a/n: beware, brevity ahead. also, like the slightest of slightest of sex. It's really just implied.
disclaimer: ownership = nada
Annabeth
"No," he insists, an easy grin playing at his lips, but it's too easy, forced almost.
Annabeth considers him for a second, gazing up at him through her bare lashes. She's seen more of him in the last few weeks than she has in her entire college career, and she still doesn't know his fucking name and that's infuriating. It's not like she can ask Piper because the brunette might—no, will, definitely will—jump to incorrect assumptions in regard to the object of her inquiry.
So Annabeth's stuck in limbo, this weird unstable area where she could recall the elements of his physical appearance to a forensic artist and surely produce an accurate sketch of him but still doesn't know his fucking name.
She wonders if she could still get him arrested without it. She isn't sure why the thought flies through her mind.
"Sure," Annabeth drawls back. She parts her lips, a sarcastic remark on the tip of her tongue when a bang goes off behind her and, just as she's turning to see whether someone is seriously stupid enough to light a firework inside a fucking house, someone pushes her from behind. She stumbles forward and feels an arm wrap around her waist. Any comment dissipates into the stuffy beer infested air the second she glances up.
"Sorry," he smirks but doesn't let go. His eyes are green—but they're also blue and they're confusing and Annabeth doesn't like confusing. She likes straight answer and rules and organization and his presence is none of the above.
Annabeth wrenches herself from his grip. Not that he was physically objecting in any way, in fact, she more feels the strain of her own muscles, working against her as if they have a mind of their own.
"What was that?" Annabeth questions, pivoting towards the sound to assure herself that no one's hurt. That's what she tells herself anyway. She knows everyone's okay. There's no screaming, no dead silence, the volume is somewhere near the center of the spectrum and in her past experience that's always been a good sign.
"Aprils fools," Percy answers simply, casually. "There are tons of booby traps hidden around the house."
"That's not even—ugh," Annabeth cuts herself, figuring he wouldn't appreciate a history of April Fool's day and an explanation of how it had to do with cultural colonization and not dull pranks.
"What?" he asks, his wildly confusing eyes boring straight into her. "Not the true meaning of April 1st?"
"What?" Annabeth snaps, her heartbeat rises, and, suddenly, she's hot—she doesn't know why. She's not usually this hot—he's hot—wait, what?—no, definitely not.
But on a supremely more important note, did he just read her mind?
"I thought that was what you were going say," he shrugs, a blank expression flickering across his features as he lifts his red solo cup to his lips.
"What's your name?" Annabeth chokes out.
His mouth is still partially obscured by the rim of his drink, but she manages to see his lips curve into a playful smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement.
"I wondered when you'd ask," he grins. "Though I honestly thought you would have already figured it out by now. You seem like the type who knows everything about everything."
"Yes, well," Annabeth replies with an impatient bite, peering at him expectantly.
He looks much too pleased with himself. She hates it—except, maybe she doesn't because the bow of his lips is quite pleasant and the spark of mischief in his eyes makes the colors especially mesmerizing.
"I don't know if I should tell you," he prompts, placing his cup on the counter behind him before facing her fully. "I must say, I enjoy your look of frustration, Annabeth Chase."
Her name slips off of his tongue, and she feels her nerves come alive. She thinks she might have butterflies—no, they're probably bats.
"You scrunch up your nose and purse your lips, and I must admit it's quite cute."
Fuck, they better be bats because Annabeth is not about to fuck someone who just told her her patented death glare was cute—what, no—the point is moot. There's no need to make the distinction because she's not going to fuck him, she was never going to fuck him—What is she thinking? She has enough on her plate with her mom and her dad and her stepmom and her stepbrothers and her internship and the entire mess that is currently her life.
"I—" she begins. She has no idea what she's going to say. It doesn't matter. She just needs some way to respond such a cavalier comment about her appearance.
Just then, another bang goes off behind her, but this one's much closer and much louder and—fuck—it scares Annabeth out of her fucking mind.
She turns on her heel, towards the source of the noise, looking to discover it's origin. She can't see anything. Then, suddenly, there's a dark ball of legs right dangling in front of her, almost touching her nose.
Annabeth honestly doesn't know how long it took for her to realize there was a spider balancing precariously above her, it could have been seconds, minutes, hours, it doesn't matter because the moment she notices it the rest of the party disappears. Who is she kidding, the rest of the fucking world disappears and it's just her and this spider and fuck if she doesn't want to cry.
Annabeth jumps back into the arms of someone—whoever, she really doesn't give a shit at this point—standing behind her and lets out a blood-curdling scream. It rings in her ears, echoing across the expanse of her mind. And the blonde thinks the worst is over, but, then, reality comes rushing back to her fast enough to give her fucking whiplash—and, gods, she can't fucking breath—and someone is standing in front of her teasing her with another spider. And suddenly there's four and then there's eight and now fourteen fucking hundred—and her thoughts have become fragments—she can't see but she can hear laughter, at her surely, and her blood is pounding in her ears and she's sure she's frozen in place but somehow she's still moving through the crowd, two hands firmly stationed at the curve of her waist.
And then, slowly, her breathing slows and the air is cold and her surroundings come into focus and she's outside. She turns around and sees the guy—that guy—the one she's been questioning for weeks, and she can't think of anything but how fucking grateful she is.
"Your friends are horrible," she rages finally, crossing her arms over her chest, then wonders if that was really the best way to thank him. The encounter is so similar to their last, Annabeth can't help but hold her breath.
"Yeah," he agrees. His voice is soft and soothing and just so different than what she was expecting.
"What's your name?" Annabeth asks, so quietly her voice is almost lost in the cool spring air.
He takes a step towards her just as she shivers—it's the cold though, she's sure of it. It has to be the cold because—well, becuase—it's fucking April in Colorado. Of course, it's the cold.
He stares at her, tilting his head slightly to the left, a thoughtful glint embedded so deep in his bewildering eyes that she stutters. She swallows heavily. His warmth must be seeping into the winter air around her because she can feel her body getting hot again.
"Percy Jackson," he says after the longest second of Annabeth's life.
"Well, Percy Jackson," the blonde says, testing it out and quite liking the way it tastes on her tongue. "Aren't you going to ask me what the fuck that was?" she asks with a snarl curling at the corner of her mouth as she imitates the figures in her past, unable to constrain the memories wandering freely into her brain.
"No," he says simply, the tiniest speck of amusement visible in his gaze. "I'm not going to ask."
Oh, she mouths to herself. But his answer leaves her entirely unsatisfied in such an unexpected way that she has no control over the words the subsequently escape her. "Why not?"
He tucks his hands into his pockets and kicks at a pine needle.
Maybe it's a stupid question, but she wants to know—needs to know—why he isn't demanding an explanation like so many before.
"Becuase, well..." he muses, not quite meeting her eyes. "Two reasons, I guess. First—I don't really want to ask. It's fifty-fifty, I figure, on whether or not you'll cry if I do, and crying girls are basically my kryptonite, so—thanks, but no thanks."
She can't help but grin at his answer but manages to smother it before he notices.
"And second," he continues, but cuts himself off and raises his gaze to catch hers. "Full disclosure?"
"That seems like a dangerous proposition with you," Annabeth ventures delicately, unable to hide a chuckle.
"The second reason," he says, drawing the words out, "is that if I was you…and you were me…and this was all reversed… You could ask," he shrugs, "but I wouldn't tell you the truth. I save the harrowing emotional bullshit for one-night-stands whose numbers I conveniently lose the next morning, you know?"
Oh, she mouths again because perhaps she has found someone who truly understands, someone as broken and fucked up and plagued with this bullshit as she is.
And maybe—just maybe—he gets it.
"Fuck," she realizes, a sigh of resignations escaping her, lingering in the cool air as a cloud of warmth.
"What?" he asks, frowning at her outburst.
"Damn it," she says as she steps forwards and drags his lips to hers.
OoOoO
(10:52 pm) im going home
(10:52 pm) if u want to spend the night with jason i wont be mad
(10:52 pm) hormones are a thing
(10:52 pm) i get it
(10:56 pm) omg thx so much for being so understanding
(10:56 pm) u r seriously the best friend on the planet
(10:56 pm) thank you thank you thank you
(11:05 pm) ill see you tomorrow
(11:07 pm) night 33
OoOoO
"I don't like you," she states decidedly as her fingers catch his belt loops, holding on as she falls back against her cheap bedspread.
"I don't like you," he counters, his lips brushing hers as his fingers teasing a breathless moan out of her.
"One time?"
"One time."
His digits dig into her hips. Tomorrow there will be bruises, beautiful blue prints peppering her skin. She gasps as they're joined, choking on a strangled Percy.
It's—
She—
He—
"More—" she whispers, and he groans into her neck, kissing her lips and her jaw and her neck and fuck—she lets her head fall back as a delectable hum slips from her lips, dancing on a whisp of winter air, mingling delightfully with the finest of her delusions.
OoOoO
(4:35 pm) why is there even a high to low option when online shopping
(4:35 pm) who do u think i am?
(4:35 pm) oprah?
(4:37 pm) oprah isnt dumb enough to evaluate clothing based firstly on the price
(4:37 pm) oprah would look for a deal
(4:37 pm) oprah would be extreme couponing
(4:40 pm) lol
(5:03 pm) yo do u remember luke?
(5:03 pm) jasons friend
(5:03 pm) fratmate?
(5:03 pm) bro?
(5:03 pm) frat bro?
(5:04 pm) idk their relationship is weird
(5:08 pm) yes i remember him
(5:08 pm) y?
(5:10 pm) hes been asking about you
(5:10 pm) i gave him ur number
(5:23 pm) no
(5:23 pm) r u serious?
(5:23 pm) please tell me ur joking
(5:29 pm) what?
(5:29 pm) hes hot
(5:29 pm) u would be cute together
(5:31 pm) false
a/n: I realize this is like really really short, but I want to switch over to Percy's perspective and I'd rather do that in an entirely different chapter.
I used a few lines here and there from Bite Marks, a Dramione fic. It's just so beautiful that I couldn't resist.
10/10 would recommend.
also, not to be that person, but reviews do a lot for both my sanity and enthusiasm.
Updates (I might make this a thing) - HE: still only 2 lines = 1.6% done, FB: 3/5 = 60%, DL: about to start = 0.0%
Ciao!