can you do 19 for the kiss prompts w percabeth pls ily
19. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.
27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits in the other’s lap.
(combining these bc i have no impulse control!)
Percy didn’t mean to get stuck in the rain, but with the way Annabeth is glaring at him, you’d think he summoned the storm himself. Every ten feet they trudge along the forest path, she makes a point of huffing and looking back at Percy with steel eyes that would activate his fight or flight if he were anyone else.
A soft, steady pitter patter of rain falls through the trees, sticking their shirts to their bodies but not soaking them to the bone. It would be tolerable if they weren’t a mile away from their car and hopelessly lost. Annabeth wanted to turn back when she saw the change in the sky twenty minutes ago, but Percy convinced her to keep going. Sue him for wanting to spend time with his favorite person.
Fifteen minutes of walking in the rain has stuck Annabeth’s hair to her forehead, her curls frizzy and darker than normal. Percy tosses his head back to keep his curls off his face, painfully aware of his own wet hair. Combine that with the way his shirt is plastered to his skin (he tried pulling it loose, but to no avail), and he’s sure he looks the part of unfortunate sidekick. Meanwhile, Annabeth’s shoulders are squared like she’s about to march into battle, which only elevates the murderous glare. Percy thinks she looks cute.
He decides to poke the bear. “I can’t believe you got us lost.”
Annabeth stops in her tracks, her boot squishing pointedly in the soft, wet earth. “Nope. You don’t get to say that, mister ‘what’s it gonna do, rain?’” A wet curl smacks Percy in the face as she whirls on him with fiery eyes. “Guess what, Percy? It’s raining!”
Percy crosses his arms and fights the urge to smile. “I’m not the one who brought a paper map.”
“There’s no signal here, you know that,” she protests. Realization crosses her face then, followed by a doubling down on the whole Percy-I-swear-to-god-I’m-going-to-kill-you thing she’s got going on, which Percy really wishes was less endearing. Now is not the time to be smiling, given the way Annabeth’s scowl deepens when she looks at his lips. “Are you trying to piss me off?” she asks, half genuine curiosity.
“It was getting quiet.” He shrugs, then adds, “Plus, you’re pretty when you’re mad.”
Shit. He did not mean to say that last bit out loud.
Percy wishes there was any change in Annabeth’s demeanor to give him some idea of what she’s thinking, but she’s just scowling and looking at his lips, same as before. He can usually read her better than this.
He definitely is not expecting her to grab him by the collar and kiss him. In fact, that’s at the bottom of the list of things he’s expecting, just below admit she was wrong.
Shock and reason get the better of him, and he pulls away before he can get properly lost in her. “Do you want to do this? Like, really want to do this? Or is this some kind of payback for me being an ass because I’m sorry about making you mad but—”
Annabeth pulls Percy back, this time holding his face in her hands deliberately, her fingertips curling in his hair with intent. She tastes like strawberry chapstick and gentle rain and every simple joy that comes with summer. He responds with equal enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around her waist to close the distance between them, laughing when their wet shirts stick. His hand finds her damp curls, smoothing them out of her face to get a better look at her whenever they pull away.
An enthusiastic tug has them parting too soon as Percy’s foot catches in the mud, sending the two of them tumbling. Annabeth catches herself and finds something to break her landing. (That something is Percy.)
He looks up at her, squinting to protect his eyes from the rain still coming down. Between the sound of Annabeth’s laughter and the way she glows in the sunshine showers, Percy isn’t entirely convinced she’s not an angel.
He fully intends to tell her as much until she swings a leg over his, at which point all thoughts fly shamelessly out of his head. After countless breathless kisses and a failed attempt to roll over and stick Annabeth in the mud, Percy falls back on his elbows to take his fill of her. That was a risk when the kisses were frantic, but they’ve slowed with a determination and confidence that tells Percy this is much bigger than a spur of the moment attraction. After all, it’s Annabeth.
And since it’s Annabeth, Percy feels no remorse for plastering his muddy hand on the side of her neck and taking off for the car. She’ll overtake him in no time and they’ll go sprawling once more, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
(He risks a glance at her as he sprints, and, yeah. He was right. She’s really pretty when she’s mad.)
