A Percabeth fic! Smut is involved so be warned, nothing overly graphic. Percy and Annabeth go for their second time...Â
Read it on AO3 here
Take Two
Annabeth can't stop thinking about the night before with Percy. She senses an opportunity and the armoury is nearby. Non-graphic smut.
The first time she had been completely in the moment. She had drunk in every second of the experience, memorised exactly how the skin over Percy’s ribs moved under her hands, discovered and intimately learned a multitude of new sensations when he’d touched her in the unfamiliar ways he had. But now, with her back pressed against the armoury wall and her legs wrapped around Percy’s hips, she was stuck in the past, trying to figure out what exactly had happened in the moments that had just passed.
Last thing she could recall, she had been sparring with a new recruit, trying to demonstrate a basic wrist tackle when something (someone) had distracted her across the arena. A careless excuse, a moment of confusion, and several moments of weakness later, she was pushing Percy through the armoury door, weapons raining down around them as they crashed into the wall.
Honestly, Annabeth was surprised they had lasted even this long. Since last night, when she had been exploring uncharted territory with Percy in the privacy of Cabin Three, it was like Annabeth was seeing a whole new spectrum of colours for the first time. She had seen him at breakfast, tables away, eating alone but eyes fixed on her the whole time. She had felt him watching her as she scaled the climbing wall. She had felt bubbling in the pit of her stomach when he handed over her sword for recruit training. And now, by late afternoon, Annabeth felt she had tortured herself long enough.
She squeezed her legs around Percy harder, his hip bones pressing into her thighs with the perfect amount of pressure. His lips paused, barely millimetres above the pulse point in her neck. His low growl of her name shattered her self-restraint even further and her fingers worked blindingly, clawing their orange t-shirts off, shaking with anticipation at the thought of the burning skin underneath.
So this was new too. The urgency. Last night had been slow, breathy, full of fumbles and soft kisses, and while the heat was the same, it now sizzled in flashing bursts all over her body, instead of the slow, deep burn that had threatened to consume her just hours ago. It made something bubble in Annabeth’s chest, the idea that there was so much left to discover with Percy, despite all the years, despite the near-death experiences, despite Tarta–
Annabeth’s hand fluttered to a standstill, something icy quickly unfolding behind her bellybutton. Percy’s lips went still on her skin, and he tilted his head back, until his eyes, pupils dilated, settled on hers.
“Hey,” he smiled, lips swollen and scarlet. He looked the picture of ravishment, but his eyebrows furrowed, recognizing the clamminess, the unfocused eyes, all the signs that he knew too well. Annabeth grasped at the skin on Percy’s back, trying to channel the pulsing warmth from the arteries underneath.
He pressed his forehead on hers. “We’re okay.” He wiped away the tears welling in her eyes before they had a chance to spill. “We’re –”
“I know,” She cut him off, trying to see just him instead of rivers of fire and ice. Annabeth’s voice quivered as she forced herself to focus on different memories from that place – Percy sleeping peacefully on Damasen’s bed, Percy grasping her hand whenever she felt like collapsing, Percy’s arms around her, relentless, as they plummeted into the darkness, and something that wasn’t a memory – Percy, right now, shirtless and tousle-haired, with his hands planted firmly on her butt.
“I’m sorry,” she sighed, the edges of her vision clearing.Â
He nuzzled her neck. “Don’t be, two nights ago that was me.”
“It just sucks.”Â
“We’ll get better at this.”
Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Which this do you mean?” Her lips twisted, trying to remain closed and neutral.
Percy paused a moment, and she felt the energy thrum through his fingers where they grasped her skin. Instead of answering, he pushed her into the wall again, closing the space between them.
Annabeth returned to the present, fully immersed in the way he shimmied her shorts down, his fingers leaving smatterings of heat on her hipbones, in how his confidence with her body had soared in just a few hours, in how he was touching her and moving her in a way she’d never been touched or moved before. If he’d gotten so much better by just the second time…Well.
Acting on the same kind of instincts that led her in a fight, Annabeth bit his shoulder, shaking with the effort of restraining the force of her bite. As soon as she did, Percy, as if jolted by the sting, thrusted harder, hitting spots inside of her she didn’t even know existed. Delicate wooden bows, shining celestial bronze daggers, dented chest plates rattled around them as Annabeth gripped the metal scaffolding that held them in place, hoping it would hold her up as well. Percy tensed, and she could feel him reaching his limit. As he came apart, he stroked the side of her neck with an open mouth, licking off the sweat and swirling around her pulse point in a way that tipped her over the edge and brought her down with him. Annabeth’s thighs quivered, not so much from the strain of gripping Percy’s waist as from the heat and wetness pooling between them.
She felt him go weak, and she let go of the metal scaffolding as he sunk to the floor, allowing herself to slip down the wall, her back slick with sweat. Annabeth caressed the back of his neck, pressing her forehead to his. She didn’t speak, hoping that her soft touches were telling him that what he’d done was so amazing that she couldn’t formulate a coherent thought.
“Wow,” Percy said.
Wow is exactly right, Annabeth thought, still trying to shake the fractals out of her vision.
He took a breath and she could hear his tone turning into a signature Percy quip before he even started to speak. “If we keep up at this pace…”
The smile was already unfurling on her face. “You might get tired,” Annabeth murmured, unconvincingly.
“Oh really?”
“Yep.”
“Even if I,” his hand slipped between the tangle of their legs, “practice?”
Annabeth guessed she should have been glad that training was still going on – only the clang of celestial bronze could have hidden the sounds she made after that.
First time posting a fic on here! This one is about Simon proposing to Isabelle, which we heard about at the end of Lady Midnight but sadly never got to see. Enjoy :)Â
Standards
Read on AO3 here
When Simon had left the apartment that evening to meet Isabelle at Veselka, he’d had no plans other than inhaling some borscht and strolling around the East Village with his girlfriend. But the minute he’d stepped into the restaurant and seen her poring over the menu, fiddling with her necklace, he’d known something about the night was special.
After dinner, as they walked their way to the Brooklyn Bridge, she shimmered. Her silvery dress smoothed over her body like water, covering all of her skin from neck to wrists. Only the slice between the hem and her thigh-high boots revealed rune-bearing skin. Simon knew she loved her thigh-high boots – sexy and perfect for concealing weapons, she always said, and Simon couldn’t disagree. She wrapped her fingers around his, her wrist glinting with what looked like a bracelet that coiled all the way up to her elbow, but which Simon knew to be her preferred method of mass destruction.
Simon couldn’t, for the life of him, take his eyes off her.
She stopped talking about some upstart recruit and twisted toward him. “What’s up with you?”
“What?” He blinked, shaken out of his trance. “Uh, nothing,” He thumbed circles across her palm.
“I guess…” Well, It had been a while since they’d spend time together. Simon had been at the Bangkok institute for two days and since he’d gotten back that afternoon, Isabelle had been wrapped up in training the fresh New York recruits. It wasn’t the longest they’d gone without seeing each other, but she’d been texting him every day and Simon had developed a craving for her that made his skin yearn for hers.
“I guess I missed you,” he said eventually, leaning forward, wanting to close the gap. At the last minute, she shifted, her hand twisting in his. Simon’s eyes flew open as she thrust him aside and the whip slinked off her wrist, coming to life.
Simon smelled the demons before he saw them. Isabelle’s head was turned to the sky, and Simon saw what she was looking at – two Shax demons, leaping off the bridge’s cabled, their pincers flailing as they jumped. Over the East River, the wind must have carried their scent away. Simon cursed – he’d been trained better than this.
Isabelle strode forward to meet them, Simon close behind her. His seraph blade was alight in his hand as he helped her slash, jab and slice at the demons, but he didn’t need to. She was almost a blur, only visible through her electrum whip curling through the air and the silk of her inky hair as it floated around her. Ichor sprayed everywhere. Before Simon had gotten more than a few cuts in, the demons were collapsing in on themselves at their feet.
Isabelle stepped forward into the place where the demons had been, her heels stomping on the concrete. She was covered in ichor – it soaked her boots, darkened patches of her dress that clung to her body. She seemed to be expanding, filling all of Simon’s vision, growing like an Angel rising out of a lake. Marks glowed through her thin dress, and with her river of hair caught in the wind, she looked like an explosion igniting from within.
“Damn demons,” she muttered, the whip snaking back up her arm. She wrapped hands around Simon’s torso, eyes alight from the fight, and smiled. “I missed you, too.”
Simon felt the words forming in his mouth before he’d even processed them.
“Marry me,” he said, breathless from the constricting of his chest.
Her hands fluttered at his waist. “Simon?”
Simon swallowed. “Marry me, Isabelle. I mean – do you – do you want to?”
She gaped. Simon recalled that there was always something satisfying about surprising Isabelle. Maybe it had to do with how her mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“You – you’re ridiculous!” Her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “We just fought off a pair of demons! By the Angel, I’m covered – soaked in ichor –” She seemed to be gasping, for breath or words, Simon couldn’t tell. “– and I’m a mess, and this really isn’t my best outfit, Simon!”
He ought to have blanched, but the firmness of her hands on his waist made confidence bloom in his chest.
“I know,” he said, although he really thought she never looked better than after a fight, and pulled her closer. “Marry me.” He stared at her, giving her time and willing her to realise that this was real.
He saw the visible change on her face. After all this time, seeing Isabelle raw and unhidden still made Simon count his blessings.
Instead of replying she crashed her mouth against his (to hide the beaming smile that had been about to revel itself, Simon suspected). She kissed him, and it felt like it always did, but also like the promise of something new. That’s Isabelle, Simon thought, comfort, excitement, and full of surprises.
“I love you,” she said, drawing back. Simon got lost in her dazzling smile.
“Is that a yes?”
She just kissed him again, pressing her body against his until they were leaning on the railing, the East River swirling below. Her hair swirled all over him in the wind, and for a moment he was surrounded, completely, by Isabelle. Simon had been in the presence of Raziel himself, but the silk of Isabelle’s hair and the curves of her body pressed against his did things to him that heavenly fire never could. Her mouth was hot, her fingers had already slipped under his shirt, Simon had begun fiddling with the hem of her dress, and he had gotten so worked up that he was in half a mind to just draw some glamour runes and go at it, right here on the Brooklyn Bridge.
But she drew back a fraction, and looked at him in a way that Simon want to rip her beautiful dress to shreds.
“For you,” she said, lips deliciously swollen, “it’s always a yes,”
Simon was reminded for the millionth time since he had met her that Isabelle’s true superpower was not exacting deadly vengeance with her whip – it was her ability to turn his world into liquid.
He wanted to kiss her again, so badly, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself this time. Instead, he pulled her into a cab and did his best not to think too hard about her promise of the best engagement sex of his life.
As he desperately tried to unlock the door to their apartment, still excruciatingly far away from her, Isabelle turned to him.
“Did you plan this?”
“What do you think?” Simon tried to keep his voice steady.
“Well, there was no ring,”
“Hey,” he said, finally having gotten the door open and pulling her in, “you did say you had no standards left.”
And it really was the best engagement sex of his life.
Jamie Campbell Bower will ALWAYS and FOREVER be my ONE and ONLY Jace Herondale. I’m not hating on the new cast of shadow hunters but i prefer this Jace.
