Note::: well i had to give punk!percy and girly!annabeth a try. also, imma be more active on tumblr now, though! check the link on my profile. sorry for the extremely poor quality of this, i'm super rusty.
Summary: Most of all, bittersweet was in the aftertaste of his kisses, on the car ride back home when she shut her mouth and closed her eyes, engulfed by his bittersweet smell that made the taste even sharper in her mouth. Punk!Percy/Girly!Annabeth
Rating: PG/T but there's nothing graphic i promisseee
Disclaimer: Percy and Annabeth ain't mine yo
There was something bittersweet about Percy.
It was in his gaze, brooding and gentle at the same time – boring deep into her and making her heart float up up up in her chest. Before, she didn't know people could be so intense and make you shrivel up inside at the same time. Percy could scowl at her and her insides would melt, her body become hollow and light, as though there could be nothing inside.
Bittersweet was in his voice, low and sharp, and although he seemed ignorant in school, every word was enunciated perfectly, every letter given its spotlight in his speech. His voice, which Annabeth had come to fantasize about, was mouthwateringly golden. His voice was summer, in the intonation of every question, in the smile coming from the depths of his throat. It washed over her and carried her back into the tide, unable to swim back to shore.
Most of all, bittersweet was in the aftertaste of his kisses, on the car ride back home when she shut her mouth and closed her eyes, engulfed by his smell that made the taste even sharper in her mouth. The soft taste of tobacco mixed in with the sea and a little bit of sour blue candy that he would never admit came from his frequent visits to his mother. His scent lingered on her body when she shed her clothes and stood in front of the mirror, examining the small pink marks he left on her thighs, her throat, beneath her breasts. When she bent down to touch her toes she could smell him on her, and the daydreams hit her heard, drowning her in his voice his smell his eyes.
They were bittersweet. Tough Percy, with his overgrown undercut and blue dyed hair, the piercings on his lips, his eyebrow, and framing his ears, the holes in his lobes, the ink intricately covering his arms and chest, the sharp bone behind his ear, and his back, with his heavy boots and ripped jeans and sly smile. And her, with her pressed pleated skirts and princess curls, as he called them, with her perfectly shiny nails and delicate tan skin, flawless.
Only their eyes betrayed them, made them polar opposites.
Intense Percy with his deep green eyes – playful and smiling and happy and home.
And her, Annabeth – stormy and gray and a million years old.