Chapter Text
The blonde in the second row is wearing a blue dress today.
Annabeth’s her name, if he remembers right. Annabeth Chase with gold curls, the ever changing, meticulous wardrobe, and the thick framed glasses she slips on when she’s taking notes during the lecture. Annabeth, always with her hand in the air and with an answer for the professor, and shooting him what she thinks are sly, appraising looks when she thinks he isn’t paying attention. Annabeth, who he’s talked to maybe five times and can’t possibly stop thinking about.
Stylish bookworms are not usually Percy’s type; have never been his type, actually, not until Annabeth had breezed into the lecture hall that first day of class, all but impeccable in white sun dress covered in cherries and bold red heels. That day, Percy couldn’t stop staring at her — at the elegant line of her neck, the curve of her waist, those long, long legs under her skirt — and he hadn’t been able to look away ever since.
Percy has learned relatively little in his history class in the last month, aside from the many different ways he wants to undress Annabeth Chase.
He wants her pinned against the wall of his apartment, high waisted shorts crumpled around her knees as she keens for him, his hand busy sliding up between her thighs.
He wants to hear her sighs when he undoes each of the white buttons on the back of her retro purple dress, trailing kisses down each new inch of skin he unveils. Wants to feel her tremble as he rolls those pattern thigh highs down her legs, to know what her best set of lace panties feels like under a swipe of his tongue.
He wants to brush aside her golden curls and pull down a strap of one of her many sundresses and kiss her shoulder, wants to make her scream with his mouth on her clit, her skirts bunched up around her hips and legs over his shoulders, heels still on her feet. Wants her under him, over him, curled next to him with nothing but a satisfied smile lighting up her face.
Each day of class brings a new outfit and a new fantasy — she’s yet to repeat an outfit, and Percy’s imagination is ever so willing to keep up her seemingly endless wardrobe, especially whenever her gray eyes turn his way.
Sometimes, it’s just to sneer at the state of his ripped jeans and ironic T-shirt collection, but other days… he’s sure she’s doing some mental undressing of her own, pushing his leather jacket off his shoulders, ripping his shirt over his head, or getting her hand down the front of his best pair of skinny jeans.
God, wouldn’t that be something. But if Annabeth Chase isn’t his usual type, then punkass Percy Jackson definitely isn’t hers. She and her blue dress and blonde curls are nothing more than a wishful fantasy, his Tuesday and Thursday diversion, and he would be better served by focusing his thoughts on the lecture and not on how that dress would look on the floor next to his bed.
(Though, for the record, her dress would look excellent there.)