh ~ - Asmos catches on the fastest among all his brothers. There’s no need to worry since the avatar of Lust owns your heart and you own his.

- He’d start making his own plans. He’ll order more beauty care products, so you two can have a night in. He’ll look up famous romance movies from the human world and try to sneak them into devildom.

- On the day of your anniversary. He’s the first to pounce with his bag of goodies and showers you with kisses. Of course his love gets to choose what they get to do first. You get to handle part 1 of the anniversary and when night falls it’ll be his turn ~!

Beelzubub

- Not having you around as much actually killed his appetite.

- He’ll try to approach you and ask what’s wrong. Only to get shut down, being told he ‘shouldn’t worry about it’. Hearing that just makes his heart ache. Beel just wants to help out his S/O. He can’t do that if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

- Beel would try his best to give you the space you need. Even going to Belphie to ask what’s possibly going on with you. The younger twin would simply smile and pat his back reassuringly. Get your plans sorted out faster or he’ll kill you again.

- When you show him the feast that is your anniversary dinner. He was just a ball of sunshine. Beel would stuff his mouth. Only to stop and make sure that you got to try some of the food as well. This truly was worth the wait.

Belphegor

- He doesn’t even try to beat around the bush. Belphie corners you and asks you why you’re avoiding him. If you still insist on not telling him. He simply sighs, not blaming you.

- After the way he tricked and treated you. He’s honestly surprised that your relationship lasted this long.

- That doesn’t mean he isn’t ticked off whenever he sees you be close to any of his brothers but at the same time. He feels he has no right to step in. It’s your life and you should do what makes you happy.

- When he gets to the attic and just sees a giant blanket fort, he’s so confused. The boy’s heart leaped when you crawled out and yelled ‘happy anniversary!’ He ended up laughing so hard, tears pricked his eyes.

- Even though he was a demon now. He felt blessed to have you as his S/O

#Obey Me #Obey me x reader #Obey me Shall we Date #obey me leviathan #Obey me Satan #Obey me Mammon #Obey Me Lucifer #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Beelzubub #Obey Me Belphegor #Obey Me Dandelion

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marshmallow-phd · 3 years

Text

Book of the Dead

Genre: The Mummy AU

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: After traveling to the fabled city of Hamunaptra, you read from the Book of the Dead and accidentally resurrect an ancient mummy with extraordinary powers and quest for revenge. The only thing to do now is try and convince your less-than-traditional guide to help you save the world.

Part 1 I Part 2

“I just said a few sentences!”

“What did you do that for!”

“Well, I didn’t know that that would happen!”

You stared at the aggravating, self-absorbed, cocky Korean soldier and wondered why on earth you had decided to negotiate for this man’s life.

Alright, you did know why. You needed him to show you to Hamunuptra - the fabled City of the Dead.

Too many times you had stood in front of the museum curator with pages and pages of references and evidence that the place existed and just needed a small team of archeologists in order to track it down. He’d shot you down every time. And each time he took the liberty of reminding you that while your father was an exceptional explorer who had many successes under his belt, you were a woman whose life had been spent between the shelves, cataloging. Your adventures consisted of the fictional kind, devouring any novel you could when you weren’t archiving the latest crate of artifacts and texts.

Then your cousin showed up. Your normally useless, hare-brained, erratic, drunkard cousin showed up at your apartment with a “fun new artifact” he found on his latest trip. And suddenly your luck had completely turned around.

Or so you thought.

Now you were standing in the middle of Hamunaptra, feet sinking into the unstable sand, with an empty sarcophagus and everyone blaming you because you did what you did best - read.

It was only a book. Albeit, a very heavy, possibly-made-of-painted-solid-gold book that was written in the dead language of ancient Egypt, but still. What harm had ever come from reading a book?

Kim Junmyeon stared at you as if you were the one who had risen from the dead. You were still stunned at how different he looked from when you had first met him in that smelly prison, minutes away from being hanged. His hair had been long and stringy, clumps of dirt clinging to the dark brown strands that brushed his shoulders. Now it was shorter, cut above his ears and gelled back in the current style that almost made him look like a gentleman. The several days’ stubble was long gone to reveal smooth skin and a sharp jawline. He was actually very handsome - when he was cleaned up.

Stupid, you hissed at yourself. Now was not the time for this. Because right now there seemed to be a reanimated mummy running around here. And by the looks of Barney’s husk of a body lying deep within the temple underground, it was hungry.

As it should be, given the three thousand years it spent locked up under piles of sand.

“Really, you should have been more careful!” your cousin, Baekhyun, scolded.

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk. You were the one who snatched the key off of Mr. Kim here at one of your seedy bars and then proceeded to lie to me and say that you found it on a dig in Thebes which in turn brought us here!”

Baekhyun opened and closed his mouth as he searched for a possible retort.

“I think this is more your fault,” Kim Junmyeon’s own cousin and traveling partner, Oh Sehun, said. “You told us to go down a level and dig under the statue, which in turn,” he mocked your tone almost precisely, “caused the mummy to be able to get out of his sarcophagus. If we had dug somewhere else entirely, then he’d still be trapped under the statue of Anubis.”

“Despite the fact that it was two layers deep, nothing would have been able to hold a victim of the Hom-Dai.”

“Would have given poor Barney a chance,” Kim Junmyeon muttered under his breath. You shot him a glare that he hardly noticed.

“I say that we get out of here and to the safety of the city before the mummy finds us.” Oh Sehun swallowed thickly. “Or worse. The beetles find us.” The supposedly brave soldier who had two pistols hanging under each arm was more terrified of the flesh eating bugs than he was the living mummy that was bringing about the ten plagues of Egypt. You’d already lived through the locust infestation, but that was always the most minor of the plagues. In your opinion.

“We told you to leave,” Ardeth said in that low, monotone voice that made him seem centuries old. You had only known him for a few hours, but you already feared and respected him. Despite the fact that he had attacked your campsite the night before. “Now you have condemned the whole world to the very monster that we have spent three thousand years keeping hidden.”

Kim Junmyeon finally tore his face away from yours. “I told you. I shot him. He went down.”

“Mortal weapons are useless against this creature. None can kill him.” Stepping up, he stood toe to toe with the soldier who led you here. “A gun is nothing more than a fly to him. He will never eat. He will never sleep. And he will never stop. Not until this world is only sand.”

Though still not completely backing down, Kim Junmyeon took hold of your arm. “Come on. We’re going back to Cairo.”

The camel ride back to the city was long, tiring, and a bit painful, if you were honest. The inside of your thighs were sore from keeping you up right on the animal’s back for hours on end under the blazing heat. You were used to the comfortable back seat of a car, even if the roads here tended to be on the bumpier side. Kim Junmyeon stayed at your side the entire time, up until you were back in your hotel room. All your things were still in there. That was nice, even if it was to be expected. The desk clerk had sworn he would keep the room reserved for you until you made it back. And now that you had, you were on to the next fight.

“We’re not going anywhere!”

Kim Junmyeon pretended not to hear you as he started emptying the dresser drawers of your clothes and stuffing them in your suitcases lying open on the bed.

“Excuse me! I said we’re not going anywhere!” As soon as he stepped away again, you slammed the suitcase shut. A stray white cat that you didn’t have the heart to remove from your room took advantage of the newly available space and laid down on the surface of the luggage. Unbothered by the argument taking place in its presences, it purred as it curled into a ball and closed its eyes.

“You keep using the word ‘we’ and I’m not sure why,” he said. “I believe you were the one who woke him up in the first place.”

“Yes, I get it!” you shouted. “Everyone can blame me because I read the damn book, but that is why we need to stop him.”

He closed the empty drawer and turned back around to face you. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that? You heard Ardeth. No mortal weapon can kill this guy.”

“That’s why we’re going to find some immortal ones.”

He pulled a pair of rounded glasses from his pocket, wiped the lenses with his shirt, and stuck them on the bridge of his nose. “There goes that ‘we’ business again.”

You huffed, trying not to focus on the newest version of the soldier now being presented in front of you. “Yes, we. Because this curse will continue to get worse until the whole world is destroyed.”

“And that’s my problem?”

“It is everybody’s problem! You live here, too!”

Kim Junmyeon stepped up until he was mere inches away. “Listen. I appreciate you saving my life and all, but when I agreed to this idiotic mission my objective was to show you the way and then bring you back here. I have done that. End of job. End of story. Contract terminated.”

You tried not to show how his last few words affected you. Though you had been a little intoxicated two nights ago, you still very much remembered how sweet he had been, how he had listened to you go on and on about your parents and how much you wanted to be a famous adventurer like your father. And how you almost kissed him. And how he was going to kiss you back. Stupidly, you had thought that there was something growing between you. Apparently, you had been wrong.

“Is that all I am to you?” you whispered. “A contract?”

Kim Junmyeon blew out haughtily from his nose. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. He opened his mouth and then closed it. You waited in hopes that he would contradict you. That he would say, no that was not all you were to him. And it really seemed like he would be saying something along those lines. But other words came out instead.

“Look. You can either come with me or you can try and stay here and save the world. So. What’s it going to be?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I’m staying.”

“Fine.” He headed for the door.

“Fine,” you bit back, following him.

“Fine,” he threw at you again as he barely glanced over his shoulder.

“Fine!”

He got the last word in before slamming the door to your room shut.

You huffed as you crossed your arms. Yet, as angry as you were, you still hoped that he would come back. That he wouldn’t let you take this on alone. But the footsteps on the other faded away and you were alone.

Looking around your room, you didn’t think there was much you could do. So, you did what you were best at. You grabbed all the books you thought could help you and got to reading.

While sitting in the wicker chair in the corner, you skipped around the books and pages, clinging on to any small word that you thought could lead you to a possible solution. There wasn’t much to be found, unfortunately. Most works spoke of how to perform the Hom-Dai and how it should never be performed due to the curse that awaits should the victim ever be awakened. You already knew that. You needed specifics on what to do after the victim came back.

“(Y/n)!”

Kim Junmyeon came bursting back into your room. You slammed the book in your hands closed, feeling very high and mighty indeed.

“Ah. Mr. Kim. Have you changed your mind?”

“Doesn’t matter now, he’s here!”

“What!”

He didn’t clarify as he hoisted you up out of the chair and pulled you out of the room, and into the hall. Through the windows, you watched in horror as fire fell from the heavens. The balls of flame engulfed anything it touched when it landed, whether it be plant or human life. Turning a corner, Kim Junmyeon ran into a room you knew was occupied by another one of the Americans that you had ran into on your way to Hamunaptra. You gasped.

In the chair, now nothing more than dried, husky skin and hollow bones was… oh, dear you couldn’t remember his name. You hadn’t bothered to learn them. You and Baekhyun had simply referred to them as the “Bloody Americans”. You were feeling a bit awful about that at the moment.

But you didn’t have much time to dwell on that. Standing in front of the fireplace was a new version of the mummy. His skin was starting to come together, though patches were still missing, allowing you to see the gray bone and lack of organs underneath. Kim Junmyeon pulled out both of his guns as the mummy stalked forward.

“We are in deep trouble,” he murmured before opening fire. The loud pops banged on your poor eardrums. You stumbled back a few steps to try and soften their blows. It didn’t work.

The bullets passed through the mummy as if they didn’t exist at all. Even when Oh Sehun and the other Americans came running into the room and firing off their own guns, the mummy still kept going. He shoved Kim Junmyeon back into the others as if he were nothing more than old wrappings. Then he turned on you.

Completely unarmed, you stumbled back until you were betrayed by the bookshelf behind you. There was nowhere to run. Instead of sucking out your liver, however, he spoke.

“You were the one who saved me from the afterlife.” His words were haunting, echoing as if he was speaking in a cavern. And the language he spoke… ancient Egyptian. You weren’t sure why you expected to speak anything else. Coming in closer, he lowered his voice. “I thank you.”

He leaned in his head, those very human eyes lowering to your lips. You turned your head away to try and avoid the kiss, confused as to why he was trying to seduce you.

Sharp, unpleasing notes from the piano pierced through the air. The mummy turned and gasped when he saw the white cat from your room walking across the keys. In a whirl of sand, he fled from the room.

“Oh, thank god,” you said with a heavy breath.

“No kidding,” Kim Junmyeon groaned as he sat up.

You ran to his side, fearful that he might have been injured. “Are you alright, Mr. Kim?”

“Yes,” he huffed. With a very odd expression, he added, “And I told you to call me Junmyeon.”

To be honest, after your fight, you didn’t think you would be allowed to anymore. A strange silence settled between you. He was trying to say something with his gaze, but you couldn’t interpret it. So, instead, you helped him to his feet. “Come on. I know who we need to talk to about all of this.”

It took a while to get back to the museum that had employed you for the past year or so. Every street was full of panicking people. Flames no longer fell from the heavens, but little fires still raged on homes and carts. The Americans had declared that they were coming along, so your group was slower in moving. Although you didn’t really want the mummy bait to be anywhere near you, Junmyeon and Sehun decided that it would be better to keep an eye on them and - hopefully - keep them out of the mummy’s grasp.

“Dr. Bey!” You ran into the museum’s main storage room, happy when you saw the curator. But then you skidded to a stop at the sight that he wasn’t alone.

Ardeth was talking with him in hushed tones that stopped the second you appeared. Both men turned towards you, the curator wearing a very readable expression. It was one that stunk of “I told you so”. The others were only a few steps behind. As soon they, too, saw the unexpected visitor, Junmyeon, Sehun, and the Americans pulled out their guns while Baekhyun simply squeaked in surprise.

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Bey greeted as if this were any old meeting on a Tuesday.

“What is he doing here?” Junmyeon demanded. Even with the black tattoos etched under Ardeth’s eyes, you could tell that he was tired, dark circles from lack of sleep bruising his skin.

Dr. Bey raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to know? Or perhaps you would prefer to just shoot us?”

“Either sounds good.” Junmyeon cocked back the hammer of one of his guns for emphasis.

“Stop it,” you hissed. “Bullets won’t do any good here. Besides, you might damage some of the artifacts.”

Junmyeon failed to suppress a laugh over your concern. Despite the present danger, you still didn’t want to see the carriages or sacred jars damaged because someone got trigger happy. So, Junmyeon holstered his guns and the others soon followed suit. “All right. I’ll give a little faith.”

Dr. Bey motioned for the group to follow him in deeper. “We’re part of a secret society-”

“Aren’t they all?” Baekhyun muttered. Both you and Dr. Bey shot him glares that made him snap his mouth shut.

“For over three thousand years, we have guarded the City of the Dead. Once we reach manhood, we swear an oath to do anything and everything in our power to stop the high priest Imhotep from rising from the grave.”

“And now we have failed. Thanks to you.” Ardeth gave you a particularly pointed look.

By now, you were getting very irritated with the constant finger pointing. What was done was done. You were not going to show him any cowardice. “And that justifies the murder of innocent people?”

“Hm. To stop this creature?” Dr. Bey pretended to think for a moment. “Yes.”

Junmyeon, untroubled by that, raised his hand from the golden seat of a dead royal that he had taken over. “I have a question. Why doesn’t he seem to like cats?”

“Cats are the guardians of the underworld. He will fear them until he reaches full regeneration.”

“Then there will be nothing that he fears.” Worry was very much apparent in the soldier’s voice.

“And you know how he gets regenerated?” one of the Americans asked rhetorically.

The other one finished. “By tracking those of us down who opened the chest and sucking us dry like a nomad in the desert, that’s how!”

It was completely pointless to go over the things that were already known. Now was the time to try and piece the unused parts together. Two particular moments were sticking out in your head.

“Back in Hamunaptra, the priest - Imhotep - he called me Ack-Su-Namun. And then just now at the hotel, he….” You cringed at the memory, thankful that you didn’t have to feel the decomposed skin against your own. “He tried to kiss me.”

“It’s because of Anck-Su-Namun and his love for her that he was cursed,” Dr. Bey explained, exchanging a look with Ardeth. “Even after all this time….”

“He’s still in love with her?” Sehun finished with a scoff.

You appreciated the backstory, however - “As romantic as that is, what does that have to do with me?”

“Perhaps he will try to raise her from the dead once again?” Ardeth guessed.

“Yes,” Dr. Bey agreed solemnly. “And it would seem that he has already chosen his human sacrifice.”

All eyes in the room turned to you. Wonderful.

Not only were you the one who read from the book and raised him, but you would also be responsible for the return of his beloved, who was the reason he was cursed in the first place. Absolutely beautiful.

Baekhuyn came up behind you and patted your shoulder. “That is some rotten luck, dear cousin.”

“Actually, this could work in our favor,” Dr. Bey countered. “It could give us time that we desperately need to kill the creature.”

“We’ll need every second, I think,” Sehun said. He pointed towards the ceiling. “I think he’s getting stronger.”

Through the large window high up on the wall, the sun was in clear view. You all watched in horror as the moon moved too quickly across the sky and blocked the light from reaching Earth.

“I’m guessing this is the plague of darkness?” Baekhyun said ominously. You nodded slowly.

“Let’s go,” Junmyeon said softly beside you, his hand coming up protectively behind your back. “We’ve got to get back to the hotel and come up with a plan.”

“I’m just saying, it seems very stupid to comdem someone to a curse when the result of that would be for them to come back a supernatural creature who is practically unkillable.”

“The ancient Egyptians believed in balance,” you explained to Baekhyun for the hundredth time in your life. “To curse someone so badly in both this life and the next, there has to be a consequence to balance out the scales. If not, then the whole world could still fall apart, in even worse ways!”

“All of this is kind of pointless now, isn’t it?” Sehun sighed from the small table in the antechamber to your room. His feet were up on the polished surface as he leaned back in his seat. A look of irritation was etched on his face as he stared at your cousin. “What’s done is done. Right now, we need to focus on our next step.”

“Well, I know you two,” you pointed to the Americans, “opened the chest. As well as Barney. Was there anyone else?”

“The Egyptologist that was with us,” the shaggier one answered. “Professor Chamberlain. He has a temporary residence a few blocks over.”

“What about my best friend Beni?” Junmyeon asked. You nearly snorted. You knew the two of them were anything but friends.

“No. He ran out before we took the lid off. Ended up saving his own skin.”

“Sounds like Beni,” Junmyeon said dryly. “Okay. We’re going to go get the Professor. You four,” he pointed to all the men, “come with me. You, stay here.”

Oh, no you weren’t. “Excuse me! I am just as capable as any of them are. I will not- What do you think you’re doing!”

Junmyeon marched over to you, picked you up, and carried you over his shoulder until you were in your room. Then he dropped you on the floor, closed the door, and locked it tight. “This door doesn’t open.”

You didn’t know who he said it to, who he left in charge of watching you like an infant. It didn’t matter. You pounded your fist against the solid wood door. “Baekhyun! Junmyeon! Let me out! Baekhyun, you coward! Help me out here!”

“Sorry, cousin!” Baekhyun yelled on the other side of the door. “But… he’s got a gun.”

“Smart choice,” you heard Junmyeon say. Oh, you were going to kill him. Which “him” was yet to be decided. Perhaps both would be most satisfactory.

Well, now you were stuck here.

Crossing your arms, you sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated your choices. Not that you had many.

A yawn forced its way out. You were tired. Over the past few days, you had hardly been able to get any real sleep. And, well, now seemed to be a time. So, you changed into your nightgown and slipped under the covers. The mattress was soft, like a cloud. The pillows were stuffed into freshly cleaned cotton cases. It was barely a few minutes before you drifted off…

And then abruptly woke up to something moving against your mouth. It started out soft but quickly turned ashen and tough. Your eyes flew open and you screamed, the sound muffled by the kiss of Imhotep!

You tried to shove him off, but he didn’t budge. Your touch meant nothing to him as he continued the unwanted kiss.

The door to your room burst open, finally taking his attention and allowing your scream to be heard at full volume. Imhotep’s face was half rotten away, his lips completely gone, the cheeks held together by thin strips of jerky-like skin. You scrambled out of reach, to try and get as far away as the tiny room would allow. The movement caused you to fall out of the bed and land hard on the wood floor.

Standing up, Imhotep said something in ancient Egyptian, but your jumbled, still half-asleep brain couldn’t translate it.

“Oh, really?” Junmyeon mocked. “Here’s my answer.” He held up the poor cat who had saved you earlier, the animal hissing threateningly at the mummy. Just like last time, Imhotep fled in a tornado of sand out the window, terrified of the innocent creature.

“Are you alright?” Junmyeon asked as he let the cat fall from his hands. The cat landed gracefully on its feet and walked over to the bed with more dignity than you’d ever seen a human radiate.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Baekhyun answered. After a glare from Junmyeon, he cleared his throat. “Oh. You weren’t- that’s fine. Go… check on her.” Junmyeon did just that.

Kneeling in front of you, he pushed away a few stray hairs that had fallen in your face. Warm, soft brown eyes searched for any sign of harm. The tips of his fingers brushed against your cheek, setting the skin on fire. Or perhaps that was just the blood rushing up to your face in slight embarrassment. This man made you… nervous in a way. He could be dastardly at times, but… also very sweet.

Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself up to your feet. “I’m fine. A little disgusted, but I’m fine.”

A smirk and knowing gleam flashed on Junmyeon’s face as he rose. “I’m sure mine was better.”

He was referring to the lip-smash he desperately pulled before he was to be dragged to the hangman’s noose. Not exactly the best first impression.

You snorted. “No. I wouldn’t say that.” His jaw went slack. Sehun and Baekhyun snickered behind him. “Did you find the professor?” you asked in order to change the subject.

“Yeah. He stayed out in the sun for a little long by the time we found him.”

“What are you-” Oh. Oh. That was why Imhotep was so far along in his regeneration. He’d found another victim to suck dry.

“And he has the Book of the Dead,” Sehun added. “According to Beni, that’s what he’s going to use to raise Anacsunmum.”

“Anck-Su-Namun,” you corrected.

“Yeah, her.”

You rolled your eyes. Why did you even bother?

You started pacing the room, trying to figure out what would be the best next move. You couldn’t keep playing hide and seek with the cat for all eternity. There needed to be a way to end this. Before he read from the book and raised-

The book…

The book!

You whirled back to the others. “I have an idea!”

“Care to share?”

“The Black book has always been rumored among scholars to be able to bring people back from the dead. Something I had always thought was nonsense,” you added to yourself. “But since that part is true, that means other rumors must be as well. Such as the Gold Book being able to send a soul back to the afterlife.”

“A balance.” Baekhyun looked awfully proud of himself. At least something finally stuck.

“Exactly. Now all we have to do is find out where it's hidden.”

Junmyeon frowned. “But I thought it was supposed to be hidden with Anubis?”

“Exactly,” you agreed. “It comes from a translation of an ancient text. A stone that’s at the museum here, actually. It also says where the Black book was supposed to be hidden. I think they got their translations mixed up. So, where the scholars who originally translated it said that the golden Book of Amun-Ra was in the statue of Anubis, it's actually wherever they said the black Book of the Dead was supposed to be.”

“And where is that?”

You swallowed. “I don’t remember. We’ll have to go to the museum so I can read it again.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Junmyeon checked the barrels of his guns, reloaded the revolvers with bullets from his belt. “Then I guess we’re headed back to the museum. Hopefully we don’t run into Ugly Face before we get to the rock.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said with the utmost confidence.

Sehun, who did not share that sentiment, looked up towards the ceiling. “Oh joy. Another book hunt.”

#exo #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo fantasy au #exo fantasy!au #junmyeon x reader #junmyeon x fem!reader #kim junmyeon #kim joonmyeon #suho #exo mummy au #exo egypt au #exo 1920s au #byun baekhyun #oh sehun #exo adventure au #Book of the Dead

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mashiraostail · 3 years

Note

please momnight conent? Like student reader is upset/struggling with the material and goes to her for help or something literally please momnight im begging u

omg u do not have to beg kind anon i am happy to write momnight

“I’m sorry I feel really stupid..” You scrub at your face sitting in front of your teacher, she’s crouched down to eye level, one arm draped across your desk. “I just don’t understand this part at all..” You set your pencil down to use both hands, scrubbing at both of your eyes now. “Hey come on, don’t say that!” Nemuri squeezes your wrist, “you’ll hurt yourself, just try reading it over again, sometimes that’s all it takes to get it to click.” “I’m wasting your time, you have way more important things to be doing.” You mutter, “I’m sorry Midnight I think I’m a lost cause.” She lets out a loud gasp at that. “Don’t say that sort of thing! NO way are you a lost cause!” She closes the book between you, “look at me.” “I’m embarrassed. I know I’m strong but when it comes to bookish stuff I’m totally useless. You must think I’m an absolute moron-” “No, I think Present Mic is a total moron.” She rests her chin in her hand as you finally look at her, chuckling to yourself over her jab at your English teacher. “There we go. A little smile helps you feel much better huh?” She nudges your calf underneath the desk, you nod meekly. “And anyways... I don’t think you’re a moron, I think you’re a kid. A student with a lot to learn. But you’re learning, even if its hard. Honestly, that's commendable, if this doesn’t come naturally to you putting in all the work to still do well is admirable, you don’t have to be the best you just have to do your best.” “But I-” “No buts.” She frowns, “don’t talk back to your teacher.” “Ow did you just pinch me- stop!” You pull your legs up into your chair as her attack on your leg continues. “No one is good at everything. And yes I mean no one. Not a single person.” “Well... what about All Might?” As soon as you finish she’s rolling her eyes. “He can’t even make a cup of coffee, and he’s never sent me a text that doesn’t have some sort of spelling error.” “Principal Nezu?” “He’s not a person he doesn’t count.” You snort at that and rest your chin against your bent knees. “Well what about you? It sure seems like your good at everything...” You hug your legs to your chest and she pricks up a bit as you continue, “I just wanna be like you. You’re strong and smart and everyone likes you and you’re reliable and even if people underestimate you you always prove them wrong, even when you aren’t in the spotlight you’re doing the most to help...I... I wanna be like that, I wanna be just like you Miss Kayama.” “Oh god I...I think I’m gonna cry.” She sucks in a deep breath. “What? Why would you do that dont-! Don’t cry!” You fumble as she sits back on her haunches. “Well then don’t be such a little cherub!” She argues and then sighs, “look, I’ll be honest with you okay?” She reaches out and takes your hand, “it’s a really long time coming. Three years is a lot longer than it seems, and you’ve got a lot to learn. But you’re right, you are strong, and you are smart, smarter than you think.” She promises as she rests her chin on your desk, “even by coming to me for help you’ve proven how much you want this, how much you care about getting to your destination and..you know between you and I..you really do remind me of myself when I was your age.” She sighs wistfully and you grin at her, “yes you do, we’re practically spitting images of each other.” “Shut up Midnight.” You chortle, unfolding your legs. “Ouch! What happened to Miss Kayama?!”” She pouts, picking her head up, “I’ll report you for insubordinance.” “No you won’t.” You cheese at her and she shrugs, waving her hand. “Ehhhh, yeah I guess you’re right. I won’t. especially not after you said you think I’m perfect.” “Well are you or aren’t you?” “Hm...I’d like to think I am.” She taps her bottom lip with her free hand and you snort, “though Mic says I have a terrible music taste, and Eraser says my sense of humor is shot...once Vlad told me I’m the worst driver he’s ever had the displeasure of accompanying on a grocery run, All Might says I’ve got one of the messiest cars he’s ever seen...oh Hound Dog also told me once that I make the worst cup of coffee on the planet and Cementoss agreed with him. But those are just opinions and they’re subjective so I’m...subjecting them to the trash.” “I don’t think that’s how constructive criticism is meant to work.” You grin at the thought of her fellow teachers digging into her though. “Ehhh..you say tomato..” She waves it off and then piques, “now I’ve got a question.” “if it’s about this material then sorry because I’m really shot for-” “No, no. You really want to be like me?” You flush, you can feel it in your ears, you murmur, “...yes...” “I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you-” “Yes!” You shout it a little louder than intended but she’s just laughing. “Really? Me?” I didn’t think I was exactly childhood role-model material.” “That’s why I liked you..” You pluck at the fabric of your shirt, “everyone always wrote you off, but you always came through in the end, you always proved you were a lot more than your branding. I thought it was cool...that you didn’t try to be one dimensional, that you could be pretty and strong and smart.” You look up at her, “everyone likes you, everyone relies on you. I want to be that sort of strong. Forget picking up cars, forget punching in villains..I want people to need me like they need you. Like I need you.” “Wow, I’m really gonna cry.” “I told you don’t cry!” You snap, “you’re embarrassing me.” You cross your arms and she gasps. “You’re the one who went on the wild tangent!” Her laughter fizzles out and she stands, “come on.” She offers you a hand, “I think you get to call it for the afternoon, you’re probably the last student left here.” You let her pull you out of your seat, she wraps an arm around you and squeezes you into her side, “how about an extra day to work on the assignment?” “Are you playing favorites?” You ask her wearily. “No. If someone else needs an extra day all they need to do is ask.” She hums, “try rereading the chapter tonight, and writing a summary of it. Give that to me tomorrow and I’ll let you know if you’re on the right track.” “What if I’m not?” You gnaw at your lip nervously. “That’s what I’m here for, duh. Now let me walk you back to the dorms.”

#platonic midnight x reader #nemuri kayama x student reader #nemuri kayama #midnight #midnight x reader

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years

Text

kings and queens

a smutty rowaelin halloween oneshot

(if smut isn’t your thing you can still read, just finish when Aelin says ‘you’)

my masterlist

------

The clear gems on her crown shone in the dim, evening light. She had found the crown a week ago in a thrift store and the moment Aelin had seen it she knew it was perfect. It rose up from her golden waves to reach three peaks, the middle slightly taller than the two either side, and they were each topped with shimmering imitation diamonds. A far better find than any useless piece of trash she could have found in a costume store.

Aelin didn’t do costumes by half. The dress she wore was a deep red velvet, with a corset style top that helped to give her chest a boost and a gold lace trim that she knew would draw the eye. It had a short but flowing skirt that hit mid-thigh, showing a peek of the border of her thigh high stockings. She had painted her lips a bold red to match the dress and her eyes were lined with heavy black.

Dressing up as a queen for Halloween didn’t mean she had to be a maiden.

Aelin always went all out for Halloween, but her costumes were never gimmicky. She could find a way to make the dorkiest of ideas sexy to make sure she felt good and more importantly, looked hot.

“You ready?” She heard her roommate and best friend Lysandra call. “Aedion just texted asking where we are.”

Aelin grabbed her small shoulder bag off her bed, her only out of character item for the evening, and left her room to meet Lysandra in the hallway between their rooms. They shared a small two bedroom apartment off campus, it was far from luxury, but it was their space and she loved it. Since meeting Lysandra in her first year of college she hadn’t lived with anyone else.

Lysandra was leaning against the wall, fully dressed in her own costume. She wore a dress with a tight green bodice and a short but full skirt that flowed as she moved. Her hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun and her make-up was peachy and subtle. Tinkerbell.

Aedion had invited them to the party he was hosting in his own house off campus that he shared with a few roommates. Aelin had spent most of her first and second years at college tucked away in that house spending time with her cousin and his friends, she loved his friend Fenrys who shared her appreciation for all things devilish and she had been close with his other housemate Dorian. She and Dorian had shared a mutual attraction but had quickly moved past it to become as thick as thieves and he had been one of her best friends.

The time she spent there had plummeted in her third year when Dorian moved out after his graduation and Rowan Whitethorn moved in, filling the spare room. Aelin hated Rowan Whitethorn with a burning passion. He was arrogant, hot-headed and spiteful, all traits she despised.

The first time they had met she had thought they could have been friends, he got along well with Aedion as did she, but he had opened his mouth to let her know his thoughts on the opinions she had shared in a political theory class she hadn’t even known he was in, and that had been it.

Since that day she noted his presence in the same class, and they would share verbal barbs and taunts every week. She knew it made the other attendees of the class uncomfortable and even the professor leading the sessions seemed at a loss with the sparring students. Aelin couldn’t even understand why they would argue, no matter whether or not she agreed with his point the sound of his voice, the rich and swirling Wendlyn accent would set her off.

Aedion had tried to bridge the gap somewhat, playing moderator to their fights whenever they crossed paths, but ultimately even her easy-going cousin couldn’t fight the fire Rowan made her burn.

She knew he would be there tonight, but she wouldn’t let him ruin what was predicted to turn into a great night, especially not on Halloween when she looked so good. Aedion’s teammates from the football team would likely be there, and it wouldn’t take her long to find someone to distract her from Rowan’s presence.

------

The music at the party could be heard from down the road, and as they walked up the path she took in the decorations in the front yard. Someone had strung spider webs through the branches of the twisting tree in the corner and there were fluorescent lights shining orange and green in all directions. There were people in all kinds of costumes spilling into the street as she and Lysandra battled their way into the front door.

They edged their way into the kitchen, pushing past groups of already intoxicated revellers to fix themselves a drink.

Once in the kitchen a loud cry caught their attention.

“Ladies!” Fenrys shouted to them, his voice booming over the music. He reached them and tugged them each under an arm, pulling them into an extravagantly painted but otherwise bare chest.

“What are you?” She yelled.

“I’m your dreams come true,” He gave her shoulders a squeeze as she and Lysandra both rolled their eyes at his proclamation. Fenrys was an ass but they loved him for it.

“Have you seen Aedion?” Lysandra yelled in his ear as she twisted to search for a cup and a drink.

“So desperate to leave me when you’ve only just arrived?” He raised a hand to his chest in mock offense but released them and turned to find them each a drink.

“The vision of you is burning my eyes so bad I’m desperate to get away,” Lysandra told him as they accepted the drinks he handed to them. Fenrys only stuck his tongue out at her, seemingly too drunk to bother trying to come up with a better response.

“I think he was in the main room with Rowan and Lorcan.” He told them before saluting them and venturing back into the throng of moving bodies.

Aelin raised her glass in a toast to Lysandra before taking her first sip and tugging Lysandra to find her cousin.

It only took a minute to spot her cousin, his golden hair spilling out of a small brown cap tucked onto the top of his head. She took in the green tights and tunic before sending a sharp glance at Lysandra. She hadn’t known they had planned a couple’s costume, but one look at Aedion told her he was clearly the Peter Pan to Lysandra’s Tinkerbell.

She took in the two males stood next to her cousin, opposites in their exterior, light and dark, Rowan and Lorcan. Lorcan had made the safe choice, a black mask pushed up onto his forehead the only part of his Batman costume that was out of place.

The sight of Rowan Whitethorn had her blood boiling. He wore a deep green velvet cape and a glowing golden crown atop his silver locks. She was going to kill him, how dare he come as a King to the same party she was dressed as a Queen.

She was vaguely aware of Lysandra slipping up to Aedion and Lorcan’s brief greeting and dismissal as he sought out his crush, Elide, before she was marching up to Whitethorn and hissing in his face.

“What are you wearing?” Her voice was tight.

“Hello to you too, Princess,” He drawled, tipping his chin down to look her directly in the eye.

“I’m not a princess,” She snapped, feeling her anger bubble in her throat. “I’m a Queen.”

“You look like a princess to me,” His voice was as smug as the smirk that spread across his face, showing rows of straight white teeth, canines flashing in the light. He reached a hand up to poke at her crown. “Especially with your little tiara.”

She slapped his hand away. “It is a crown!”

“Sure it is, Princess.” He was making her blood pound in her ears, the sounds of the party fading into the background and she stepped closer to him again, trying to crowd into his space, no matter the fact that he towered over her. She took a deep breath in, readying herself for the barrage of insults she could throw at him when a voice behind her pulled her out of the spell.

“Aelin, hi!”

Aelin turned her head to the side and spotted the source of the voice. Feyre Archeron. She and Aelin had shared an art class in the previous year and Feyre had been a natural, painting with smooth strokes of her brush where Aelin was all pointed jabs.

Failure in her artistic endeavour aside, Aelin liked Feyre, and she knew Aedion ran in the same circles as her boyfriend Rhys.

“Oh hey,” She smiled at Feyre with a small wave. Feyre seemed to take a moment before approaching, glancing between Rowan and Aelin.

It was then that Aelin noticed their proximity. Her body was fully pressed against the length of Rowan’s where she had managed to back him against the wall. The hard planes of his body sending an aura of warmth into her. Their faces were close enough to share a breath as she leaned up and he down. An outsider could easily assume they were lovers, and to Aelin’s horror it seemed an outsider did.

“I didn’t know you guys were together!” Feyre exclaimed and Aelin’s mouth dropped open. “And a King and Queen costume? Gods, such a great idea, I’ll have to tell Rhys for next year.”

Aelin couldn’t find the words. Her and Rowan? Her eyes flicked to his face and he seemed in a similar state of shock, pink lips slightly parted as he stared at Feyre.

When neither of them spoke Feyre blushed and before Aelin could find words she had disappeared into the crown. Aelin immediately took a step back, putting space between herself and Rowan, trying to ignore the way her body moaned at the lack of contact. It was Rowan rutting Whitethorn for Gods’ sake.

He seemed in a similar state to herself, arms frozen where they hovered at his sides, and she glanced around desperately seeking Lysandra but her and Aedion were gone.

“Fuck you,” She spat at Rowan and turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd, putting some much needed space between them and ignoring the way she desperately wanted to turn back.

------

She spent most of the party slipping between groups of people she knew, refilling her drink each time her cup emptied. She didn’t see Rowan again and spent at least an hour catching up with Yrene Towers and Manon Blackbeak in a toilet.

She shook her head, laughing at the unusual combinations alcohol and loud music could bring out in people. She was still yet to see Lysandra and Aedion again, poking her head into each room and looking for her best friend.

Once back at the kitchen, having searched each room she resolved to take a look outside, musing that as long as she spoke before she arrived she’d be unlikely to stumble upon anything she wished she wouldn’t have to witness between her cousin and best friend.

“Lysandra?” She called, wrapping her arms around her body as the chilled October air bit at her skin.

There was no response from her best friend, but a male voice reached her as she tucked the door shut behind herself.

“Unlucky for you, Princess, I’m the only one out here.”

Just her rutting luck. Rowan Whitethorn leaned back against the wall of the house, the butt of a mostly burned cigarette dangling between his fingertips. He threw it to the side as she took a step closer to him.

“Stop calling me princess,” She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darted down to her chest, lingering a second before dragging themselves back up to her face.

“Why would I do that,” He pushed off from the wall taking a single step closer to her, “When it suits you so well?”

She rolled her eyes. “Suits me how?”

“Well, I think most people would probably describe princesses as spoiled and entitled.”

Despite his close proximity she unwrapped her arms from her chest and flashed him her middle finger. His own hand came up as fast as a flash of lightening, to grab her hand and wrap her fingers up in his own as he tugged slightly, knocking her off balance and she stumbled into him slightly.

“I’m not spoiled or entitled.” She mumbled, unable to draw her eyes away from his lips, now close enough that his warm breaths washed across her face.

“I’d beg to differ, Princess. Seems to me like you always get what you want.”

Her breathing had quickened, coming in short pants and gasps where he had her pressed against the cold wall of the house. His hand still wrapped around her own, burning her skin where he touched.

“I don’t always get what I want.” She whispered as he leant into her even further, bracing his free hand against the wall by her head. He cocked his head at her words.

“What could you possibly want that you haven’t got?” His voice was a seductive caress against her neck where he tilted his head down.

She didn’t let herself break eye-contact, her unyielding gaze staring him down.

“What I want,” She began, voice weak.

“Mhmm,” He hummed, the sound sending vibrations through her own chest.

“What I want is for you to take that damned costume off. I’m the Queen.”

He laughed; a dark sound filled with promise.

“Princess,” He drawled. “If you wanted me to take my clothes off you only had to ask. Don’t pretend it’s about some dumb costume.”

She gasped, frustrated to no end that he always managed to rile her so. Always left her speechless, her mind swimming with rage. Her body drowning in arousal at his closeness. Fuck.

She stared him down, his body now pressed along every inch of her own as he blocked her into the wall. His eyes flashed to her lips and she couldn’t hold herself back from doing the same. He seemed to be warring with himself, his expression pained as he stared into her eyes.

She took a breath, begging herself to do something, anything, but she was frozen.

A beat passed, and then he crashed his lips to hers.

He kissed her as furiously as he argued, his hand grasping her face hard and plunging his tongue into her mouth. She gasped and twisted her fingers into his hair in response, holding his face to her own, and she registered the clunk of his crown hitting the floor. Good.

A fire spread through her veins as he kissed her, taking control and owning her completely. She allowed him, opening her mouth to him greedily as he nipped at her lips. She knew they would already be swollen.

He kissed her as if she was a prize to be won, as if he needed to or he would shatter. The desperation spreading through his hands as they roamed her body, slipping down her sides and back up to lightly brush the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs and back down again to tug her hips against his own.

He slid a thigh between her legs, and she writhed against the pressure, letting out a small cry as the sensation sent a jolt through her entire body, finishing with a flood of heat below her bellybutton.

He drew back with a gasp, panting. He only got as far as she let him, her fingers still twisted through his silver strands as he pressed his forehead against her own.

“Fuck.” He growled, tucking his chin to bury his face in her neck. She tugged at his hair, begging for him to do more than just press his lips gently against the soft skin of her throat. “What is it that you want, Princess?” He asked again.

She tugged his face back to meet her gaze, vaguely aware of her crown slipping from her head as she looked up at him.

“You.”

------

Back at her apartment he crowded her against the door, his heat behind her and a delightful pressure against her lower back had her fumbling with her keys in the lock. She had managed to shoot Lysandra a quick text letting her know she was leaving, knowing her best friend would be safe with Aedion when Aelin left.

When Aelin left with Rowan Whitethorn. Shit.

He had been a storm she hadn’t seen coming, kissing her with a passion that burned all the way to the soles of her feet. He pressed her back against the door once they were inside, leaning down to kiss her hard and fast. His tongue lavishing sweeping strokes that lit a fire inside of her.

He pressed his knee between her legs and this time she didn’t hold herself back from rocking against it, letting out a breathy moan as she pulled back, tilting her head back until it hit the door with a thud.

He pressed hot and wet kisses down her jaw until he reached her neck, nipping and sucking his way down. The sensation sent her wild, drawing short gasps from her lips with every press of his tongue and scrape of his teeth.

His hands burned a path down her side, not stopping with a brush against her chest this time, instead wrapping her breast in one of his large hands and squeezing sharply. She bucked her hips against his thigh as he rubbed a thumb across her nipple. Rowan let out a dark rumble of laughter at her reaction and did it again, timing it perfectly with a swipe of his tongue up the side of her neck.

He bent down slightly, sliding a hand down her thigh until he reached the crook of her knee and straightened, wrapping her leg around his waist and pressing his hips firmly into the gap he had created.

She let out a moan, slamming her head into the door again as he pressed his lips to hers again. The pressure of his hips was firm, burning against her core, and his lips were relentless as he licked into her mouth aggressively as she fisted her hand in his cape.

She pulled back, panting.

“You need to take this off.” She yanked even harder on the cape and he grinned, hands leaving her leg and chest to loosen the clasp at his neck. He didn’t stop there, reaching down to the hem of his shirt and pulling it off his body in one sharp motion.

Her mouth went dry at the expanse of tanned skin now exposed. His chest was covered in firm muscle and down his left arm swept a swirling and intricate tattoo. She traced a line across his shoulder with a finger, transfixed by the beauty of his body.

His hand flashed out to grab her by the chin, tilting her face up to look at him.

“You too, Princess.”

His fingers left her chin, trailing a torturously slow path down her neck and across her chest to rest at the knot at the top of her corset top. The sheer possession in his touch had her grinding her hips against him, desperate for any kind of relief.

Undeterred, he slowly wound one of the laces around a finger and bit his lip as he took in her heaving chest. Her skin was flushed as her heart pounded beneath.

Torturously slow he pulled the string, unravelling the only closure of her top. His deft fingers loosened the ties as the red fabric slid away to reveal her heaving chest and full breasts. His dark eyes devoured the exposed skin and his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip.

His head ducked down as he slowly wrapped his lips around a peaked nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. Her head fell back to the door again as she moaned and her hand flew behind her, trying to find any purchase on the flat surface.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending sparks down to her core. His thumb found her other breast, flicking her nipple hard. She groaned, pressing her hips into his own, becoming desperate.

She laced her hands through his hair as he looked up at her, lips still around her, and she groaned pulling his head up.

“Bedroom, now,” She said breathlessly as she pushed him away from herself and pressed away from the door, dropping the rest of her dress to pool around her feet. Rowan was silent as he took her in, his eyes trailing a burning path from her face to the tips of her toes.

At the sight she trailed a feather-light touch across the front of his trousers where they strained against his hardness. He groaned at the touch, his head tipping back and the vein in the side of his neck straining.

“Bedroom,” He growled and grabbed her by the waist.

------

Rowan laid her down on her bed, having lost his trousers along the way. She lay bare for him, only a thin pair of black panties prevented her from being exposed entirely.

His head tilted as his predatory stare assessed her.

“You look so good like this Princess,” his voice was raw as he crawled up the bed between her legs, resting his weight against her body and pressing her into the mattress. “We really should find you that tiara again.”

She rolled her eyes but tugged his face to hers. Pressing her lips against his firmly, his short stubble scratching against her cheeks in the most delicious way. He braced a hand by her head, supporting his weight, and the other brushed down her body, starting at the base of her throat until his index finger pressed gently against her centre.

He let out a moan at the dampness of the dark fabric and he swiped a long stroke over the line of her folds. Aelin bit her lip, trying to hold in the moan that his electric touch elicited. Her hips shifted at his teasing, raising them to try and press further into his touch, but he only laughed against her lips.

He nipped her lower lip, the pressure almost painful, but it sent another wave of arousal through her.

Slowly he slid his finger beneath the fabric, pressing a finger into her and the heavy pressure had her fisting her hands in the sheets. His tongue swept into her mouth again as he pumped his finger inside her, slipping a second in a moment later. His thumb came up to press against the apex of her thighs, the friction sending sparks through her entire body as he swirled his thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She broke away from the kiss to moan, twisting her face to the side, unable to focus on anything other than the sensations he was creating. The delightful pleasure his fingers were creating as his mouth pressed hot, open mouthed kisses down her throat.

“Please,” She gasped, and she felt his lips against her neck curve into a smile.

“Please what?” His voice was playful as he teased her, pulling his hand back leaving her clenching around air.

“You know what. Dick.” She snapped, tugging his head up to look at her.

“Now, now, princess,” He carded his fingers through her hair, twisting them into the strands at the base of her head before pulling hard. “Remember to use your manners.”

She gasped again, back arching off the bed to press her body against his. He ground his hips against her own, the hard length of him catching against the spot she needed most.

He nipped at the skin on her neck before pulling back, tugging her panties down her legs, wasting no time before shucking off his own briefs revealing the full length of him to her. Her eyes rolled back at the sight.

He tucked himself back between her legs, pressing the tip lightly at her entrance. Her hips bucked up as he grabbed a hold of her chin.

“Condom?” He asked, his voice low.

“I’m on the pill.” She breathed, rolling her hips, urging him to hurry.

He groaned, lining himself up and pressing into her as he crashed his lips to hers.

Her mind cleared at the sensation, thinking only of where he filled and stretched her. The brief flash of pain sinking into a burning pleasure. He paused his hips, allowing her to adjust, but still pressed his lips to hers. His togue sweeping into her mouth.

She sank her nails into the skin of his broad shoulders, urging him to move and he eagerly obliged, snapping his hips into hers with a force so strong the bed crashed against the wall, rhythmic thuds in time with his thrusts.

Her skin was on fire as he pounded into her, drawing breathy moans from her throat as she clung to him in desperation. Rowan’s hands tightened on her hips, owning her with his touch as he moaned low in her ear and nipped her lobe with his teeth.

Rowan tugged one of her legs up to tuck it over his hip, changing the pace and thrusting into her wildly. Aelin clung to him, fingernails pressing crescent moons into his shoulders as his hands dug into the flesh of her thighs.

His pace became frantic as he brought one hand around between their bodies, swirling his thumb over her clit. Her breath hitched in her throat as he growled.

“Come on, Princess.”

His words sent her over the edge, shattering around him with a cry. She felt him increase his pace and he bit sharply into her shoulder as he came sending another wave of pleasure through her.

He ghosted his lips over hers a final time as he pulled out gently before lying next to her on the bed and pulling her into his side, wrapping a broad arm around her shoulders. She pressed her face to his chest, hiding her satisfied smile.

“I still think you’re a dick,” She muttered eventually, interrupting the easy silence.

His laughter rumbled through her, shaking the bed they lay on.

“That’s okay,” He said squeezing her hip. “I still think you’re a princess.”

#rowaelin #rowaelin smut #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowaelin oneshot #rowan x aelin #halloween rowaelin #this got way out of hand i can only apologise for the length #aedion ashryver #lysandra #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #throne of glass fanfic #i'm sorry i'm too drunk to deal with tags but i'll do them in the morning

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stab-the-son-of-a · 3 years

Text

Whumptober No.4 - Taken Hostage

TW: Guns, off-screen assumed character death, sexist character, smoking

Taglist: @whumpers-inc

There is a surprising (and hand-cramping) amount of paperwork that goes into working at a call center, even one as unconventional as 1-877-WHMP-NOW. An annoying, several hour, several stack amount. Bianca will never forgive whoever it was in HR or accounting (the only two departments who actually seem masochistic enough to enjoy bureaucracy) that suggested all these extra reports and encounter summaries and redundancy measures.

In the same way you tune out the world while enjoying a nature walk and only begin paying attention again when your unconscious mind notices something dangerously wrong, Bianca pauses in her muttered curses to the paperwork gods and listens.

“Why of course she’s in today,” Fran says in a tight tone. “I’ll just transfer you right to your personal whump-passionate care coordinator, Dom.”

Not Dom. Not that irritating, overly stuffed up crock of shit again. Dom had run through almost the entire call center, leaving Bianca the only person who had yet to swear to walk if they were forced to deal with the self-impressed asshole. Jerking her head up, Bianca stares Fran down, like a deer willing a semi-truck to change paths. She shakes her head, desperately miming cutting across her throat with a rushed flail.

Their gazes lock. Fran continues to dial, even as they watch Bianca’s distressed pantomime with all the impassive finality of a monarch’s sentence.

“Don’t you dare, Fran,” Bianca hisses. “I swear by all that is good and holy if you transfer him--”

Her line rings, and she answers it with a chipper grin that doesn’t touch her glare one bit. “Well hey, sugar!” If looks could kill, Bianca would be in a whole other line of work right now as she tosses an eraser at Fran’s head. “What can I do for you today, hun?”

Well, she can already tell this isn’t going to be a pleasant call, not if the sirens are any indication.

“Brianna,” Dom cries, “I’m too handsome for jail!”

Bianca mouths to Fran, “I’ll kill you,” even as they duck their head and pretend to be oh-so invested in their latest call report. She tosses another eraser and this one hits the mark, bouncing off the back of their skull.

“Hello! Brianna! I need you to put down the Covergirl or your nail file and do your job, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes, she returns her attention to Dom. “I’m awful sorry. What did you say your emergency was?”

“Thank you for the urgency,” he spits.

Bianca waits for him to elaborate. The sirens on his end of the line continue blaring, the voluming growing as they grow closer.

“Did the line cut out, sugar?” she prompts, carefully sterilizing her tone with a thick layer of honey.

“I tried to rob this small town little podunk town store and took this girl--” Dom lets out a short cry of pain and kicks at something. He corrects himself, ”This bitch. And someone had the nerve to call the cops on me!”

At the sound of gunfire- too close to the gun to be from any policeman, Bianca raises a single brow in silent question of his intelligence. In her humble, professional opinion wasting ammo on puerile displays and a lead tantrum is useless, but again, she’s just a professional. She only graduated at the top of her class and has years, if not decades, on Dom in terms of experience.

Of course, Bianca says none of that.

“Have you taken the girl hostage, Dom?”

“Yes! Jeez, do I have to spell everything out for you people?”

“It’s very helpful when our clients are clear and precise, Dom,” Bianca returns, an almost feral edge to the too wide portions of her smile. “Have you read our informational brochure, ‘So You Want to Take a Hostage’? Or perused our FAQs for whumpers?”

“Why should I?”

A year ago maybe Bianca might have been surprised. Now she’s just glad Dom can’t see the various mocking faces and mouthed insults she indulges in due to such a response. That doesn’t mitigate the desire she feels to bash her head against her desk until her mental faculties match Dom’s. Instead, she parrots, “No. Why should you.”

“So, what do I do?” Dom asks, impatience clear in his tone. “How do I get out of this?”

“Well, Dom, could I speak with your hostage for a hot sec?”

Completely ignoring her question, Dom muses aloud, “What if I just went out there with my guns and just started shooting. There’s only one car out there. I can take out some backwater donut cop.”

She loves her job. She loves her job. She. Loves. Her. Job. She may be a masochist.

“That course of action might not work well, sugar,” Bianca says carefully.

“Why not?”

Just as she’s about to answer, said aforementioned cop starts in with the megaphones and the offers for surrender. Quickly, she traces the call while Dom yells back about assholes and what he deserves and specifically what the cop deserves, involving his megaphone and uncomfortable places.

That ‘podunk’ little town is more of a small city, and even if there is only one cop currently there, there are bound to be more en route, and rapidly at that.

“Are you listening to me, sweetheart?” Dom demands. “There’s only one of him and I’ve got two guns. It’s fool proof.”

Oh, it’s something to do with fools alright. “So, to clarify, you’ve got a gun in each hand?”

“I just said that, honey, put your listening ears on and try to keep up.”

Over her ten plus years working with the call center, Bianca has heard plenty of stupid shit in her time but trying to go out dual wielding guns is… a new one. She quickly shoots Fran a short text reading, You SO owe me, Franny.

“What about your hostage? How are you going to keep control over her? Is she bound?” Bianca tries to reason with Dom, the apparent Blade wannabe, even if it’s futile.

“I’ll bring her with and put the gun to her head. Easy.”

Easy. Yes, so easy. Fran returns her text. ‘You’re the absolute goddess of dealing with BS I am not worthy.’

“Dom, could you be a dear and let me speak with her, please? Thank you sugar.”

“God what is it with women always needing to yap yap yap?” Dom complains as he rips the gag out of the hostage’s mouth.

“FUCK YOU!” She howls immediately. “I’ll bite your fingers off, you small dicked piece of shit!”

So, Bianca had admittedly harbored suspicions that the ‘girl’ was actually a grown woman, considering Dom’s typical behavior, but this certainly confirms that. A wistful sigh builds as Bianca listens to the hostage chew Dom out and insult his manhood and intelligence.

‘Damn straight. I expect pumpkin spice brownies and a latte on my desk tomorrow morning.’

‘It’s June.’

“It’s DOM.’

‘Pumpkin spice brownies gotcha.’

A solid, but wet crack jerks Bianca’s attention back to the matter at hand. The hostage is eerily quiet. Waiting for a response from either Dom or the hostage, she picks at the dry skin on her lips and taps her foot.

“Oh shit,” Dom whispers.

Screwing her eyes shut as if that will change what his answer is, Bianca asks, “Dom?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you just pistol whip your hostage?”

“Yeah.”

Nope, this is officially the stupidest, most asinine, bass-ackwards call from a client she’s ever had to suffer through. Clearly having overheard, Fran twists around to get a better vantage point to watch as Bianca places her head in her hands and fights back a scream of frustration.

Collecting herself, Bianca chirps, “I’m sorry, sugar, but you really ought to have read our guide. The first rule of a hostage situation is to keep your hostage alive as leverage. Now, as it stands, you’re a murderer surrounded by... “ She counts up each little blip. “Four cop cars and another two on the way. You have to understand, honey, that it goes against policy to stay involved.”

“What? No! You can’t do this you bitch!”

Bianca grins, sharp and vicious. “Oh, Dom, I can, and I will.” With that, and Dom still shouting injustice, she hangs up.

“I’ve wanted to do that for forever,” she breezily admits to Fran.

They match her smile inch for inch, and then some. “Bee, you’re my hero. I’m throwing in maple walnut fudge pancakes just for that.”

“Of course we’ll have IT burn the connection and remote into Dom’s phone before the incident gets too close to home, blah blah blah, and we’ll look into whether that lady remembers anything after the whole gun to the head thing,” she dismisses, “but for now, I need a smoke break or twenty. Toodles!”

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #taken hostage #oc #fic #guns #off-screen character death #smoking #sexism #wcc series #wcc fran #wcc bianca #hostage situation #pistol whipping #food mention

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emy-loves-you · 3 years

Text

Wrong Numbers and Useless Gays Chapter 10

Protective Snek meets Tired Boi (With Flowers!)

Chapter 9 | Masterlist | Chapter 11

Warnings: crying, mentions of sex, mentions of lying and mistrust

(Jan 2nd)

V- (10:20 AM) Hey Pat, what do you want for your birthday?

P- (10:21 AM) I don’t need anything big, Kiddo. Just another drawing from you would be amazing :)

V- (10:21 AM) Is there nothing that you would be happy with me buying you?

P- (10:22 AM) Well, I like flowers!

L- (10:22 AM) No you don’t. None of us have gardening skills and you cry every time they wilt.

P- (10:22 AM) I still like them! We’ll just have to try harder this time!

Virgil thought for a few minutes before smirking. He exited the chat and opened up a chat with Janus and Remus.

V- (10:23 AM) Do either of you have the staff contacts from that charity event 2 months ago?

J- (10:23 AM) Perhaps

Re- (10:23 AM) Y the hell do you want them?

V- (10:24 AM) Do you remember the flowers that they were selling? I want to contact whoever they bought them from.

J- (10:24 AM) You mean like the one that Remus bought for me?

V- (10:25 AM) Yes, but less obscene colors.

Re- (10:25 AM) Wait let me guess

Re- (10:26 AM) “Princey’s” birthday was in July and “Lo” doesn’t seem like the flower type, so this is for “Pat,” isn’t it?

V- (10:26 AM) Do you have the fucking contact or not?

J- (10:27 AM) Even better. I have the address

V- (10:27 AM) Why the fuck do you have the address?

J- (10:27 AM) Remus TOTALLY didn’t break the original flower as soon as we got home.

Re- (10:28 AM) HEY! I tripped on YOUR stupid rug and it happened to end up crushed underneath me!

J- (10:28 AM) LEAVE THE RUG OUT OF THIS!

Virgil chuckled, eventually breaking up their argument so he could get the phone number and address. Once he had it, he called the shop and ordered a custom-made bouquet. They told him that it would be ready for pick-up in 2 weeks. He turned back to his crush’s chat.

V- (10:29 AM) Just finished ordering your gift.

P- (10:29 AM) What is it?!

V- (10:30 AM) It’s a surprise! Oh, and do you still have the vase that your chocolate bouquet was in?

P- (10:30 AM) Yeah, why?

V- (10:30 AM) You may wanna have it empty on your birthday :)

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(January 16th)

“So, where are we going?” Remus asked, chugging the rest of his Pepsi.

“To get Virgil’s flowers, darling. We’ve been over this.” Janus replied, adjusting his rearview mirror. Virgil laid in the back, fast asleep. Janus sighed. Virgil never got enough sleep, in his opinion. It was difficult to get Virgil fully asleep by 4 AM, and even then he was usually awake by 9 AM. Ever since he met his new “crushes,” Virgil had been getting better with his sleeping habits ( “Lo’s been trying to rope me into their sleeping schedule,” Virgil had admitted with a blush ); but he still didn’t sleep enough, in Janus’ humble opinion.

Speaking of crushes, Janus focused his eyes on the empty road as he thought about the three men who had stolen his best friend's heart. Pat, Lo, and Princey, Virgil called them. Not much to work with in terms of name, and no physical characteristics either. Janus was halfway convinced to stalk them (he knew where they lived, after all) but the thought of Virgil hating him for it shut up those thoughts immediately. Virgil already dealt with a ton of Janus bullshit without complaint, the least he could do is honor Virgil’s wish to keep his crushes anonymous. Even though Janus had no physical description to work off of, Virgil's offhand comments were enough for Janus to paint a decent picture of them.

"Princey," the first one that Virgil met. Extremely dramatic, probably light-headed and egotistical. The one that Janus ordered a katana for. A fucking katana. Why would he want a katana of all things? And those nicknames. His nicknames for Virgil were worse than Remus’, and that’s saying something. Though he was kind to Virgil in their interactions; at least, that’s what Virgil told him. Janus would have to keep a close eye on this one.

“Pat,” the one they were going to pick up flowers for. The so-called “Dad Friend” of the group. Called Virgil “Kiddo.” Mother-henned the shit out of him. Even though Virgil was their Sugar Daddy, Janus wouldn’t be surprised if they called Pat “Daddy” in bed. On the other hand, some of the things that Virgil said spoke otherwise. Pat’s love of stuffed animals, his goofy puns, his opinion against swearing; he sounded like a child in an adult body. An oxymoron, and someone that Janus will also have to keep an eye on.

And “Lo.” Possibly the one that Janus trusted the least out of the trio. Extremely serious. Chocolate addict. Has a fucking sleep schedule for his boyfriends. Probably a control freak. Works part-time at the library. Goes to the local college. More interested in space than the world around him. Probably even more egotistical than Princey. Spends the majority of his time arguing with others or chastising Virgil for spending money on them. Most likely to upset Virgil. One that Janus would definitely be keeping an eye on.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He would not let them hurt Virgil. And if they somehow did, well…

Some of Father’s old associates could still prove useful. They at least knew how to hide a body. Or three.

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(January 17th)

Janus triple-checked the address, making sure that he was at the right house. Virgil had needed a safe way to ship these flowers to Pat’s house without Pat finding out OR one of his crushes seeing his face. So, Janus agreed to be his delivery boy. It made sense; Deceit wore the most makeup AND he hissed every other line, so it was near impossible to be recognized out-of-costume. And if Janus got a good look at Virgil’s crushes… well, Virgil wasn’t here now, was he? Janus set the bouquet on the middle of the porch; far enough for the person to not accidentally knock it over on their way outside, but close enough to where it would be noticed and not accidentally fall off the edge. He tapped the door three times with the back of his knuckles and quickly turned around, making a beeline for his car. He intended on getting a glimpse of the man’s face as he drove away, hopefully seeing enough to be able to spot him off the college roster-

“Wait!” Janus stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t expect him to be that fast. There was a moment of silence before Janus heard a sigh. “You’re not Virgil, are you?”

He smirked. “Yes, I’m definitely Virgil. I just decided to knock on your door and increase the chances of you seeing me when I could’ve just texted me.”

The man sighed again. “You must be Janus, then. I assume that since you arrived specifically when Patton wouldn’t be home today, you came to drop off his birthday present.” There was a slight pause, probably meant for Janus to respond. Suddenly. There was a soft “Oh.” Janus couldn’t take it anymore; he turned around and his jaw dropped.

The man was tall, taller than any of the Dark Sides. He had dark brown hair, brushed neatly out of his face. He wore a pair of square glasses, which perfectly framed his dark blue eyes. He wore a black button-up shirt and dark wash jeans. A navy blue tie hung loosely around his neck. But what caught Janus’ attention was the look of pure adoration on his face as he looked at the flowers on the porch. His face was so open and kind, something that Janus never expected him to look like. Is this the look that Janus gave Remus when they were alone? If so, Janus now understood why Virgil didn’t want to be in their relationship. Just the look on Lo’s face was enough to make Janus feel excluded from their relationship. Suddenly, the adoration turned to a more mischievous look. “That’s why he wanted Patton to clean out that vase,” he said fondly, before shaking his head. “Do I even want to know how much Virgil spent on this?”

“Nope.” Janus made sure to keep his voice nonchalant, not showing any sign of weakness. He watched curiously as Logan did the same, schooling his expression before looking up at Janus. His eyes briefly flickered over to Janus’ scar, but other than that he paid no mind to it. Janus felt something rise within him; whether respect or irritation, he couldn’t tell. “Now’s the time where I must ask: what are your intentions with Virgil?” He made sure to keep an even tone, not wanting to influence Lo’s response.

Lo blinked, looking almost surprised, before his eyes dropped back to the flowers. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “On one hand, Virgil is an amazing person that I’ve now known for several months. I know that the others have wanted to ask him to join our relationship for a while. On the other hand, we know very little about him. Unless Virgil inherited this money, there’s no possible way that his only profession is commissioning art. What else has he lied about? How can I trust him, much less love him, if I don’t know when he’s lying to me?”

Janus slowly raised his left hand, using his right to cover his heart. “My name is Janus Williams. I swear to you my full honesty. Ask me anything that you don’t believe other than Virgil’s profession, and I will answer to the best of my ability.”

Lo rubbed a hand against his face- fuck, the guy was actually crying. “That’s the problem. I want to believe him; I want to read his texts and not feel even the slightest bit of skepticism. I want to eagerly accept him into our relationship, no questions asked. But I can’t!” He looked back up at Janus, the look in his eyes something that will pierce Janus’ soul for a long time. “I’ve spent the past 8 years taking care of my boyfriends. I can’t have Virgil hurt them, accidentally or on purpose! I will do anything to keep them safe, even if it means keeping Virgil away.”

Janus sighed, pitying the man in front of him. “Would you like some advice, Lo?” At Lo’s nod, he turned to walk away. “Virgil has no intention of ever harming you. He originally lied to you so that he wouldn’t get hurt or used. He’s never had to tell anyone this secret, and he’s never been one to easily trust others. I know you’ve already waited a long time, but please, be patient. He’ll come to you when he’s ready, I swear.” And with that, Janus got in his car and drove away. Once he got to the nearest available parking spot (located at a sickeningly sweet bakery) he pulled out his phone to text Virgil.

J- (2:12 PM) Package delivered

V- (2:12 PM) Thanks, man. Did they see you?

Janus paused. Should he tell Virgil about their encounter? Something told him that Lo wouldn’t mention their interaction to Virgil. If he did, then Janus would come clean. If not…

J- (2:13 PM) No, Virgil. The secret identities of your boy toys are safe.

V- (2:13 PM) Cool. I’ll let them know that it’s there.

And with that, Janus drove back home, where he can watch shitty romcoms and hopefully forget about the tired look in Lo’s eyes.

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P- (5:04 PM) Oh my gosh, I love these Kiddo!

R- (5:04 PM) What did he get you?

P- (5:05 PM) [*Photo Attachment*]

[The photo shows the light blue vase that Patton’s chocolate bouquet was in. The vase was filled with beautiful glass roses. They were mainly clear, with the tips of each petal either red, navy blue, sky blue, or violet.]

V- (5:05 PM) Now you can have flowers that'll never die. Happy Birthday, Pat.

P- (5:06 PM) Thank you SO much, Virgil!

V- (5:06 PM) :)

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Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst

#sanders sides fic #useless gays #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders

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atinydise · 4 years

Text

Ateez trying to make up to their s/o (2/2)

❦ Genre: Light angst/Fluff.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: Around 2k.

❦ Masterlist.

Part 1 / Ateez saying something hurtful to their s/o

SAN - “And why are you so flirty? Why are you so easy?”

His jealousy was something that he couldn’t handle. The stares that boy give you when you are walking with him is too much for him.

But it’s not your fault if you are pretty. He’s glad to be your boyfriend. But when he saw you wearing this short and tight dress, he saw red. You looked good of course. The problem was that everyone would notice that too. San’s jealousy has 3 steps that we could call “warning”. When there’s the last one, his jealousy explodes.

The first warning was the stares that the ATEEZ members gave to you, when you entered the car. Even if he knew that none of them would flirt with you. His jealousy increased so much at the party. Non-stop he gave dead looks to all the boys that were biting their lips seeing you. That was the second warning. San tried to enjoy the party, dancing with his members. But all he could think was you. Your boyfriend was surprised and confused to see you talking with the bartender. He escaped of the crowd so fast, to reach you. When he heard the other man asks your number, that was the last warning. Everything happened so fast.

Now you were on your bedroom, staring at the ceiling. All the pictures frames of San and you was facing down. Since the party, you were over-thinking. Trying to know when this mess started. Was your dress really short? It showed your knees and legs but that was okay. You went to your wardrobe and pulled all the skirts and dresses on your bed. Analyzing if your style was provocative. You were about to try one of your favorite skirt when your phone rang. San was calling you. “Yeoboseyo*?” you heard San with his little cute voice. “Hi san” you answered coldly. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t treat you the way I did.” He confessed. You sighed, “Yes, you shouldn’t have to. But sorry I have many things to do today, like call the bartender, since I’m an easy girl.” You felt him tense through the phone. 1-0 for you, you thought. “You are not an easy girl Y/N… You are a lovely and funny one babe.” “That’s not what you said yesterday.” You didn’t want to give up so fast and forgive him. “I was really upset when I heard him asking for your number.” “And you thought I would give it to him? Please San…” you said angrily. “No, I know that you are faithful. But I don’t know… I just…” he sighed of frustration. “My jealousy is something that I can’t control Y/N. I just saw you there talking and smiling with this man.” He took a break and continued, “I just want to be the only one to get your stares and your smiles…” You could feel your heart race, it was too cute for you to handle it. In the other way, you knew how San felt. You are a bit jealous too when he’s talking with Atinys and give all his attention to them. But it’s his job. “Y/N are you still there?” asked San saying that you didn’t say anything. “Yes San.” “Can I come to your apartment? I will be there in 20 minutes!” “Okay, see you in few minutes then.” You both need to talk face to face and try to solve his jealousy issue.

*Yeoboseyo : Allô/Hello when you answer a call in korean.

MINGI -”If you can’t at least make me relax then leave! I don’t need you here.”

It was dark and cold outside. Mingi was walking after his doctor appointment. All he could think was the sentence that the doctor said, “you can join back, kid”. He was so happy that he wanted to cry or scream at someone. Finally, after 1 month of hiatus he could join back the group and perform for MAMA 2019 and their world tour. Mingi was so happy that he almost bumped into an old man. He couldn’t wait to tell the members and to... you. He stopped when he remembered that you weren’t talking to him anymore. For 2 weeks now.He got mad for the popcorn pack, that was honestly a stupid argument. The only news he got from you, was when you sent him a text at exactly 7 pm every day, to remind him to take his medicine. He always asked you how you were, if you were still mad at him but you didn’t answer. He knew that what he said to you was mean and hurtful. You just tried to comfort him since his members were doing their promotions. He sighed. He needed to fix this and get his friend back.

Your relationship was complex. You were friends, since Seonghwa introduced you to the members. You instantly crushed on Mingi and he did too. You started to hang out without the boys. You exchanged kisses but none tried to define your relationship statut. He loved your presence and the way you made him escape from the idol world. He ran toward your apartment. Mingi wanted you to be the first person to know about his back recovery, even before the members or the staff. He knocked at your door, hoping that you would open it. But nothing. He tried again. Seemed that you were not at home. He sat in front of your door and texted you, “hi are you okay?” You left him on read. “I’m scared, at least tell me something, Y/N.” He saw 3 dots on his screen, “Hi. Take your medicine Mingi.” His head bumped on the door, your ignorance is torturing him. Suddenly, you exited the elevator, “What are you doing here?” as you saw him. He stood up straight, “Y/N!”. “What are you doing here Mingi?” “You ignored my text.” “And?” He blinked, “And... I don’t know. I want to apologize.” You stared at him, “and?”. “And... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t treat you the way I did.” “And?” You repeated. He was losing his temper and you knew it. “And sorry for not giving you attention.” “An-“ you started. “If you said “and” again I will pinch you.” You giggled. “What are you doing here Mingi, you could just wait that I text you back,” he raised his brow, “one day”. “I’m here too because I got good news today.” He smiled, “I can perform again!” You hugged instantly, finally he could join back the group and see Atinys on tour. “I’m so happy for you Mingi-mango!” “Thank you, Y/N, for supporting me no matter what! I didn’t give up thanks to you!” You smiled at him, “then... movie tonight? We could celebrate your recovery!” “Yes! It’s a really good plan Y/N!” Said Mingi.

WOOYOUNG -”I’m distant because you are so clingy! Can I breathe without you being around?“

It’s been almost a month, Wooyoung didn’t get any news of you.

He didn’t search to join anyway, to ashamed of his behavior. Every day he was thinking of you. It’s true that both of you were really close to each other, always texting, calling for at least 2 hours, hanging out,… This month for him was just practicing and promoting Wonderland, since it finally came out. He missed your comments. “Wooyoung-ie! Wow! You are incredible! Look it’s my boyfriend!” you would shout at the TV. Atinys comments were always good but he needed to get your opinion. The group was attending a fansign in Seoul today. They loved to interact with their fans. They could talk about everything and give them few advices as they can. Wooyoung wasn’t feeling it. He couldn’t stop to think about you. Hongjoong noticed it, “Wooyoung, what is happening?” “Nothing hyung.” He couldn’t say that he missed you, it was his fault if you were gone. “It’s about Y/N?” He finally nodded. “Listen, I’m not a pro in relationship but you need to talk to her, you can’t stay like that.” Said the leader. “But how? What about she doesn’t want to talk to me or even see me again?” Hongjoong stayed quiet. Relationship was useless to him. So many things to do or not. He prefers to stay with his laptop and compose few songs. “Did you even tried?” He stayed quiet. “That’s what I thought.”

After the fansign, they went to their favorite restaurant. But they didn’t expect to see you there, reading a book in a quiet corner, with a bibimbap. San pushed Wooyoung toward you, “it’s your time to shine man!”. “I can’t! She hates me!” Freaked out your ex-boyfriend. Hongjoong rolled his eyes and decided to help his member. “Hey Y/N!” He shouted at you. “Ya! Hyung!” Said Wooyoung as he was trying to hide somewhere. “Oh. Hi guys.” You bowed to them. “Stop acting like baby and go talk to her!” said Jongho. The boy took a deep breath and walked toward you. “Hi Y/N.” “Hi.” Your eyes didn’t leave your book, even if you were too confused to read it. “How are you?” “I’m fine, thank you.” You hoped that he would leave. But he sat in the chair in front of you. “Y/N, I’m sorry.” No response. “It’s been a month and I really miss you… I think I’m going crazy.” he started. “I just needed to breath a bit. I was exhausted mentally and physically. It’s so much pressure, you know.” You put your book on the table. “Listen Wooyoung, I don’t want to be a punching bag for you.” “Y/N…” “You could just say “Hi Y/N, I just want to be alone tonight.” “Y/N….” “But no, all you did was screaming at me in front of everyone!” “Y/N! Listen me oh my god! Yelled Wooyoung. All the members were looking at your table. Most of them facepalmed when they saw that the boy was messing up again. “I made a mistake and I really regret it. The only thing I need in my life is you. You are not clingy, it’s just that couple need to be a part sometime. I know you can understand that. I messed up.” He explained to you. “I love spending time with you my love.” Your heart raced at the lovely nickname he gave you. “I just want to spend all my entire life with you, Y/N…” He was tearing up. He felt worse than you thought. You stood up and hugged him soflty. “I’m here with you Wooyoung, I won’t leave you. But you will need to apologize a bit more.”

JONGHO -“I wish sometimes that I didn’t fell in love with you! Especially when you are like that!”

“I wish I didn’t fell in love with you”. It’s been 2 weeks now and his words were still stuck in your head. Jongho tried to talk with you about the situation but you declined his calls and ignored his texts. Seonghwa tried to join you one day, to explain the maknae’s situation. [”Y/N, he’s really sad. He’s not coming to your practice anymore. He’s just here for promotion on show and go back to the dorm and barely talking to us.”] You felt bad that your boyfriend was depressing about your issue. You typed back the eldest member. [”He wished he never fell in love with me Hwa*, I can be upset and depressed too.”] Seonghwa took few minutes to answer. [”I know that you miss him too Y/N.”] [”I won’t do anything I’m sorry…”] [”At least can you meet Yunho and me for a lunch? We miss you…”]. You hesitate, you were close to the other members as well. Maybe that was not the best idea. Finally, you answered, [”Okay! See you at 1 pm in Incheon”]. [”Cool, see you there!”]. You sighed, could you give a chance to Jongho?

It was 1 pm, you were already in front the restaurant. [”Where are you boys?”] You texted the eldest member. You saw 3 dots on your phone screen as you were trying to warm up your hands. You sent another message when you didn’t get any answer. “Y/N.” You turned back and saw Jongho with your favorite flowers. “What-“ you blinked, confused. “Seonghwa-Hyung helped me to talk with you. They won’t come. Or not now.” He explained. That was a trick. The only one you were meeting was Jongho. “I will kill them.” As you started to walk back to your apartment. “Wait Y/N!” he grabbed your wrist. “Please forgive me.” “I don’t think I want to Jongho. You hurted my feelings and made me insecure.” “That’s not what I want. I was really awkward in front of my hyungs. I don’t want them to feel like that too, around us.” He sighed. “I’m the maknae, I need to work hard and show a mature look. “Then you mean that with me you can’t do that?” you asked confused. “No no!” he facepalmed, “I don’t how to say…” he gave up. “Well Jongho, I can understand you are not a lovely guy and that you need your space but kissing with moderation of course, just peck for example and hugging, won’t kill you.” You explained. He nodded, “I will always respect our privacy Jongho.” “I’m sorry.” He said quietly looking at his feet. “I can’t express myself good, but you are understanding me so well, everytime.” You giggled. “I’m really sorry about what I said. Falling in love with you is the best thing that happened in my life. You are my little and lovely treasure Y/N.” He hugged you. You hugged him back and offered, “Should we eat? If we are here.” “I would love to!” he gave you the flowers. As he walked in the restaurant, you sent a message to your friend. [Thank you so much Hwa!].

*Hwa : a little nickname you give to Seonghwa.

Part 1 / Ateez saying something hurtful to their s/o

#ateez reactions #ateez san #ateez wooyoung #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez au

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chaninfused · 4 years

Photo

Today, this mediocre blog turns one year old.

And it’s not much, but it’s something, for sure. I’m happy to be writing this, mainly because I didn’t expect to write it in the first place. Coming here, I had no aspirations for this blog. Write and post, that was my initial intent, but I’m glad to say I have found and created much more. As cliché as it sounds, I’ve learned and improved quite a lot, both as a person and a writer. Never in my life had I imagined myself writing y/n stories, yet here I am, and I’m content.

As much as I complain, I cannot deny that this place made this year bearable so far. Everyone, from my friends to my silent readers, made this experience fun, despite the various disappointments of 2020 (ahem, a ruined senior year). For that, I think it’s time to move to the important parts of this letter; all I have to say to you!

First, I must thank the friends that gave me something to look forward to each day. I am honored to have met you all, whom I have spoken to daily or spontaneously. Thank you for keeping up with my sucky person antics!

@luvhjs, I often wonder if we could’ve ever met if @skzwritersclub didn’t exist, or if you didn’t decide to join our fetus network, and I always conclude that it’s not something I want to think about. Simply because it’s horrifying. I might not express it properly, but our friendship is one I treasure beyond words. Thank you for panicking with me over silly things, listening to my nonsense rambles, and in all sincerity, being the best there is. A hundred ‘I love you’s randomly arriving in your inbox would never be enough, but I hope you know that I love you, and I wish you all the best, all the time ♡

@missinghan, I don’t know where to begin, and honestly, I don’t know where to stop either. I don’t regret screaming into your dms that day, although I’m deeply sorry for terrifying you (oops!). All jokes aside, I truly don’t know what I’ve done to deserve a friend like you. I’m grateful for each conversation we’ve had, even that one about maggot cheese or those depressing texts about our dying dashboards. I solemnly believe that I would’ve lost my mind during spring break had we not spent careless hours on Tumblr talking about anything that could possibly be talked about. I feel like I couldn’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me; for hearing my writing rants to handling my dramatics to just being there when I send a good morning text in all caps. You are incredible, it is not just a silly nickname. I love you, and I know affection is gross but I’m saying it again. I love you! ♡

@meiiyue, hey, remember when you told me you knew me from Wattpad? That was our first proper interaction, and I am so glad I had gotten to know you better after that. We often joke about it, but I love your love for all things murder. Please never let anyone’s opinions get in your way. You honestly have one of the most unique personalities I’ve ever known. I mean, where else would you find koalas and blood-chilling crime in one place? Thank you for being the cutest and most talented. I hope you know that you’re loved, and I love you, and it will always be that way ♡

@meanhly, oh, look, it’s my keyboard smashing partner! I’m glad you decided to panic about On track in my dms instead of my askbox. Thank you for birthing this beautiful friendship! Speaking of which, what friendship level are we at now, Selina? Okay, I’ll stop fooling around. Thank you for never failing to make me laugh, no thanks to your autocorrect for calling me fruit, though. I think one of the reasons I love the Songless Bird so much is, well, you! It was your excitement about the story that pushed me to explore the world more, to write more. I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am for that. I love you, so much, and I cherish our friendship just as much ♡

@smileylino, our ‘02 line is only complete with you, Rain. Thank you for being the best panic partner (hehe) and the cutest Minho stan. Talking to you is always so much fun, even if we’re just discussing memes or soft scenarios. I don’t know how successfully your Minho detox is going, but I miss your random declarations of love for the one and only. I hope you know that you’re really talented, and I’ll always be here to cheer you on whenever. You deserve only the best this world can offer. I know you’ll do amazing, whatever it is you’ll be doing. I love you! ♡

@lixiefe, if anyone were to see our first interactions, they wouldn’t expect us to become good friends. Yet here we are, and I wouldn’t change that for the world! I love talking to you, even if it’s about the strangest of topics. Thank you for making me love my own work. You make it out to be something special, which it isn’t, but I appreciate that so much. Thank you for handling my self-deprecating statements with hilarious poop references, even though I am still adamantly against them (kidding!). You’re special, I hope you’d know that. I love you so much! ♡

@scriptura-delirus, we might not interact a lot but whenever we do, it’s always so much fun. I truly admire your work and your way of thinking. Thank you for writing the best fantasy to be found in this fandom, and for all the support you’ve shown my mediocre stories. If this were a follow forever, know that your url would be among the first. I love you! ♡

@jeonginks, can I consider you a friend? I hope I can. The entirety of my first interactions with you consisted of me embarrassing myself, from that useless blurb to all that panicking. Thank you for not blocking me yet... I am very sure that without SWC, I wouldn’t have ever talked to you. And while I might not panic anymore, you are still someone I genuinely look up to when it comes to writing. I wish you’d know that you’re an inspiration, for me and many writers out there. Also, you can send me as many Liam memes as you want, I’ve become immune to them (phew). I presume this is called affection, but I love you! ♡

@scxrlettwxtches, writing or not, you’re a dear friend of mine. I’m terrible at expressing things, but I’m glad we started talking. Thank you for listening to all the unnecessary writing things I say. I love your work, even though I don’t say it enough. You might not know but your enthusiasm motivates me to write; all the random questions and spoiler requests. I’m sorry for [redacted] in ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’. I hope I’ve been able to make up for that through the blurbs! All in all, I wish you all the best in everything you do, and I love you! ♡

@f3lixlvr, you are the first person I have properly spoken to in his hellhole. I remember our first conversations and just how much joy they brought me, even though I was hiding behind an anonymous profile. Thank you for being the most amazing and making late 2019 fun and exciting. I love you! ♡

@wingkkun, we only began directly interacting recently, but we’ve talked before. Your writing is great, beyond that, even. I’ll raid your masterlist one day, just you wait! You seem like a complete sweetheart, and I hope we can talk more in the future. Thank you for all the lovely tags you had left on my stories, I love you! ♡

@ammuqwer, you are a friend I didn’t expect to make, but one I wouldn’t want to lose for anything. Talking to you brightens my day, and I can only wish I can offer just as much happiness in yours. You’re amazing, really. If you ever have a hard time, please know that you can always find me. I love you! ♡

@p2q3r4, I often scroll through your blog and I have to say, you’re crazy talented. Your drawings are stunning! Thank you for all the comments you’ve left on my writings, I appreciate every single one of them. You’re also a complete sweetheart, have I ever told you that? And I love your love for languages, it never was annoying. Never stop being amazing, I love you! ♡

🌷 anon, I might not know who you might be, but you’re a friend I cherish so much, Tulip. I love talking to you, and I say that a lot, but hearing from you is always so lovely. Thank you for all the asks you’ve ever sent, those with tmi to those with Splatoon talk. I hope you know that I’ll always be there for you, whenever, wherever. I love you so much! ♡

Caeliman Minho anon, last but definitely not least. I’m afraid this short letter wouldn’t do you justice, but I hope you’d know that you mean a lot to me. Thank you for all the support you’ve shown my work, all the inspiration you’ve given me, and all the thoughts you’ve generously shared. I love hearing what you have to say, and I love you! Thank you for everything ♡

Second, to all my readers, those who always reblog, those who leave a trail of hearts behind, and even those who just pass by, thank you for giving my writings a chance. I am continuously motivated to write more and write better for you. I’m nowhere near that, but I’m slowly making my way up there. Thank you for being the best audience ♡

Finally, to you reading this, thank you for reaching this far. It has only been a year, and I hope I can continue to contribute to this fandom for much longer than that.

Today, a story was meant to be posted. Due to my poor management skills (yikes!), I will instead be posting the world-information edit for ‘Danse Macabre’. Please look forward to it!

That is all. Thank you for making these 365 days on this blog special, and here’s to many more! I love you all! ♡

#furat iskiti 🖇️

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usamizuki · 4 years

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lucky bastard

happy birthday to the one and only iwaizumi hajime!! a day late, but oh well. here’s a little iwa/f!reader! posted on ao3 as well!

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzzzzzzzt.

Iwaizumi wriggled in the comfort of his bed, not wanting to face the fact that there’d be morning practice to wake up to. The alarm from his phone kept buzzing in his ear, and reached over and slammed the “snooze” button with the grace of an elephant. Normally, Iwaizumi would have no trouble getting up. He was used to the routine of wake up, practice, school, practice, pass out, but he tossed and turned all night for fear of what’d be waiting for him at the school.

It was his birthday, meaning Oikawa would be a tremendous pain in his ass.

Oikawa always made a huge deal for Iwaizumi’s birthday, ever since they’d been kids. Iwaizumi recalls the time in middle school where Oikawa woke up an hour earlier to drape Iwaizumi’s desk in a mess of tacky streamers and a crudely drawn poster that bore the words: “Happy birthday, Iwa-chan!” Iwaizumi’s shoe locker was filled with little notes saying things like “Happy birthday! Maybe this year you’ll get a girlfriend?” or “woah, fourteen already? You look like an old man.” Iwaizumi’s greatest gift that day, in his opinion, was taking his sweet time in beating his best friend’s ass.

All I want is a peaceful day with my girl, Iwaizumi thought to himself as he rose from the bed, shrugging off the sheets and turning towards the bathroom. Is that too much to ask?

The sun was barely hanging in the sky yet, yet Iwaizumi was eyeing his phone nervously for a happy birthday text from you. He knew that you would still be peacefully asleep and he couldn’t stop himself from envisioning you with messy, tousled hair and cute little snores: evidently, Iwaizumi couldn’t wait to see you. Despite him checking his phone every five seconds, he knew that a birthday text was probably out of the question. Iwaizumi had held off on telling you that his birthday was tomorrow. The two of you became a couple fairly recently, after you had mustered up the courage to ask him out after his evening volleyball practice. He didn’t want to pressure you with getting him a gift or anything so soon, but Iwaizumi couldn’t lie to himself. The best present would be you, and only you. Iwaizumi would be over the moon if he’d just have one entire day to spend with you without having to worry about Oikawa’s antics.

Of course, his phone didn’t ping with any new notifications. But what was I expecting, Iwaizumi huffed, and went back to brushing his teeth. I didn’t tell her about it, anyways.

“In conclusion, he doesn’t know that you know.” Oikawa’s eyes twinkled with mischief, and you suddenly felt your stomach drop. M-maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to ask Oikawa for help…

“Now, now, (y/n)-chan! Don’t look like that!” Is he a mind reader? “I’ll have you know that I’ve been the sole person in charge of making Iwa-chan’s birthday the best day ever for seven consecutive years!” Oikawa threw his fingers up in a piece sign and grinned at you. You just sighed in response, but gave him a little smile in return.

“It’ll just be a little prank, right?” You tried to convince yourself as Oikawa decorated his best friend’s shoe locker with flimsy neon papers. He had sneaked out of morning practice early to come help you with Iwaizumi’s birthday, which he almost never does. You were surprised at first, but then came to realize that Oikawa was a best friend who would pull out all the stops for the brunette. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate a little surprise…” Your voice faltered, losing confidence in the little plan that you and Oikawa had devised.

“Exactly!” The little hearts that Oikawa had taped onto the locker started to peel off. “You just have to ignore him for the most of the day, and then bam! Plant a good one on him during practice.” You immediately reddened, hiding your flushed cheeks behind your hands. “And as an added bonus, I’m giving him the day off. He’ll have you all to himself, the lucky bastard.”

You giggled and punched Oikawa in the arm playfully, earning a dramatic “Ow!” from him and attracting stares from the rest of the students around them. It was nearing the start of the first class, so more and more people were starting to fill in the halls. Oikawa spotted Iwaizumi from the corner of his eye and quickly pushed you to the other side of the wall. “Go, now, before he sees you!”

Tripping a little bit over yourself, you managed to hide behind another set of lockers. Seeing as you had time to kill before your first class, you decided to stick around and eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Haaaaaaaaappy birthday to y—”

Iwaizumi slapped a hand over Oikawa’s mouth, which reduced his singing to a muffled “mmph.”

He moved to bite Iwaizumi’s hand, and he flinched away before his best friend could even get a nibble. “You’re crazy,” Iwaizumi chuckled, looking at the arts and crafts shitstorm that was his locker. “always picking up after you, even on my birthday.”

Oikawa puffed his cheeks out, turning away from the brunette. “I got here early especially for you, and you repay me by grumbling? And all I wanted to do was do something nice for my best friend on his special day.”

“You call this something nice?” Iwaizumi bent over and picked up the heart cutouts that fell to the floor. “More like a pain.”

“Hmm! Whatever, I have more in store for you anyways.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. By the way, have you seen (y/n) around?”

You perked up at the mention of your name. Did he figure out the plan that quickly?

“Well, you just missed her. I said hi to her, but it seemed like she was in a hurry to get somewhere. Class duties, maybe?” Oikawa’s eyes landed on yours for a second, which was a signal for you to get your ass out of there.

“Ah, okay.” Iwaizumi let out a little sigh, which chipped at your heart a little bit. It was going to be worth it in the end, right? “I’ll catch her later, then.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed in frustration. He was bending the pen that he was holding, which was dangerously close to breaking. Halfway through the school day, and all he could think about was you! Normally, you would join him and Oikawa for lunch along Mattsun and Makki, but you apparently had to run errands for a teacher that time. Iwaizumi was looking forward to perhaps getting a bite of your home-cooked bento, or perhaps you’d buy him a cream bun from the cafeteria for his birthday…?

No. It’s useless, I haven’t told her about my birthday. The pen snapped in his hand. I don’t even have any right to mope about it.

“Woah there, Iwa-chan, no need to show off your strength. This is a classroom, after all.”

“Will you shut it?” Iwaizumi barked at Oikawa, just to get a tongue sticking out at him in return. “If I hear one more ‘happy birthday’ from you again, I swear, I will beat your ass at practice.”

“Ah, and this is the price of being Iwa-chan’s one (and only) friend.” Oikawa sighed, flopping arms onto his desk. “I shower him with endless presents, and only get paid dust. But it’s fine, since I'm such a selfless and giving bestie.”

“Can’t imagine ‘selfless’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just grumpy because (y/n)-chan’s a little busy today.”

Hit the nail right on the head, huh, Shittykawa? I guess you can pick up on some things, even if that head of yours is filled with air.

“I guess so. But who wouldn’t be? I haven’t seen her at all today.” Iwaizumi’s lips tugged downwards into a pout. Oikawa is having a field day with this.

“Aw, is Iwa-chan lonely? Come on, I’ll buy you a bun from the vending machine. It is your birthday, after all.”

“I don’t need pity food.”

The preparations were almost in place. Thanks to Oikawa and your planning, the volleyball team was hard at work decorating the gym. Practice was still going on, but the coach had allowed a few party favors. Makki was struggling to put a small party hat on Kindaichi, chasing him around the gym. You laughed as you laid out an assortment of cupcakes and cookies on the table, to which the team members drooled at.

“(y/n)-chan, you’re quite the baker! Homemade too...” Oikawa said in approval, reaching to snatch a chocolate chip cookie. You smacked his hand lightly and made a disapproving noise.

“Not yet, Oikawa.” You eyed the door nervously, looking for any sign of Iwaizumi’s signature spiked hair. “At least wait until Iwaizumi gets here.”

He turned away from you to face the door as well. “Don’t worry about a thing! I have Mattsun on guard, and he’ll let us know when Iwa-chan’s coming!”

At the mention of Iwaizumi’s name, Mattsun came running in. “He’s coming, he’s coming,” He panted, waving his arms. “Turn off the lights!”

You quickly hid behind the wall, a handful of confetti in one hand. Holding your breath, you watched as Iwaizumi came in through the door. He was sporting the Aoba Johsai jersey, and his face was all twisted in confusion. “Huh, and I thought I was running late…”

As soon as Iwaizumi flipped the switch, a resounding “Happy birthday!” echoed throughout the gym. Confetti was thrown in the air, and the majority of the team barreled towards Iwaizumi, tackling him in a tight group hug.

“Y-you guys…” Iwaizumi was knocked to the ground, and the weight of the boys on him was crushing his lungs. “can let go now.”

The boys finally released him from their death grip and smiled at him, slapping his shoulders playfully. “Happy birthday, you lucky bastard.”

Iwaizumi dusted himself off and took a moment to actually appreciate the sight before him. The gym, which he considered a second home, was now decorated with strings that hung little paper stars and balloons. There was a poster tacked to the wall that read “Happy birthday, Ace!” Beside the poster was the table of goodies that the team was now lined up to feast on. You decided to approach him now that the team’s attention was on something else other than the birthday boy.

“Hey, you.” You smiled at him, a blush already creeping on your cheeks. “Having a good birthday?” You’ve pined over Iwaizumi for so long, but it’s unbelievable to you that he’s already yours. Every time you look at him, it always takes your breath away. His tanned skin with those mesmerizing sea green eyes. I could just melt.

“(y/n),” He breathed, reaching out to cup your cheek. Your eyes widened and you were sure that Iwaizumi could feel the heat rising beneath his fingertips. Since you guys were such a recent couple, he hadn’t been that big on being affectionate in public. Until now, of course. “you did this all for me?”

“Um, I had some help from Oikawa, of course!” You averted your eyes from the brunette out of embarrassment. “He was the one who came up with this, after all. I didn’t know your birthday was coming up until a few days ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to pressure you into getting me a gift so soon.” He shifts his hands to pinch your cheek lightly. “And what was with you ignoring me the whole day? Was that part of the plan, too?”

“It was! I’m sorry, Iwaizumi, now let go!” You tried to pull away from him, but he chuckled, leaning in and stretching your cheeks even further. You messed with him all day, and now it was his turn.

“Hey, now, lovebirds!” Of course, until Oikawa ruins everything. “Come get a cupcake. And Iwa-chan, don’t think you’re immune from wearing the birthday crown!” In Oikawa’s hands was a little paper crown folded neatly out of construction paper. You took the crown out of Oikawa’s hands and placed it gently on top of his head, smoothing the stray tufts of hair. Iwaizumi’s face was carefully neutral, but he was screaming on the inside. Jesus Christ, you’re too cute for this world.

He composed himself and turned towards Oikawa. “Guess I’m the Great King for today, huh, Shittykawa?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you get away with it this once! And as the previous king, I decree that you have the day off!”

Iwaizumi moved to protest, but Oikawa cut him off before he could even open his mouth. “No buts! The birthday king deserves his rest, no?” He shot a knowing look towards you, and a teasing grin made its way onto the setter’s face. “With his queen, of course.”

“... Shut up, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi knew that there was no arguing with Oikawa once he had his mind set on something. It wasn’t all bad, right? He got to spend his day with his favorite girl.

You beamed and slipped your hand into his, tugging him towards the door. “I’ll treat you to some tofu, ‘kay? It’s all about you today.”

His mouth quirked up into a soft smile reserved just for you, and he squeezed your hand in response. “I really am a lucky bastard.”

#hq!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwazumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #oikawa tooru #aoba johsai #hanamaki takahiro #matsukawa issei #my fics

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wowcool808 · 3 years

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Aren’t You Cheerful?-YTTD head cannon

This is a headcanon in an alternate universe where Sara never had a stalker and Joe and Sara were never in the killing game. Also, I took the title name from the song “Aren't You Cheerful?” in the Your Turn To Die soundtrack.

“Do you...know what a majority vote is..?”

“Aw...She died…”

“....My opinion...versus yours…”

Various, disembodied voices passed through Sara’s brain without paying any mind to her consciousness. Floating in and out before fading out of existence. It was an odd phenomenon, as Sara didn’t even have the time to grasp onto the words as they left her. And then, she woke. She had fallen asleep on her school desk, presumably drifting off as she was studying for her upcoming test. Slowly, Sara lifted her head, her brain swimming lightly from the abrupt awakening. She rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes and massaged her sore jaw she had fallen asleep on. She sat up and, as her eyes adjusted to what little light streamed in the room, she realized it was already past 6:30 p.m.

“Ugh, seriously? How long did I even study for..?” she asked herself as she glanced down at the study guide in front of her. She had barely gotten to the second page when she fell asleep, deeming the hours she spent after school virtually useless. Sara begrudgingly got up and slung her backpack on her shoulders. She sent a text to her parents letting them know she was on her way home as she walked out of the front entrance.

As she walked towards the gates, she took in her surroundings. They were the same things she saw everyday; the pond, the trees, and the large building that loomed above it all. Surprisingly enough, one of the lights in the school was turned on. “Huh, even janitors work this late. Thank you for your tireless service.” She said with a small smile as she continued on her way to the front gates. When she reached the gate, she took a look at her phone, reading a text from her friend, Ryoko. “Heyya, I just got homee, wanna sleep over? I’m tired as hell, but I kinda feel like talking about today.” Sara smiled a bit and typed a response. “Hi, and yeah, sure. I’m just getting home too. I spent the last few hours sleeping at my desk, but I’ll see if I can come over later.” Naturally, she would spend the time in between then to study since she wasted so much time doing nothing. Ryoko, however, spent the last few hours going on a date with one of her classmates, Jou Tazuna, or just Joe. Joe had bugged Sara about setting him up with Ryoko ever since he found out how close she and Ryoko were. Sara had finally given in and got the two of them to go on a date together.

As Sara put her phone away, she heard someone call her name from the other side of the fence. “Heyyy, Sara! Why're you still here?” The voice made Sara jump, forcing herself to get into fight-or-flight mode. Once she recognized the owner of the voice, however, she dropped her stance and stared straight at the person with a hot face. “Joe, seriously?” she said, annoyed. Joe, a tall, gaudy-looking guy with various hair pins stood in front of her with a cheery smile on his face. “Whattt, did I scare you? Sorry ‘bout that.” he said with an unapologetic expression.

“Oh shut up, you did that on purpose, huh?” Sara said, quickly regaining her cool.

“Jeeze, always so cold, huh? Well, whatever, I knew you would be here. You said you were studying, right?” He said, annoyingly changing the subject.

“Well, yeah, that was the plan. I fell asleep, though. Why did you come here?” She asked, sighing.

“I came to brag about my date, what else?!” He said with a cheeky smile as he put his hands on his hips.

“Right...well, I appreciate the thought, but I already talked with Ryoko about it.” She said with a sarcastic smile. It was a lie but Sara figured it was only fair since Joe had scared her.

“Whattt? I came all the way here though!” Joe said with a fake pout.

Sara rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Well, you were too late, then. Too bad.”

Joe winced and hung his head, moping. “Aww man.”

Sara smiled a bit and held back a pity laugh. “Fine, you can tell me as I walk home. I can’t guarantee I’ll pay attention though.”

Joe lifted his head and smiled again, making it blatantly obvious he was faking most of his reaction. “Good enough for me!”

Sara shook her head and stepped through the gate as Joe waited for her. “So, first we walked to the kabob place that we were talking about earlier. I ate so much that Ryoko had to help me get up!” he said, his head in the clouds as always. He brushed his hair out of his face and continued talking with his signature smile. “The bill was barely in my range, though that was because of my gluttonous butt. My wallet will be hurtn’ for weeks.” he said, rubbing his neck sheepishly. Joe glanced over at Sara, who, as noted, wasn’t paying attention. Joe elbowed her lightly and scrunched his nose. “Are you paying attention or what? I may have lost a ton of money, but we made some serious progress!” he whined. Sara groaned quietly and looked at Joe. “Hey, I promised I wouldn’t pay my full attention. But, whatever, did you kiss or something?” Joe scoffed, taken aback. “Of course not! You know they call people who kiss on first dates monsters and stuff. Come on, have you never been on a date before.” He said teasingly. “Nah, we held hands though! Crazy progress, right? Well, technically I fell in a construction hole and she helped me out, but whatever, it still counts.” He said excitedly. Sara, not wanting to dampen his happy mood any further, shook her head and smiled. “Well, that’s something.”

They passed under a street light, casting a shadow on their faces. “You know, you really never have been on a date, huh?” Joe asked, interrupting the calming silence. “Huh?” Sara muttered, confused. Well, she hadn’t, but why did it matter? It shouldn’t take personal experience to half-heartedly listen to your classmate’s story he excitedly retold. “Well, not like it really matters. But if Ryoko and I end up getting together, you’ll be the sad third wheel!” He said with a joking tone.

Sara rolled her eyes for the third or fourth time and crossed her arms. “You’re taking this awfully seriously, huh? And why would I be the ‘Sad Fourth Wheel’? Ryoko wouldn’t choose a boyfriend over her best friend in a million years.” She said it rather confidently, but she never actually considered the possibility. Sure, she set up Joe and Ryoko mainly because Joe bugged her about it, but she didn’t think too far into it. She kind of assumed the relationship wouldn’t get too far. That’s what she kind of hoped, anyway.

Joe shrugged and continued walking. “I’m simply planning ahead, and like I said, we made tons of progress today, so success is basically guaranteed!” He said confidently.

Sara sighed and smiled a bit. “You’re too much sometimes.”

Joe chuckled and put his hands on his hips. “You like me for it though.” he said with a wide smile.

Sara scoffed a bit amusingly. “If that’s what you say.” As much as she would deny it, Joe is actually partially right. Perhaps it’s because Joe is so trusting, carefree, and emotional? It was a nice counter to her straightforward and logical nature.

They rounded the corner of their block and passed under another streetlight, once again casting shadows on both of their faces. As they approached her house, Sara noticed something…...A warm and pleasant aroma wafting through the area (what, you thought it was something else? I told you there’s no killing game hehe)! As she breathed it in, Sara smiled. Joe looked over at her with a wide smirk. “What’re you cooking?” he asked curiously.

“What do you mean ‘What am I cooking?', I’m literally next to you right now.” Sara asked with an exasperated yet amused look.

Joe chuckled and rubbed his neck and chuckled. “Right, I know that but like…” He said trailing off.

“What, do you want to eat inside? You just had kabobs and were complaining about how full you are!”

“Yeah, but like….” Joe said, moping a bit, “I told you I’m a glutton. Plus, I walked off all the calories.”

“Jeeze, for someone who looks as gaudy as you do, you certainly make a lot of silly excuses.” Sara said, crossing her arms and smirking. “Fine, I’ll ask my parents.”

“Yaaay! Thanks!” He said, beaming happily like a child who was just given a balloon.

Sara laughed a bit as she swung open the door and held it open for Joe. Surely enough, as it smelt, her parents made her one of her favorite meals: Mashed sweet potatoes with chestnuts and roasted chicken. Mouth watering already, Sara grabbed Joe’s hand and pulled him to the kitchen...

#yttd #joe tazuna #jou tazuna #sara chidouin #headcannon #yttd headcanons

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commentaryvorg · 4 years

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Anonymous asked:

You said that Kokichi didn't apologize sincerely very much, in that graph on your other blog, but can I ask what were the supposed insincere apologies in context?

[Putting this ask in a regular text post because readmores specifically on ask posts don't work on this blog theme for some silly reason, why is tumblr terrible.]

Anon is referring to this post on my main blog, but I'm actually kind of glad they asked this here and not there. I don't especially like making posts that are entirely about Kokichi, but I'm willing to do so occasionally on this blog where I have already talked about him a decent amount.

First, though, I need to lay down some boundaries here. Anon, you're being polite and civil, but the wording of “supposed insincere apologies” makes me worry about your intent behind this ask nonetheless.

Are you asking this because you're genuinely interested in more of my thoughts on this topic, because you like hearing what I have to say about things in V3, even including my thoughts on Kokichi? ...Or are you asking this to try and get an opening to argue with me over whether these apologies of his are really insincere, because you just can't stand hearing anyone say anything negative about Kokichi, not even on an in-universe level in terms of the kind of person he is?

Maybe I'm wrong to assume this. But if it is the latter, and if reading the rest of this post makes you (or anyone else) want to send me a more defensive ask in response, kindly don't.

I've made my thoughts on Kokichi pretty clear throughout this commentary. I don't mind if people disagree with me. But if they do, I would much rather they keep it to themselves, and if they need to, stop reading my posts entirely and move on with their lives away from my content. I have negative interest in having any kind of debate on either of my blogs over the validity of this interpretation of Kokichi. Which is to say that not only do I have no desire to do it, but that the thought of getting pulled into having to do it anyway actively stresses me out.

If anyone sends me any asks attempting to get into a debate with me about this or about anything else involving my opinions on Kokichi, they will be ignored, and, depending on how stressed they make me, potentially blocked for the sake of my mental health. So please just don't.

Okay. With that established, let me put that aside, give this anon the benefit of the doubt, and assume they're asking this because they're genuinely interested in hearing more of what I have to say on this topic. Because I do have some more I can say about this, so, why not.

The truth is, regarding Kokichi's insincere apologies that I recorded on the graph, I don't even remember most of them. Generally, whenever he made an insincere apology, he was being so obviously insincere and so obviously not actually apologising for anything at all that it didn't stick in my mind like the more meaningful and interesting apologies from Shuichi and Kaito did. I pretty much forgot the context almost straight away after counting them.

I can tell you the content of Kokichi's five actual sincere apologies, which I guess by process of elimination clarifies that all of the others I classed as insincere.

One is in trial 1, after he accuses Shuichi and then Kaede shoots a hole in his theory, he says something like, “oh, sorry, I didn't think things that far through”. Which is fair, and also not actually in need of being apologised for, since coming up with possible theories of what happened is what people need to do in a class trial and it's okay if they're not correct.

One is during the Insect Meet-and-Greet: after coming back with the motive videos an hour later than he said he would, Kokichi says something like, “sorry I'm late, I hit an unexpected snafu”. Which is also not his fault; he didn't expect to run into Kirumi desperately trying to get an alibi from him for a whole hour. Note that he doesn't apologise for leaving everyone to be tormented by Gonta's bugs in the first place, because having that happen to them for one hour was entirely his intention. He's only sorry that things didn't go exactly as he planned.

And as I already mentioned in the original post, the three last sincere apologies are in investigation 3 when he's injured, pretty much for accidentally injuring himself if I recall correctly.

There are a small handful of Kokichi's insincere apologies that I do happen to remember off the top of my head, so, sure, I'll talk about those a little bit. Maybe they're kind of illustrative of general principles going on with the rest of them that I don't remember.

In chapter 5, during the flashback when he's about to fake-drink the antidote, Kokichi says, “Sorry, but I can't die here.” He's apologising for being about to do something that is literally the opposite of what he's actually planning to do. Obviously there is no possible way that could be sincere. I wouldn't be surprised if several more of the apologies I classed as insincere were similar to this: just "apologising" for something he never even did as part of an explicit lie.

At some point, I'm not sure of the exact context - I think it's in chapter 5 during the fake mastermind reveal - I remember Kokichi saying, “Sorry, Kaito, but your tiny brain is just so different from mine.” He's making Kaito out to be pathetic and worthless, like he often does, and in that context, the "apology" just serves to add to that. He's just patronising Kaito, acting like he's pitying him for totally being so useless and stupid, trying to make him even more inclined to feel like that's the truth. This is possibly a running theme in some of Kokichi's other insincere apologies, too, especially if they're directed at Kaito.

But probably the most interesting one that I remember, which is to say that it's most illustrative of the main point I would like to make here, is one in trial 4. At some point after the Gonta reveal, Kokichi says - in a really blatantly simpering and insincere voice: “I'm sooorry... I did something horrible to Gonta...”

And, okay, look. I know people are going to want to argue that Kokichi totally really is sorry for getting Gonta killed. I agree that, at least to some extent, on some level, Kokichi actually is feeling regret for what he's doing to Gonta here. Maybe that's even why the apology slipped out of him in the first place; I'm willing to accept that much as well.

But it's still an insincere apology, because he's clearly trying to sound insincere. This can be thought of a little bit like Kaito's several insincere apologies for tricking everyone in trial 5, which only slipped out through his act because he was, in fact, genuinely sorry about what he was doing. In my original post, I described those apologies of Kaito's as insincere anyway, regardless of how much he meant them, because in those moments, nobody was ever going to believe he meant it. That applies to Kokichi's apology for what he's doing to Gonta in trial 4, too.

And aside from that one brief similarity, as is usually the case with Kaito and Kokichi and especially so when it's about sincerity, they otherwise couldn't be more different. Kaito only sounded insincere because he had no choice; he was not trying to run away from how sorry he was. He was fully aware of how he felt about this and wasn't going to rest until he made sure everyone else knew that, too, which is why so many forced-to-be-insincere apologies kept slipping out of him. Sounding insincere like that was never enough for him. He apologised once again for tricking them once he'd revealed himself, because he needed them to know how sincerely he meant it.

Meanwhile with Kokichi, while that apology for hurting Gonta may have slipped out of him in a rare moment of emotional honesty, he is also managing to cover that honesty up literally as it happens by choosing to say it in such an insincere-sounding tone. It's like that thing he often does of expressing his genuine emotions in an overexaggerated way that allows him to convince everyone - including and especially himself - that it's totally all just a lie. He then follows up by saying that the horrible thing he's supposedly apologising for doing to Gonta is, in fact, preventing Shuichi from "hogging all the glory" by revealing the truth, which doesn't even have anything to do with Gonta. He's immediately deflecting the issue away from Gonta entirely, just to make sure to remind himself that he definitely doesn't actually feel sorry about the fact that he's getting Gonta killed at all. It's all his defence mechanisms desperately trying to insulate him from feeling bad about anything ever, even as he's literally murdering the closest thing he has to a friend.

See, I actually really kind of enjoy this aspect of Kokichi's character! But I enjoy this because he's pathologically incapable of letting himself be sincere about this sort of thing. He's still a terrible person, but in a really interestingly messed-up way. A sincere apology involves consciously facing up to the fact that you did something wrong and making sure the people affected know that you're aware of this and you're going to try and do better in future. The fact that he literally cannot ever do this is one of the most interesting things about Kokichi, to me.

This general principle would also potentially apply for any of the other apologies of his that I classified as insincere. Even if there is a possibility that Kokichi truly feels sorry about whatever it is he's apologising for (though I would argue that he almost never does, except for when Gonta is involved), he is making himself sound screamingly insincere. And as soon as he does that, nobody listening is going to think that he is actually sorry about anything, which makes it not a meaningful, sincere apology at all.

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 spoilers #reply #Anonymous

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sakuwriteshere · 4 years

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Pretty Little Liar : Chapter 1

Summary: Dean Winchester and Y/N Y/L/N are roommates for less than 6 months. One day, after she’s back from work, Dean asks her to be his fake girlfriend in front of his mother. This story will follow them through their journey and Dean will learn how much a tiny, innocent lie can turns into the most beautiful thing in his life and turns into a real disaster the next second.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader (main), Arthur Ketch x Female!Reader

Other pairings: Sam Winchester x Jessica, John Winchester x Mary WInchester

General warnings (for the whole story): Fluff, comedy, angst, sexual innuedos, roommates AU

Beta reader: @irebloggbecauseiappreciateyou. A big thank you to Rosaline! She did an amazing work in a very short time. Thank you! 💖

Words count (this chapter): 4172

A/N: This mini-series is very dear to me, I like it a lot. I’m a huge fan of fake dating stories and I really wanted to write mine. I hope you’ll like it. Don’t hesitate to share your opinion about it, comments are LOVED! If you want to be tagged, just send me an ask 😉

This story will be updated every Wednesday!

PLL Masterlist

Main Masterlist

*******************

Chapter 1:

Have you ever realized how wonderful life is? Have you ever felt like nothing can stop you, that you’re at the top of the world? One day you’re waking up, like usual, feeling down and not in the mood to start another boring day but then something comes up and everything around you feels ten times better.

This is exactly how Y/N is feeling right now, bouncing down the streets, her steps light as a feather, feeling like she’s floating through the crowd. Today is the best day of her life despite how it had started. She hadn’t heard her alarm clock, waking up 30 minutes late and had to rush everything to be sure she wouldn’t be late. Of course in her hurry she spilled some hot coffee on her brand new baby blue shirt, burning the skin just over her right breast in the process, this stupid action resulting in making her later than she was already.

Once she finally arrives at the coffee shop, her boss is quite clear and loud about the fact that it would be the very first and last time she is late, next time she doesn’t even need to come in. Then the day passes like usual, slow at the first hours of work, then very busy and hectic from ten to twelve, and finally, Y/N can take a breather during lunchtime.

“Y/N?” Charlie’s voice makes her jump as she’s shaking the little bottle of dressing meant for her salad. “Someone’s asking for you.” The way Charlie stresses the ‘someone’ piqued Y/N’s interest. Her tone is only meant for one person, and in a second Y/N is a total mess.

She jumps to her feet, her hands flying at her hair, trying to rearrange the natural waves even though it doesn’t need rearrangement in the first place. Then her fingers fumble with the little pink and grey apron in front of her, a quick glance making sure it was still clean.

“How do I look?” Y/N asks Charlie, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, a nervous habit of her.

Charlie doesn’t check her attire, she knows that Y/N’s look is good, too good for the one waiting for her on the other side of the door, but Charlie is not going to tell her that again. Really, she can’t understand why her friend was so entranced with this guy. In her eyes, Y/N deserves better but you never choose the one you’re falling in love with, right?

“Ok…” Y/N takes a deep breath and puts her biggest smile on her face before walking into the shop. “Hello, Mr. Ketch, you’re asking for me?”

The man turns around when he hears her voice, the bored look on his face replaced by a charming smile and a wink as he leans his forearms on the counter, his eyes following Y/N’s like a hawk but says nothing as she comes closer.

“The usual?” She asks, a ready to go paper cup already in her hand, her eyes avoiding his, as she feels the blush covering her cheeks.

Ketch nods once and checks her out shamelessly once she has turned over, getting his tea ready.

“I know this is your break,” he finally says, his british accent giving Y/N goosebumps, she just loves that thick accent, it makes the butterflies in her stomach twirl even more. “But it would be a shame if my favorite barista isn’t the one serving me my tea.”

Y/N giggles at that while Charlie rolls her eyes with a shake of her head, then fakes a gag as her eyes make contact with Y/N’s. Y/N frowns discreetly at her, silently ordering the redhead girl to stop, she composes herself before turning around and handing Ketch his drink.

As her hand reaches the money he puts on the counter, Ketch stops her movement by grabbing it, surprising Y/N slightly at the unnecessary pressure.

“You. Me. Saturday night.” Ketch says, not an ounce of shame in his voice. “So? Yes or yes?” He adds, leaving no room for her to decline his offer.

Taken aback by him suddenly asking her out (it’s a date, right?), Y/N’s mouth opens but there’s no sound coming out. Charlie is praying with all her might for her friend to say no but only frowns when she hears her accepting.

Ketch’s smug smile grows bigger, his eyes roaming over her body one last time before he straightens up and takes his drink.

The bell over the main door dings as he opens it but doesn’t leave yet.

“Try a shorter skirt next time? I’m sure it will look lovely on you, Love.” He says loudly without even looking at her. Y/N’s cheeks grow hotter at the inappropriate comment and she lowers her eyes to avoid any customers’ eyes, her hands nervously clasped over her apron.

Truth to be told, Y/N is over the moon. She’s been waiting for this for so long! After three months, Ketch finally decided to ask her.

Charlie watches her coming back in the back room so she could finish her lunch, her arms folded over her chest and a shoulder resting against the doorframe.

“Are you really going?” She has to ask because Charlie can’t really understand how her friend finds him attractive. Given Charlie’s tastes are more the feminine type but she can still appreciate a man from time to time, and Arthur Ketch was anything but a man. In Charlie’s mind, he was more the Devil.

Y/N’s munching on her plain salad, swallowing her mouthful before answering. “Of course! I’ve been waiting for so long.”

Charlie sighs, unfolding her arms before walking closer and taking a seat next to her friend.

“I don’t know what you see in him, really.”

Y/N sighs, pushing her salad on the side, knowing another argument is coming she lost her appetite.

“First have you seen him? He’s handsome.” She pauses, hopeful that one fact was enough to end the argument. Charlie’s unimpressed face told Y/N she’s waiting for more facts. “Second, he seems interested in me.”

Another silence, shorter this time. “That’s it?” Charlie shrieks. “You’re not going to tell me it’s because he has a cute smile, or that you’re losing yourself in his eyes, or I don’t know...He has a great personality? Come on, Y/N there’s nothing here. You don’t even know him!”

“Well, that’s what dates are made for. You need to date someone to know that kind of thing.” Y/N shoots back, she’s so happy that Ketch finally asked her out, she’s not going to let Charlie's useless worries ruin it.

***

Once her shift is over, Y/N is walking back toward her apartment, feeling like she’s dreaming and making a mental note to check what she’s going to wear for her first date with Ketch. Her phone suddenly vibrates in her pocket, signaling her that she has a new message. Thinking of it, Ketch only gave her the day, not the time or even a place they are supposed to meet. Surely the message is from Ketch, giving her all the details she needs. As she taps on her screen and unlocks her phone, she wonders if he has her number. She doesn’t remember giving it to him.

The name on the screen tells her it’s not Ketch. She will have to wait for more details about the date. No, the one who texted her is only her roommate: Dean Winchester, and the message as short and dramatic as possible.

‘Need you ASAP. Life or death emergency.’

She reads the text and can’t help but roll her eyes. Y/N knows exactly what his emergency is, they ran out of beer. The previous message she had earlier that day was from Dean as well, asking her to buy beer on her way back from work. Well, she already got the beer, and texting him back with only one free hand was too troublesome, her place is only around the next corner anyway, the man will have his load of beer very soon.

Fighting with her keys in front of her door, Y/N curses quietly when she lets them fall on the wooden floor. As she bends down to pick up the keys, she startles when the door opens suddenly.

“Sweetheart! You’re finally here!” Dean’s unusual happy voice booms in her ears, surprising her. She never thought he would miss beer so much.

“Oh, and you even thought about the beer. You’re really perfect! Come in, let me help you with these, huh?” He adds, his voice level particularly high, she doesn’t know why.

Dean doesn’t give her the chance to think more as a hand circles her free wrist, pulling her with him into the little kitchen. She doesn’t even have the time to take off her shoes. As they cross the living room in a hurry, Y/N notices a woman sitting on the couch, she can’t see her face clearly because in a blink she’s standing behind the counter in the kitchen, Dean’s hands holding both arms in a death grip.

“Would you be my girlfriend?” He asks in a whisper, without even looking at her as he’s busy checking behind him.

“Wh-what?” Y/N stammers, her brain blanking out for a short second.

Dean doesn’t explain anything to her as the unknown woman from the living room enters the kitchen.

“Dean, sweety? Everything’s alright?” A blond, middle-aged woman asks, stopping at the kitchen door. The worry on her face subsides quickly and an enigmatic smile creps upon her lips when her eyes fall over Y/N.

“You must be Y/N.” She deduces as she comes closer to the counter and offers Y/N a hand. “I’m Mary Winchester. Dean’s mother.”

Y/N blinks, looking between Dean and Mary, before her brain registers the similarities between the two. Absentmindedly she shakes Mary’s hand loosely but remains silent, because what can she say? Once she had put a foot in her apartment her brain refused to function properly anymore, everything was happening too fast for her.

Seeing the distress on Y/N’s face, Mary gives her a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry I’m not an overbearing mom and to tell you the truth I was leaving.” She tells Y/N before focusing on her son.

“Your dad is coming to pick me up in a few minutes, you know how impatient he can be.” She laughs quietly, leaning over Dean to kiss his cheek, then she looks at Y/N with a strange look on her face, as if she’s debating with herself.

“There’s no need to be shy, we’re family after all.” She announces, deciding to give Y/N a hug as a goodbye.

Mary readjusts the strap of her purse over her shoulder, looking at the both of them lovingly before walking towards the main door. “Don’t worry I know the way. See you on Friday, kids.” Her voice booms from the main entrance before the sound of the door closing resonates.

“Well,” Dean lets out a sigh, plunging his hands in his pants’ pocket, his gaze still fixed on the spot where his mother was a few seconds ago. “I think it went very well! Good job, Y/N!”

The strong clap on her back breaks out from her hazy mind and Y/N comes back to her senses.

“What the hell Dean?”

Dean doesn’t seem to be bothered by her outburst, shrugging he takes a beer bottle from the pack Y/N had just bought, uncaps it, and takes a long sip.

“Told you it was a life or death emergency.”

Y/N plants both of her hands on the counter separating them, looking at him angrily. They don’t know each other very well, being roommates for a bit less than six months.

Dean Winchester is a mysterious man for sure. He’s not very talkative but still polite. The kind of man wearing plain t-shirts, flannels and jeans but he’s also really tidy, maybe more than her. The only chaos Y/N seems to notice is his love life, or more precisely, his sex life. She has never seen so many different girls going through the walk of shame because of one guy only. Dean Winchester is a womanizer for sure, it’s easy to understand it just by looking at his ad when he was looking for a new roommate: ‘Non-smoking women only’. Usually, Y/N would ignore that kind of stupid ad but the location was only a 5 minutes walk from her future new job and the rent was really, really, really cheap. She had to at least check. Dean is one very handsome man, saying the contrary is a lie; light brown fluffy hair, a pair of vibrant green eyes, a body built with just the right amount of muscles, not too much or not enough, and a cute pair of bow legs. To make it short in three words: a greek god.

The apartment is really huge and Y/N has to make sure she read the rent correctly. Dean assured her that he doesn’t need a roommate actually, but he’s feeling lonely in the huge apartment since his little brother left him to go living with his girlfriend. They both agreed to keep it strictly platonic, two roommates, and nothing else, then Y/N moved in the next week. That was almost six months ago and until now, Dean has been the perfect roommate so far.

“Don’t let her fool you. My mom can be scary.” Dean assures her, her silence as she reminisces their first encounter making him uncomfortable. “She’s bugging me about dating someone all the time and this time I had enough, so I lied.”

She can understand him as she has the same problem with her mother, asking her again and again when Y/N will settle down for good, as if being in a relationship was the ultimate goal. Y/N sighs, taking a beer for herself and drinking a huge sip.

“I feel you, really, but lying is not the solution Dean. What will she say when you’ll show up alone the next time? Didn’t she say something about seeing you on Friday?” Y/N asks, taking a seat and nursing her beer.

Dean nods and mimics her from his side. “My parents' 40th anniversary. I’ll just say we broke up.” He shrugs, he hasn’t thought about it yet.

Y/N scoffs at that and shakes her head. “You just announced that you’re in a relationship and two days later you’re single again? She’ll see right through it.” She laughs some more, taking another sip.

“Or you could come with me? Dean asks suddenly, a smile curling up his plump lips, satisfied with his new plan.

Y/N is quick to react. “Oh hell no. No! I’m not lying to your parents on their wedding anniversary. No way.” She declares, standing up and walking into the living room, Dean following right behind.

“Y/N, please! I’m begging you!”

“No. Why don’t you ask one of your conquests?” She asks, crossing her arms upon her chest and letting her body fall heavily on the couch.

Dean chuckles and sits next to her, his knee bumping hers. “Because my Mom knows your face. It has to be you.” Seeing that she’s giving him the silent treatment, Dean adds “It’s just for the weekend, after that, I promise you we’ll break up!”

Her body’s wiggling slightly as Dean shakes her knees and Y/N thinking about it, because she never says no when someone asks for her help, she’s too stupid, she knows that. As she’s going to give in, the mention of the whole weekend feels like an electric shock.

“How long exactly?” She asks suspiciously.

Dean smirks a bit because he can feel she’s going to help him. She’s really a nice girl, he made the right choice choosing her as his roommate. “I’m leaving on Friday early in the morning and will come back by the end of Sunday.”

“Then sorry I can’t help.” Y/N’s resolute words resonate in the living room. “I have work and...something already planned on Saturday night.”

“I’ll take care of work!” Dean exclaims right away, making Y/N’s eyebrows furrow at his sudden confidence. Dean clears his throat “What are you doing on Saturday?”

This time it’s her turn to feel embarrassed by his question. Y/N braces herself, looking at anywhere but Dean as she mumbles inaudibly.

“I have a date.” She repeats a bit stronger after Dean says he didn’t hear her.

“Then postpone it.” Dean’s quick to reply back with a shrug of his shoulders as it’s not such a big deal.

“I’m not postponing it! I’ve been waiting for … quite some time.” She finishes her sentence in a lower voice, feeling stupid to justify herself.

“Who it is?” Dean sighs, running a hand in his hair as he’s thinking about another plan to explain why he’s single again.

“Ketch.” Y/N can’t stop herself from saying his name, a shy smile on her lips.

“Ketch?” Dean parrots the name that sounds familiar. “As Arthur Ketch?”

“You know him?”

“Yeah! Forget about postponing, Y/N, and simply cancel the date.” Dean advises her, his voice deeper as his concern grows. “He’s just trash. He’s a womanizer and you deserve better.”

Y/N stands up, defending her crush. “Like you’re better! Each day, there’s a new woman leaving your bedroom! Who do you think you are to tell me who I have can date or not?”

Dean’s mouth shuts tight at her anger. She is right, they are nothing special, only two roommates, not even friends, they barely know each other. His shoulders droop and he bites his inner cheek to prevent any more comment. Without saying anything Dean disappears into his own room, leaving her alone and bothered. She’s going to do just like him when the phone in the corner of the room starts ringing. With one last glance towards Dean’s closed door, Y/N picks up the phone and breathes deeply, soothing her nerves.

“Hello?” She says, forcing a smile.

“Y/N, dear?” Mary’s voice comes on the other side of the line. “Dean forgot to hand me my new passport, could you think about bringing it to me on Friday?”

“Y-yeah. Of course.” Y/N stammers distractedly, looking for the mentioned item and spotting it right on the coffee table. “I’m putting it in my purse right now so I don’t forget it.”

“Ah, such a smart girl! I knew my little Dean would find the perfect woman for him. Can’t wait to learn more about you. See you on Friday, sweety.” Mary’s delighted voice rings into Y/N’s ears, making her feel bad because she just lied a bit more.

“See you on Friday, Mrs. Winchester.”

***

The next day, Y/N’s in charge of the mid-day shift so she has time to sleep in. She’s only waking up because a delicious smell invades the apartment, taunting her nostrils even in her room. Her eyes flutter and Y/N groans as her stomach grumbles. Sleepily she emerges into the kitchen, bumping only twice on the walls on her way.

“Good morning.” Dean acknowledges her presence, a small smile on his lips as he sees her sleepy face.

“Morning.” Y/N yawns, dragging her feet on the wooden floor until she sits at the counter, her hands cradling her face. “Smells delicious.”

“This is an apology for yesterday,” Dean explains, pushing the scrambled eggs into two plates before throwing the pan into the sink. “So help yourself, we’ve got pancakes, eggs, bacon, french toast, coffee and fresh orange juice- I pressed it myself,” Dean says proudly before he sits opposite to her.

Y/N eyes fly over each item on the table, her stomach making more sounds as the different aromas mixed together, creating the perfect, delicious smell. In the end, she opts for a huge cup of coffee and french toast. Dean pushes the jar of jam towards her but she shakes her head no.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” Dean asks, fumbling his eggs with his fork.

“No, no.” She’s quick to reassure him. “I understand you meant well. You were a douche by doing it but still… I appreciate the concern.” She smiles and Dean gives it back.

They eat in a comfortable silence, the previous argument quickly forgotten. As she’s thinking about last night, Y/N remembers Mary’s call and the decision she has made.

“Your mom called yesterday, she forgot her passport.” Dean rolls his eyes, cursing about the stupid item, the one for which Mary came especially for. “I told her we would bring it back on Friday.” Y/N adds in a lower voice, unsure of Dean’s reaction.

“We?” Dean repeats, his head snapping at the implied meaning.

Stirring her coffee, Y/N shrugs nonchalantly, avoiding eye contact. “If I can change my shifts for this weekend and if I can postpone my date with Ketch, then I’ll come with you.” Once her explanation is over, she chances a glance at Dean who’s staring at her, a bit lost with her change of heart.

“I’m not making any promises.” She lowers her face again, finding her black coffee more interesting suddenly.

“Thank you.” She knows by the tone of voice it’s genuine.

***

Later that day, Y/N is anxiously waiting for her boss, asking for a change of shift isn’t a problem usually but since she came in late the day before, she’s not really on friendly terms with her. Anyways, she needs to take care of her date with Ketch first before any other change. Speaking of Ketch, the bell over the front door dings announcing a new customer, and exactly the one she was hoping for.

“Good afternoon Mr. Ketch.” She welcomes him cheerfully, her heart beating hard against her ribcage.

“A good afternoon indeed, love.” Ketch greets back, his gaze scanning the whole room before he looks at her.

Y/N doesn’t waste time to get his usual order reading, while the water fills the paper cup, she tries to think of a nice way to announce she’s not available on Saturday anymore.

“Um...Mr. Ketch, about Saturday…”

“What’s on Saturday?” Ketch hums absentmindedly, scrolling through his numerous messages on his phone.

“Uh...Our date?” She tries, blushing horribly.

“Hum? Oh right.” He stops for a short moment, reading a particular message, not even once does he look at her. After texting a short reply, Ketch tucks his phone in his inner pocket and grabs the paper cup that Y/N had just put in front of him.

“I’m being pretty busy so I have no choice but to cancel. Don’t worry, love, I’ll keep you informed when I’ll be available again.” His british accent is like a slap in her face.

“O- Ok.” Her voice is not above a whisper. She’s not even sure he had heard her but he left anyway.

Well...one problem down, another one left.

Once her boss finally came in and went straight for her personal office. Without wasting a second, Y/N knocks on her door and enters right away, that’s how her boss asks them to do, Y/N thinks it’s a strange habit but who is she to judge her boss.

“Rachel, I wanted to ask you if- I know it’s sudden but something came up and…. It’s a family thing you know? So I was wondering if I could have my weekend off? I’ll need Friday and Monday as well if possible? I know it’s a lot to ask and I will understand perfectly if you don’t…” The more she speaks the more flustered she gets, Y/N doesn’t even know what she's talking about anymore.

Fortunately for her, Rachel’s answer comes quickly. “Ok.”

“O-Ok? Really?” Y/N blinks, completely baffled with how easy it was. Surely there’s something more to it, it couldn’t be that easy.

“Yeah, ok.” Rachel reaffirms her previous statement, her eyes scanning the paper in front of her. When she notices that Y/N’s still here and doesn’t say anything, Rachel lowers her paper and stares at her employee.

“Business is slow right now. I think Charlie and Garth will be enough for a couple of days.” Y/N gauges Rachel’s reaction, but she seems sincere.

“Ok then...Thank you, Rachel.” Y/N takes her leave, her brain having a hard time to comprehend what the hell happened.

Well at least, there is nothing that prevents her from helping Dean with his little lie now. As she takes off her apron and folds it with care, Y/N thinks about the little getaway she’s going to, God knows she needs some fresh air and a few days to relax.

************

Pour Toujours tags: @drakelover78, @akshi8278

PLL tags: @eliwinchester99, @paiswhite, @vicmc624, @metalfangirl

#supernatural fanfiction #dean winchesterxreader #dean winchesterxyou #female!reader #roommates au #spn fanfiction #fake dating #reader insert #supernatural reader insert #series #pll series

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