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[lebguardians]

hey girlyyyyy could you maybe write for Tim Bradford from the rookie and like the reader is his rookie and while they’re on patrol they run into someone who knows the reader’s abusive ex bf and he makes threats against reader and after their shift reader is super scared so he escorts them home and stays with them idk just an idea 😅

Nightlight || Tim Bradford x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • john nolan fic  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you encounter a man while on patrol who has a threatening message from your ex, your TO, Tim, offers to spend the night with you

word count: 10.3k

warnings: abusive past relationship, reader kind of has a panic attack, mild language, blood, guns, inaccurate police stuff

a/n: ahhh i had so much fun writing this, love!! i took your idea and also added some stuff so i hope you like what i did. i also apologize for the length, i kinda went wild. i imagine this to take place in s1. fem!reader. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “7-Adam-19, armed shoplifter, Radcliffe Complex, 718 Oscar Road. Respond.”

     The dispatcher’s voice filled the silence of the car.

     “7-Adam-19 responding.” Officer  Bradford set down the radio and replaced his hand on the steering wheel.

     “What’s the most important thing to remember when dealing with an armed shoplifter, Boot?” Tim asked you after a moment. 

     “Why did I think that when I was in short-sleeves I would get a break from your Tim Tests?” you muttered.  

     You’d been Bradford’s rookie for seven months now and some days he still treated you like it was your first day on the force. You appreciated him trying to teach you so thoroughly, but did he have to be so Tim all the time?

     “Is that your answer, Boot?” 

     “No, um, I guess it would be that he’s armed. But no, that’s too obvious for you. Ok, what about what they’re stealing? Their physical state? Keeping their hands in sight at all times?”

     Tim sighed, looking bored. “Wrong. It’s—”

     “Suspect on the move, heading east on Apple Boulevard,” came the dispatcher’s update, interrupting your TO’s answer.

     “Looks like we’re headed east,” Tim said, turning sharply in the direction you’d just come from. 

     “Saved by the suspect,” you joked. 

     “Don’t think this is over,” Tim narrowed his eyes at the road. “Lessons don’t stop for crime.”

     “Ok, batman.”

     Tim glared at you.

     “I mean, Sir.”

     After you’d first been assigned to Officer Bradford, you’d been told stories of his ruthless training style. Your first thought was that you needed to impress him from day one.

     Well, technically your first thought was damn, because you’d have to be insane not to notice how objectively attractive he was. But you’d quickly quelled that thought—crushing on your TO was not how you wanted to start your career as an officer. 

     So, impressing him was your second thought. And you had been more than a little terrified of not impressing him. 

     You would be lying if you said that wasn’t how things still were between you two, to a degree—you trying to prove yourself and him making it as difficult as possible. 

     But, at least after several months, you felt like your TO trusted you more. 

     “There!” You pointed to a man running down the street, duffel bag in hand.

     Tim hit the gas, surpassing the suspect, and skidding to a stop in front of him, effectively cutting him off. 

     You both hurried out of the car, weapons drawn on the man who was currently aiming his gun back and forth, between you and Bradford. 

     “Police! Drop your weapon!” Tim shouted at the man. 

     The man hesitated, seeming to be weighing his options—how easily he could take out two cops. 

     “Set the weapon down, nice and easy,” Tim ordered, his own gun still pointed at the suspect.”

     The man, seeming to sense the inevitability of his capture, sighed and set his gun on the ground. 

     “The answer was dialogue, by the way,” Tim addressed you, his eyes still on the suspect. “Dialogue is the most important  thing when dealing with an armed suspect.”

     “Good to know,” you acknowledged, before ordering the man in front of you. “Hands behind your head, interlace your fingers.”

     The man’s gaze shot to you as he obeyed your commands. 

     “Hey, lady cop, you look familiar,” the criminal squinted at you. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said. You’d never seen this man in your life. 

     “I swear—”

     “Hands on the car!” You ordered 

     The man reluctantly did what he was told, placing his palms on the side of the shop. 

      “Wait a minute,” the man sized you up before smirking slowly. “Your Paul Cranston’s girl, ain’t ya?”

     You felt your blood instantly run cold at the name. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said again, robotically, grabbing one of his arms. 

     “No, no I’d recognize that pretty face anywhere,” the criminal whispered. “He told me all about you. Hey, why don’t you let me go and I’ll give you a friendly tip?”

     You responded by twisting his arm behind his back even harder.

     He winced. “So you didn’t hear then? Paul’s out.”

     No. That couldn’t be true. Paul wasn’t supposed to be out for—

     “Boot, you going to cuff him or not?” Tim called impatiently.

     “Right.” You shook off the stupor and began handcuffing the suspect. Your mind was still on that name, however, and your reflexes were slowed.

     Which is how the suspect was able to rip his arm from your grip and shove you to the ground as he tried to make a break for it. 

     Tim tackled him almost immediately, wrestling him into the cuffs that were dangling on one of his wrists where you had started to restrain him, and pushing him towards the shop.

     “Wait, Paul’s got a message for you!” the man hurried out, looking only at you as Tim waked over and shoved him into the backseat. “He said you best watch yourself, because he has connections, and he still hasn’t gotten his revenge. He’s out—and he’s coming for you.”

     “That’s enough, get in the car.” Tim slammed the door shut, and the echo of it rang in your ears as the man’s words played over and over again.

     He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     “What the hell was that?” 

     You looked up to Bradford’s questioning—and furious—face. He offered you a hand and you took it, standing up to face him. 

     “Sorry, I—”

     “‘Sorry’ doesn’t stop criminals from escaping,” Tim shouted. “Get your head in the game. You do want to be a cop, don’t you, Boot?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     So much for Tim trusting you. You couldn’t believe you’d almost just let a suspect get away. That had never happened to you before. But, that name—

     Your TO shook his head, walking to the drivers side and opening the door. “You know, I should write you up for that.”

     You noticed his wording. “But you’re not going to?”

     He waited for you to get into the passenger seat before saying, 

     “I didn’t say that. First you’re going to tell me what just happened between you two.”

     You flinched. “It—nothing. It was nothing.”

     “Uh-huh. It didn’t sound like nothing. Who’s Paul Cranston?” 

     You swallowed hard. “He’s just someone I used to know.”

      A million images flashed through your head. Paul’s face looming over you. The flashing lights and sirens. Waking up in the hospital. 

     You shook yourself out of it. You didn’t want to talk about this now. You swore you’d never talk about it again. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we get back to the station. Don’t we have to book this guy?”

     Tim sighed, started the car, and re-entered traffic. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

     “Control, this is 7-Adam-19. I need an ID on a Paul Cranston,” Tim spoke into his radio. 

     And so much for not talking about this now.

     “Can you do that without suspicion of a crime?” You asked him.

     “You can when dispatch loves you.” He winked at you. 

     You rolled your eyes at him as the radio began speaking. 

     “Paul Cranston: caucasian male, date of birth 8/4/92, recently released on parole, history of theft and domestic violence.” 

     Tim turned his gaze to you. “How do you know this man, Boot?”

     “It’s—a long story,” you told him. 

     “Well then you better start talking if you want to finish before we reach the station,” Tim commanded, making a left turn.

     “Can’t you just let it go?” You asked him. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

      He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     You couldn’t fight the shiver that racked your body. 

      Tim’s eyes flicked to you, before returning back to the road. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, shifting the car into park before turning to you. 

     “If this is another one of your ‘I’m dying, where are we’ tests—”

     “Boot, focus,” Tim barked. 

     “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think it’s really any of your concern if—”

     “Of course it’s my concern!” Tim shouted. His expression was so intense, you squirmed under his gaze and you felt your face heat. 

     He looked torn for a moment, before sighing and saying, “It’s my job as your TO to train you to the best of my abilities, and I can’t do that if you’re withholding information that may affect your performance as an officer.”

     “Fine,” you breathed. “It was a long time ago. I was 18, Paul and I met freshman year of college. We started dating and things were fine, good even, for a while.”

     “Until?” Tim prompted.

     “Until he got pissed one night because I caught him coming home really late with a ski mask and a bag full of stolen cash. Cliche, right?”

     You looked to Tim, but his expression was as stony as ever and you continued.

     “Apparently, he’d been stealing since high school and turns out he’d lied to me about working in retail and a whole bunch of other stuff. I threatened to call the police if he didn’t stop and—”

     You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

You watched the houses and trees and cars pass by as you drove towards the station. 

     “—and he hit me. It didn't stop after that—once he knew he could get away with it. He said if I ever told anyone—about the robberies, the beatings—that he’d kill me. And I let him go on like that for months. I was so scared that if I called anyone, he’d make good on his promise.”

     Tim’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his fingers turning white, but he didn’t speak.

     “But then, one night, it got so bad that I thought he might actually kill me anyway. So I waited until he left the room for a minute and I called 911. He was arrested and—and that’s all I remember before I blacked out. I woke up in the hospital the next morning.”

     You kept your voice even, trying not to let the emotion show through your story. You were just recounting facts. This was almost 10 years ago, and you’d moved on with your life. 

     But reliving it all was hard, even after so much time had passed. 

     “It’s actually why I joined the academy,” you finished. “I wanted to save people, the way the officers that night did for me.”

     You were both silent for a moment. 

     A muscle in Tim’s jaw ticked. “Does the department know?”

     “Yeah,” you sighed. “It’s all part of my file.”

     “And the guy back there?” 

     You shrugged, glancing back at the suspect and lowering your voice. “He must be one of Paul’s partners or goons or—I don’t know. I guess he’s been in contact with him since he was released, if he knows what I look like.”

     The thought made your skin crawl. 

     “I don’t know what came over me,” you kept going. “It’s been years, I just—I didn’t expect to hear about him out of the blue from a criminal on the street, you know? But, I promise it won’t happen again.”

     Tim ignored that. “Do you think it was an empty threat?”

     “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I sure as hell hope so.”

     Bradford was silent for a long moment, his expression tense.

     The radio crackled to life. “7-Adam-19, we have a 215 in progress near your area, 239 West Armston Street. Respond.” 

     “Negative,” Bradford answered the dispatch call. 

     You stared at him, shocked. “Why aren’t we taking that? We can drop this guy off afterwards.”

     “Yeah, I agree,” the suspect chimed in from the backseat. “I think you should take that first.”

      Tim payed him no attention. “They’ll have someone else over there in minutes. We have more important things to do.”

     “You’re not even going to ask me if I know what a 215 is?” You joked. Tim never passed up an opportunity to quiz you. 

     “What’s a 215, Boot?” 

     “Carjacking.”

     “Correct.” Tim nodded. “And we’re going to have a talk with Sergeant Grey.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

    “Paul Cranston, released on parole from a thirteen year sentence three days ago, currently believed to be residing in the Woodland Hills area.”

     You sat in the briefing room, surrounded by other officers, as Sergeant Grey read out your ex-boyfriend’s file. You stared into Paul’s face on the screen, his mugshot visible from all angles. 

     Bradford stood near the front of the room, leaning against the wall. 

      “The department is aware of Officer (Y/l/n)’s history with Mr. Cranston,” Grey continued. “And will take necessary action should the situation progress.”

      “So, what’s the course of action here?” Tim crossed his arms. 

     “I’m afraid, as of now, there isn’t one,” Grey said. “Since there is no direct proof against Paul Cranston, we’d essentially be taking the word of a petty thief and wasting resources on what most likely was a desperate attempt to escape arrest. The department doesn’t exactly consider it a threat.”

    “Doesn’t consider it a threat?” Tim’s voice was low and dangerous. “How about a charge for threatening an officer?”

    “But Paul didn’t threaten an officer,” you sighed, thinking. “The armed robbery suspect did.”

     “Exactly, Officer (Y/l/n),” Grey agreed. “Basically, our hands are tied.”

     “Then untie them,” Bradford snapped, beginning to pace. “There’s gotta be some technicality we can get him on. Violation of parole, conspiring with a felon, failure to—”

     “That’s enough, Officer Bradford,” The sergeant fixed your TO with a firm look. “I appreciate your concern for (Y/l/n)’s safety, but we’ve done all we can do. And, for now, that’s nothing.”

      Tim’s concern for your safety. That thought had been in the back of your mind since the ride to the station. You couldn’t figure out why Tim was so determined about this. You supposed you were his rookie and was his job to look out for you. It was just, up until now, he hadn’t exactly done anything to make you believe he’d care so much.

     “Failure to take action could be endangering one of our officers,” Tim said, his jaw clenched. “Who’s to say this guy won’t make good on his threat? At least increase security at (Y/l/n)’s residence.”

     “Tim, its fine,” you said, your voice firm. “Let it go.” 

     They were making a big enough deal about this already. It probably was just a case of a criminal trying anything to get free. You doubted Paul even cared about what happened to you anymore. He probably never wanted to see you again—and that was a good thing. 

     But, then, you couldn’t get those words out of your head.

     He’s out and he’s coming for you.

     Bradford turned to you, his chest rising and falling. He looked so…resolved. Like he did when chasing down a suspect or that time when you’d walked in on him in the training rooms.

     Images of Tim shirtless, the muscles in his back tight as he pushed himself harder filled your head and you quickly shook them away. Definitely not the time. 

   “We’ll send a surveillance team to Paul’s location in the morning,” Grey said, turning to address you. “But for now the best thing you can do is to go home, get some sleep, and not let this rattle you. Understood?”

     “Yes, Sergeant.”

     “Good. Because the last thing the L.A.P.D needs is a cop who lets their personal life get in the way of their ability to do their job in any way that’s less than exemplary. I trust that’s not the case?” 

     You glanced to Bradford, certain he was going to mention your mistake with the suspect earlier. 

     “No, Sir,” Tim said instead. “My rookies don’t do ‘less than exemplary’. Don’t worry about (Y/l/n)—she’s proved to me she has what it takes to be an officer.”

     “Glad to hear it. Shift over. Everybody else, back to work,” Sergeant Grey waved everyone away. 

     You walked towards the front of the room, hearing grumbled complaints about midnight shift from the unlucky officers who still had to do patrol as you did so. 

     You stopped in front of your TO. His eyes were on you, his brow drawn in something that looked like concern.

     “Thanks,” you said. You couldn’t believe he’d told Grey all that—it was the most complimentary thing he’d said about you in your whole time riding with him. 

     “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Tim stated, shrugging. “I expect you to live up to any praise I’ve given you.”

     “Yes, sir,” you nodded, almost smiling.

     “Besides, you’re being trained by me. You’d have to be royally screwed up not to become one of the best on the force.”

     “And he’s humble too,” you teased. “But I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

     “Whatever, Boot.” Tim smiled, shaking his head. 

     “Be nonchalant all you want,” you said, feeling brave. “I know you like me.”

     For a brief moment, Tim looked like you’d slapped him. But then, the flash of—whatever that was—was gone and his expression was replaced by one of cold indifference. 

     “In your TO not your friend, (Y/l/n),” he stated. “It’s not about liking you. It’s about training you.”

      You sighed inwardly. Just when you thought you were making ground with Tim, he treated you like you’d just met. “Of course, how could I forget.”

     Tim stayed silent. 

    “Well, I should head out,” you told him, “I’ve got a busy night ahead me. You know, trying not to get killed by my ex and all.”

     You’d meant it as a joke, to make light of the situation that left you feeling more uneasy than you’d care to admit. Tim, however, just shook his head and brushed past you, out of the briefing room. 

     You stood there for a moment, trying to work through what had just happened, before turning around and taking a step in the other direction. Only to find Officers Lopez and Bishop standing in front of you, staring between you and Tim’s retreating figure. 

     “So how’d you do it?” Bishop looked you up and down.

     “Do what?” You asked, confused. 

     “Get Tim wrapped around your finger,” Lopez answered for her, smirking. 

     You felt your eyes widen. “Tim’s not—” 

     “Please,” Lopez put her hands on her hips. “I’ve watched him train dozens of rookies and he’s never stood up for any of them like that. So naturally I figured you’re either blackmailing him or sleeping with him.”

     You blanched, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you let what Angela said sink in. You knew she was just teasing you, but the statement caught you off guard. You imagined you and Tim—together. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant thought. And then you realized what you were thinking and you chided yourself, hurriedly un-imagining it. 

     “No, that’s not—neither one of those things,” you answered quickly. “Trust me, Tim doesn’t give me any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. I actually can’t tell if he hates me half of the time.”

     “We’re not implying anything,” Bishop replied. “Only observing. And he doesn’t hate you.”

     “How can you possibly know that?” You were suddenly insecure. You still held on to a secret dread that you were going to wildly disappoint Tim—that you already had. Sure, there was all the stuff he had just said. But there was also months of him being hard on you and saying that you weren’t friends. 

     “Because I’ve seen him hate plenty of people,” Bishop spoke. “And he definitely didn’t look at them the way he looks at you.”

      The way Tim looked at you? You weren’t aware he looked at you in a way that was different from the way he looked at anyone else at the station.

     “What are you guys trying to say?” You asked them. 

     “I’m saying watch out,” Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Because Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.”

     Could there be any truth to what the two officers were saying? Was it wrong for a small part of you to hope there was?

     “Um, ok,” you said, blinking. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

     “Don’t believe us if you want, it’s your call,” Bishop shrugged, backing up. “But I’m telling you, you mean something to Tim that the rest of us can only guess at.”

     And with that she walked out of the room.

    “Bishop can be intense,” Angela said when the woman was out of earshot. “She’s got that whole ‘anti-cops-dating’ thing going on—but I do think she’s right about this. Tim’s tough, and I’m sure he gives you hell—but it’s not because he doesn’t like you. I actually think it’s quite the opposite. ”

     Was there really something that everyone saw between you and Tim except for you? You still couldn’t even entertain the thought that Tim had feelings for you that were more than TO and rookie. 

     “Well you’ve certainly left me with a lot to think about,” you said finally.

     “Then I’ll let you start thinking—you’re welcome for the peace of mind.” 

     You wouldn’t have used the phrase peace of mind, yourself. Sure, it was nice to know that the officers who had known your TO for years were confident that he didn’t look down on you. But, this conversation also had left your head swimming with conflicting thoughts about Tim that you didn’t feel like dealing with right now.

     “And take care,” Lopez said knowingly. “We have your back if anything happens.”

      With that, your thoughts slammed back to the current situation.

    “Right, that. You—you think something’s going to happen?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

     “I think in this job we have to be prepared for the worst,” she corrected. “But I also think that bastard would have to be pretty stupid to mess with you.”

     She smiled at you and you smiled back. After watching her leave, you followed her path, heading towards the locker rooms.

     You thought about what she had said about you and Tim, about Paul.

     You hoped she was right—you just couldn’t say which you hoped she was more right about.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     Your thoughts bounced between your conversation with Talia and Angela and the message from your ex as you walked to your car minutes later. 

     When you woke up this morning, you thought the most stressful part of your day would’ve been a police chase or a shootout.  You never would’ve expected it to be my ex-boyfriend is out of jail and could be hunting me down and my training officer might have feelings for me.

     Funny how things could change so fast.

     Suddenly, you heard a bang. You spun around quickly, your heart in your throat. But it was only a car door being slammed shut from across the parking lot. 

     Get a grip, you told yourself. 

     You rounded the corner, running a hand through your hair.

     You stopped. Tim was leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked you up and down.

     “What are you doing?” You asked. 

     “Driving you home, Boot,” Tim said. “Get in the car.”

     “Tim, you don’t have to—”

     “That wasn’t a question, give me the keys.”

     There was no point in fighting him. Besides, there was a small part of you that didn’t really want to fight him. 

     You tossed him the keys to your car and got in the passenger seat with a sigh.  

     Tim started the engine. 

     “If this is about Paul, this really isn’t necessary,” you said after you’d been driving for several minutes and the silence became too much. “I can handle myself. I am an officer, in case you forgot.”

     “You’re a rookie,” Tim corrected, eyes never leaving the road. “And if the department won’t do anything, then I will.”

     “What—we’re not going to go looking for him, are we?” You asked.

     “Of course not,” Tim scoffed. “I’m not a vigilante, Boot. Where do you live?”

     “Take a left at the light,” you guided. 

     Neither of you talked for the remainder of the drive, save your occasional directions. When you pointed out your apartment building, Tim parked the car and handed you the keys. 

     “Thanks,” you mumbled to him as you got out of the car, grabbing your bag and heading towards the building.

     You heard a door shut behind you and turned to find your TO standing on the sidewalk, an eyebrow raised.

     “You didn’t think I was just going to let you spend the night alone with a target on your head, did you, Boot?” 

     “Tim—”

     “No more protests,” he said firmly. “As your TO, I—”

     “No, I was just going to say that if you were planning on staying here, why couldn’t I have just driven my own car?”

     “I don’t let my rookies drive,” Tim walked past you and to the front door. “Even off-duty.”

     You followed him quickly, getting out your key and letting you both in.

     When you reached your apartment you did a quick scan of the space—it wasn’t exactly like you’d been expecting company, much less your training officer. You cringed at the messiness.

      “How many entrances and exits are there?” Bradford asked. 

     “Um, just the front door. And there’s windows in the kitchen and the bedroom,” you said. 

     You skimmed past everything in the place, looking towards the window in your bedroom. Your eye caught on one of your bras hanging from your bedpost. You quickly ran over and shut the door, blushing and hoping Tim hadn’t noticed.

     “Please, Boot,” Tim made a face. “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen before.”

     “Ok no offense, but I usually don’t let guys see my bra the first time I bring them to my place,” you joked.

     “If that’s an offer, I’m going to have to politely decline.”

     “What—no,” you hurried out, worried your voice sounded wrong. “I just meant—”

    Tim interrupted. “I’m going to do a sweep of the place, make sure everything’s as it should be.”

     “Is that really needed?”

     “I’m not taking any chances.” He left the room and you sunk down onto the couch, letting your bag fall to the floor. 

     Your TO returned a few minutes later. “All clear.”

     “See, everything’s fine,” you said, speaking just as much to yourself as you were to Tim. 

     “Well,” Bradford started, amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say everything is fine. Your storage closet’s a fire hazard.”

     Had Tim Bradford just made a joke?

     “I’ll be sure not to exit through the closet in the events of a fire,” you said sarcastically. “And if you keep insulting my living space, I’m going to be forced to kick you out.”

     “Bold for someone whose career I could end.”

     “You can’t end my career for that,” you shot back. Paused. “Can you?”

     Tim raised his eyebrows.

     “Only one way to find out,” you said enthusiastically, teasing him now. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t let the closet trap you on the way out.

     “Nice try, Boot. But you’re still stuck with me for,” Tim checked his watch. “eight hours.”

     “Nine hours,” you corrected. You had to leave for work in nine hours.

     “You’re right, I should get us drinks,” Tim joked.

     You rolled you eyes and he shot you a look. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

     Tim got up, disappearing into the kitchen.  

     “Is all you own ginger ale, Boot?” He called. 

     “There’s six year old tequila in the cupboard,” you suggested.

     “Ginger ale it is.”

      Tim joined you in the living room again, carrying two bottles. He handed one to you, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. 

     You noted the careful distance he put between you. 

     “What’s this thing made of, Boot? Plywood?” Tim asked, inspecting the couch.

     You smothered a laugh.

     “Get comfortable. It’s where you’re sleeping,” you answered. 

     “Won’t be necessary. If you’re not awake you’re not aware.”

     “So, what, we’re taking shifts on guard like this is a stakeout?” You asked.

     “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t come here to sleep.”

     “Tim I can’t let you stay up all night while I’m unconscious.” you sighed.

     “You can if it’s an order. Besides, no offense, but rookies are historically less vigilant and have a slower response time…” 

     You tried not to take offense at that. “Right, Eagle Eye.”

     Tim glared at you. 

     “Angela told me.”

     “Of course she did. And at least I didn’t leave valuable evidence on the street to chase after a dog wearing a top hat.”

     “Sparky could’ve been involved in the crime,” you said, indignant. “And that was one time!”

     “One time too many,” Tim mumbled, lifting the bottle to his lips, his eyes sparkling. 

     “Ok, so when you were a rookie you were, what, perfect?” You shot back.

     “Damn straight.” Tim nodded. 

     “You made no mistakes, at all?” You prompted.

     “Well,” Tim took a sip of his drink. “There was one thing.”

     “Aside from the graffiti incident?”

     “That wasn’t a mistake because it wasn’t my fault. I was following direct orders and—you know what, never mind. If you don’t want to hear it—”

     “No, no, I do!” you scooted towards the edge of your seat in anticipation. “And none of that ‘I worked too hard and too efficiently’ crap.”

     “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sarcastically. “My first week on the job I was put on paperwork duty, which was—”

     “Boring and tedious? I can imagine,” you deadpanned, having been put in charge of paperwork by Tim many times.

     “I was going to say necessary and a valuable skill to have,” Bradford corrected. “But anyways, we had just got done booking a couple suspects and I was working on the reports. A triple homicide and a prostitution case. It was a long day and I was tired and I guess I got sloppy—”

     “You? Sloppy?” You interrupted.

     “Do you want me to tell you this story or not?”

     “Right, sorry. Continue.”

     Tim did. “I’d just finished tagging the evidence for both cases and when I was filling everything out I somehow got the numbers mixed up. Long story short, according to my report, the homicide gun ended up being linked to the prostitution case and the weapon allegedly used in the triple homicide was…a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs.”

      You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you now.

     “Forensics caught it before it was sent to the judge, thank god,” Bradford sighed. “But the next day when I was getting ready for my shift, I was greeted by dozens of similar handcuffs in my locker—apparently Smitty has a guy.”

     “Tell me you kept them,” you begged, pulling your knees up to your chest.

     “Of course not!”

     Tim blinked.

     “Well, not all of them—Isabel made me take a pair home. I found out later that she was the one who orchestrated the whole prank. She used to do stuff like that all the time before she, uh,—”

     “Tim—”

     You’d heard about Bradford’s ex-wife. How she’d become an addict, gotten herself mixed up with bad people. You knew how much it had affected Tim, even if he hadn’t said so. 

     She was in rehab now, getting her life back together. You were glad she was finally getting the help she needed. Still, you knew how much she meant to Tim. How much it had hurt him to move on from her and let her start a new life without him. 

     “I’m fine.” Tim said firmly, clearing his throat. “It’s good to talk about her…before. She’s on the right path now.”

     You stared at the ground in front of you, picking at your fingernails. 

     “Are you still in love with her?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. You didn’t know why you asked—didn’t know why you cared what the answer was. Ten minutes ago you wouldn’t have even dared to ask that question.  

     But he was being so uncharacteristically open and you seemed to be getting along well. You reluctantly brought your eyes up to Tim.

     His eyes had gone wide. He looked like he wanted to leave or yell at you or both, and you immediately regretted it.

     But then his eyes softened and he opened his mouth. “No. I’ll always care about her and she’ll always be someone that I did love. But relationships change—people change.”

     You nodded. “I get it—I mean, I’m kind of rusty on relationships—but I get it. I actually haven’t dated anyone since Paul. I guess it was just hard to trust someone after that. I kind of sabotaged any relationship that had any chance of starting.”

     It was the first time you’d admitted that to anyone. You wouldn’t have pegged Tim as being so easy to talk to. You had almost forgotten about the whole Paul situation before you’d just brought him up. You had been enjoying hanging out with Tim, no matter the circumstances. He was actually pleasant to be around when he wasn’t on the clock. 

     You imagined this happening more often—you and Tim, not just coworkers but friends. Maybe even more. Maybe this was one relationship you didn’t have to end before it started.

     You dared to let yourself think about it. You watched Tim process your words. Saw the emotion clearly written in his face as he looked at you intensely. 

     “Hey, thanks again for not letting me be alone tonight,” you told him, you’re voice soft. 

     “Don’t take it personally, Boot,” he said. “My house is being repainted and even your place beats breathing in paint fumes all night.”

     “I’m honored,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “But you have to admit this has been fun—hanging out.”

     Your little impromptu sleepover. You smiled.

     Tim, however, looked like a switch had been flipped inside of him. You watched as he clenched his jaw, leaning almost imperceptibly away from you 

     “Listen, Boot—”

     He was cut off by the sound of breaking glass and a loud thumping sound. 

     You both shot up off the couch, abandoning your drinks. Tim’s hand went to his gun. You did the same. 

     Tim turned to you. “Stay here.”

     “Like hell,” you shot back, following him as he started to do a sweep of the main room.

     If that sound was someone—Paul—breaking in, you weren’t going to sit here and let Bradford fight your battles for you. 

     He signaled to let you know he was moving to the kitchen. You nodded, following. 

     “Clear,” he muttered, and moved on towards the bathroom. You were right behind him when you heard another noise, like the muffled sound of scraping of furniture, and you spun around.

     The bedroom. It was the only room in that direction that you hadn’t checked yet. 

     You glanced to Tim, but he hadn’t heard it. He was a few feet ahead of you, just now entering the bathroom. 

     You slowly stepped away from him and made your way across the apartment, down the hall and over to the closed bedroom door.

     Holding your weapon in one hand, you opened the door with the other. But, you barely had time to see what was on the other side before you were grabbed and a cloth was shoved into your mouth. 

     Your gun was ripped from your hand, and you were pushed hard onto the ground. Your wrist burned where you landed on shards of glass from the broken window

     Something smacked into the back of your head and you were dragged and thrown onto the bed on the corner. You heard the door shut. 

     Squinting up into the light, rubbing your throbbing head, your heart dropped as you saw who was in front of you. 

     “Did you miss me?” Paul sneered, spinning your gun in his hand. 

     You froze. Everything crashed into you at once. The events of the last time you saw your ex-boyfriend sped through your mind. Suddenly, you were scared and 18 again, at the mercy of this man. 

     “I guess you got my man’s message,” Paul continued. “Because you don’t exactly look shocked to see me. Scared, of course, but not shocked.”

     Coming back to yourself, you scrambled up onto your knees, ready to knock him out.

     Paul shook his head, laughing. “No, no. If you move even an inch I’ll shoot you right in the forehead.”

     You sat back down, your heart thumping in your chest as you scanned the room for a way out. Some way to get the upper hand on him. You had been trained for this.

     “Listen to me,” he continued, his hand coming to the gag in your mouth. You flinched away from him. “I know there’s someone in here with you. If you try to scream to alert them, I will also shoot you.  I’d like to play with you first before I put a bullet in your brain but, hey, I’m not picky. Is that clear?”

     You nodded, trying to measure how fast you could knock the weapon out of his hand before he could take a shot at you. Paul took the cloth out of you mouth.

     You gasped in air. “Backup’s going to be in here any second and then you’re going back to prison.”

     Tim would notice you were gone. He had to. 

     “Oh, I don’t think so,” Paul smiled. “I’ll be long gone and you’ll be long dead before that happens.”

     You glanced towards the door. What was taking him so long?

     Suddenly, Paul reached forwards and gripped your face in his hand. “Just as beautiful as I remember. It was such a shame things had to end with us as they did. How did that happen again? Oh, that’s right. You betrayed me.”

     “And that was the best decision I ever made,” you spat. 

     Paul backed up, shaking his head. “You’ve gotten feistier, baby. It’ll make this so much more fun for me.”

     He stepped back towards you, his face inches from yours, sneering. “This’ll be just like old times.”

     Bam! The door to your bedroom busted open. Bradford rushed in, taking in the situation. You breathed a sigh of relief.

     “Get down on the ground!” Tim growled.

     Paul froze for only a second, fear flashing across his face, but it was enough. You lunged, wrestling the gun out of his hands, your wrist protesting. 

     You trained it on him. Paul was surrounded.

     “You have five seconds to get on the ground before I shoot you,” Tim bit out, his expression murderous.

     “Come on, baby, you’re not going to let Officer Buzzkill treat me like that, are you?” Paul appealed to you. 

     You leveled your gaze on him, ignoring his words. “You heard him. Get on the ground.”

     Paul slowly knelt, never taking his eyes off of you. Tim charged him, pulling out handcuffs and locking them around his wrists. 

    You took a moment to be amused—of course Tim had off-duty cuffs. 

    “So this ends the way it starts, huh?” Paul shook his head. “You getting me locked up?”

     “Just like old times,” you echoed his earlier statement. You stayed stoic, putting your hands on your hips to hide the way they shook.

    Anger sparked in Paul’s eyes before he took on a smug expression. “You’re right. You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

     “Don’t listen to him, Boot,” Tim warned hauling the man up off the ground. 

     “You know I’m right,” Paul’s manic eyes bore into yours. He was enjoying every moment of this, laughter in his tone. It took all that was in you to keep your expression blank, unaffected. “You’ll always be that person I knew—the person who loved me. Because you did—love me. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t. You just took it all like the victim you are. You pathetic bitch—”

      He was cut off abruptly as Tim slammed him face-first against the wall. Paul cried out.

     “That’s enough!” Tim shouted. “If you ever threaten—no, if you even look at (Y/l/n) again, I will hunt you down and personally remove every external limb from your body, do you understand me? (Y/n) is a million times the person you will ever be and you don’t get to make her feel small. If I didn’t think sitting in a cell for the rest of your life was a worse fate, I’d kill you right now—screw the department.”

     Your ears were ringing, your head dizzy as you tried to ground yourself. Your voice came out tiny. “Tim, stop.”

     Bradford turned to you, almost as if he had forgotten you were in the room. He was breathing hard, his fists clenched around the man in custody. 

     “And she’s not a victim,” Tim whispered, turning back to Paul, his voice right by his ear. “She’s a survivor.”

     With that, he shoved Paul back to the ground and moved over to you, his eyes roaming over your face. Your body. He took the gun out of your hands, setting it on the desk. Then, he gripped your injured wrist and you winced as he inspected it.

     “Probably hurts like hell, but you won’t need stitches. Any other injuries?”

     “Um, he hit me in the back of the head,” you felt your scalp, a lump already forming.

     Tim’s hands moved to your hair, his touch gentle, his breath on your cheek as he leaned to get a better look.

     Your own breath caught, your heart racing at the intimacy of your position. 

     “What’s the damage?” You almost whispered.

     Tim’s eyes met yours, the heat of his stare spreading through your body. “You’ll have a nasty bruise, but there’s no external bleeding.”

     Tim stepped back, and you found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

     “Are you—are you ok, Boot?” He asked carefully. 

     How did you even answer that question? You were still in shock, unable to process what had just happened. 

     “I will be,” you settled on, breathing in slowly. Exhaling.

      Tim looked like he wanted to say more but he clenched his jaw, glancing in the direction of Paul, who had been uncharacteristically silent. Maybe he had finally accepted his defeat. 

     “I’m going to call for back up, you go clean that up,” Tim gestured to the blood covering your wrist where you had landed in the broken glass. “You need help?”

     “No, I got it,” You nodded, walking towards the bathroom as you heard Tim make the call.

     “911, what’s your emergency?”

     “This is off-duty officer Tim Bradford, badge 34831. I need a unit to my location for a 126. Suspect in custody. Code 1.”

      Tim’s voice faded as you made your way down the hall, shutting the bathroom door after you to access the medicine cabinet behind it.

     You took out the necessary supplies and began cleaning the wound. You stopped in front of the sink, letting your burning eyes close for a moment, massaging your temples. 

     Now that you were alone, you let yourself collapse, bracing your hands against the counter 

     Images flooded your senses. 

     The gag. Paul hitting you from behind. You, young and frightened, huddled on the ground. That gleam in his eyes.

     Your eyes snapped open, your breath coming out fast.

     He’s in custody. You told yourself. He can’t hurt you anymore. 

     You looked at your reflection in the mirror staring wearily back at you, your hands still shaking as you brushed your hair back from your face. Was it hot in here or was it just you?

      Turning your attention back to your wrist, you took a deep breath and continued to dab at the wound.

      You reached for the bandages on the counter. A sheen of sweat broke out on your forehead as you wrapped your arm. 

      You pictured Paul’s grip on you. His words rang in your ears. 

     You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.

     The room tilted. You swayed on your feet so you sunk down to the ground, leaning your head against the cabinet, the cool wood pressing against your head. 

     You tried to slow your erratic breathing but you couldn’t. You couldn’t—

     The sound of footsteps and voices carried through the door. You were vaguely aware that it was probably the backup here to take Paul away.

     You closed your eyes, your throat tight, you pulse thundering in your ears.

     I’m ok, you tried to tell yourself. I’m ok. I’m ok.

     You were unaware how long you sat like this. You had no concept of time. Your thoughts were wild, images flashing in and out, unable to form conscious ideas. Every breath sending a sharp pain through your body. 

     “Boot?”

     The muffled voice was closer than the others had been. 

     “Boot?” The voice was louder now. You registered Tim at the door. He knocked once. Twice. 

     “Boot, I’m coming in,” he shouted, his voice laced with worry. The door was shoved open. 

     “Dammit,” he cursed, seeing your state. You felt him getting closer to you, but you didn’t look up as he knelt by you, his concerned expression taking in yours.

     “Hey, look at me,” Tim coaxed. “(Y/l/n), breathe.”

     He seemed miles and miles away. There was a pause.

     “Hey, Boot, I got another test for you,” he spoke quickly, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “I want you to tell me the most annoying person we work with.”

     “What?” You rasped, barely hearing him. 

    “Bishop’s an easy target,” he said. “And Lopez is a slob, so you can’t go wrong there. West’s got the whole daddy issues thing. Don’t even get me started on Nolan—”

     You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry.

     “And then there’s me. I mean, I’m annoying right?”

     You breathed a shaky laugh, opening your eyes slowly. 

     Tim smiled. “Oh so you agree? It’s ok, Boot, you can say me. Go ahead, I can take it.”

     When you didn’t say anything, Tim kept talking. “Personally I’d go for Detective Coleman. The man makes double what I do and I’m convinced he doesn’t own a decent looking tie.”

     “L-like the—the green one from last week,” you managed, trying to slow your breathing.

     “Leprechauns would call it tacky,” Tim agreed. “Now, since we’ve discussed this from all angles I’m going to need you to choose wisely. Because this is going to go on your evaluation for today.”

     You gulped. “Are—are you going to get me fired if I say you?”

     Tim let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “I knew it. Guess who’s going back to long-sleeves on Monday?”

     “In this heat wave? You—you wouldn’t dare,” you joked, sniffing.

     “I don’t know, I am the most annoying person you work with—sounds like something I might do.”

     You laughed again, this time the sound coming out less strained. You focused on taking deep breaths, feeling your heart rate return to normal. 

     “There you go.” Tim stood up, offering his hand to you for the second time that day. You gripped his arm as he pulled you up onto shaky legs.

     “Thanks,” you mumbled, embarrassed to have had your TO see you like this now that your head was clearer. 

     “For what, doing my job?”

     You smiled weakly at him, running a hand along your forehead. “Sorry for um—”  

     “Having a normal reaction to a highly emotional situation? Don’t apologize for being human,” Tim said firmly, his forehead creased.

     “So, he’s gone?” You’re voice came out small.

     Tim’s expression softened. “He’s gone.”

     You nodded again, looking at the floor. 

     “Hey, (Y/n), look at me.” Tim said. You brought your gaze up to meet his. “He’s never going to hurt you again, ok? I’ll make sure of that.”

      You let your eyes fall closed, feeling ashamed that you had been so affected. That Tim had to handle all of this for you. “I know. And I’ll understand if after…all this, you don’t see me fit to—to be a police officer anymore.”

     Tim’s eyes hardened, his voice hardening with them. “With all do respect, Boot, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. I meant every word of what I said back there—you’re a survivor. All I saw tonight is that you are a brave and intelligent woman who just so happens to have a scumbag of an ex-boyfriend. Don’t let it define you because then he wins. You’re a great cop, (Y/l/n). It’s rookies like you who make the force as strong as it is.”

     You listened to Tim speak. He sounded so…passionate. Bishop’s words came back to you.

     Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.

     You desperately wanted that to be true, now more than ever. He’d been so kind to you in this past hour—staying with you, rescuing you, reassuring you, bringing you back from whatever dark place you had just been in. 

     And then this. Talking about you like he…like he really cared about you. And maybe it was just because he felt like as your training 

Officer he had to protect you. But in the moment, it felt like maybe it could be more than that. 

    “So what I’m hearing is, I’m getting a promotion?” You teased finally, brushing your hair back from your damp face, breaking the silence. 

     Bradford put up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you still have a lot to learn from me.”

     You sighed. This was normal, this was comfortable. How you and Tim always acted with each other. You were both relieved and disappointed at the change back into familiar territory. 

     You ran a hand through your hair, stifling a yawn. Saying today had been a long day would’ve been the understatement of the century.

     “Now come on,” Tim flicked his head in the direction of the door. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

     “Let me guess, nine p.m. sharp every night?” You teased.

     “That’s not true.”

     You raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Nine-thirty,” he admitted. 

     You giggled, following Tim out of the bathroom and into the hallway which led to the living room.

     You glanced at your bedroom as you passed it, trying not to think about what had happened in there. It was over now, you told yourself. 

     “Since my room is kind of a crime scene, I guess we’re both crashing out here,” you sighed, gesturing to the couch. 

      Silence filled the room and you immediately realized your mistake, cheeks flaming. 

     “Or, right, I guess you can go now. Danger’s over.”

     “Are you kidding?” Tim said. “And get to bed even later? I’m not going anywhere.”

     You stepped into the living room. You were glad Tim was staying. You felt safer with him here, even though you knew it was irrational. 

     “I’ll get the blankets and stuff,” you said, turning back the way you’d came.

     “Let me go with you,” Tim offered.

     “I would but they’re in the closet and I don’t want it to trap you or something,” you said. 

     “You think I can’t take a closet full of your crap? Bring it on,” Tim challenged and you led him down the hall. 

     A few minutes later you returned to the living room, blankets and pillows in tow. Tim helped you pull out the couch bed—you were grateful you’d opted for this couch instead of a regular one—and you stood back, admiring your work. 

     “Take the couch,” you told him. “It was your bed originally.”

     “Not gonna happen.” Tim crossed his arms. “It’s your house. And you’re injured.”

     “I’m fine. And where are you going to sleep? The floor?” You asked him. 

     Tim scanned the room and then sat down on the chair across from the couch-turned-bed. 

     “Are you sure you’re ok on that?” You asked. It didn’t exactly look comfortable for spending hours on.

     “Trust me, Boot, you got the short end of the stick. Have fun sleeping on plywood.” 

      You smiled. “So, what, you’re just going to sit over there and watch me sleep?”

     “I can leave, if you’re—”

     “No,” you’re voice came out faster and more sharp than you’d intended. “I mean, you came all this way, I don’t want you to have to get an Uber home at this hour.”

     You climbed into bed, aware that you were still in your clothes, but not caring enough to change. 

     “We should get some sleep, it’s been a long night,” Tim sighed. He got up and turned the lights off, darkness filling the room. 

     “Damn, boot,” you heard Tim’s voice even though you couldn’t see him anymore. “It’s pitch black in here. You don’t sleep with a light or anything?”

     “Well I don’t usually sleep in my living room,” you pointed out. Then you stifled a laugh. “Wait a minute. Is Officer Tim Bradford afraid of the dark?”

     Tim scoffed. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

     “Your secret’s safe with me,” you teased.

     “There is no secret,” Tim shot back.

     You winked. “Exactly.”

     “You’re impossible.”

     “Thank you.” You smiled.

     The room fell silent. You heard him sit back down. 

     You laid back, staring up at the ceiling. The seconds ticked by. 

    “Do you—do you think he really would’ve shot me?” You asked, finally.

     “I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “He clearly thought you guys had unfinished business. But guys like that get high on fear—on desperation. He couldn’t have that if you were dead. In his mind, he’d be losing his power over you.”

     He paused. 

     “Besides, I don’t think he would’ve gotten the chance,” Tim said. “He clearly underestimated the badass-ness of his opponent.”

     You snorted. “Did you just say ‘badass-ness’?”

     “It’s a word!” Tim defended. 

     You laughed, turning over on your side. 

     “But seriously, if you ever need anything, you can always talk to me,” Tim said, sounding earnest. “I mean it.”

     “I may just take you up on that,” you responded. “Do you tell that to all your rookies?”

     You could barely make out Tim’s frame in the dark. “No, not all of them.”

     “I’m going to take that as I’m special,” you said. 

     Your next words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.   

    “You know, Lopez and Bishop had this crazy idea that you had feelings for me,” you said, staring up at the ceiling. “But I told them it was just that—crazy.”

     Tim didn’t speak.

     “It is crazy right?” You asked. You had to know. He still was silent. “Right?”

     “Boot, look—” Bradford started. His voice came out rough, as if he hadn’t talked in days. Your heartbeat was a deafening roar in your ears. 

     “Tim?”

     You could hear more than see Tim’s movements. He stood, pacing the length of the room. Sat back down. Stood up again. Sat. 

     “Dammit, Boot, I can’t do this,” he finished. “I can’t do this right now, (Y/n).”

     Your pulse quickened. He hadn’t denied it. 

     You stood up. 

     And maybe it was having to deny your attraction to your TO for seven months. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the attack earlier. Maybe it was because the darkness felt safe and secret—made you feel like you could do anything. Maybe you were just too eager after his small encouragement—or, lack of discouragement.

     But, whatever the reason, you walked over to where Tim sat, kneeled down, looked into his confused, strained eyes, and kissed him. 

     Tim froze, his lips still against yours. And then, almost as if he was afraid you would vanish or startle, he placed his hand gingerly on your waist, and leaned into the kiss.

     And he was kissing you back. Tim Bradford was kissing you back. 

     His free hand went to your hair, deepening the kiss as he gripped you closer. He kissed you like he had been waiting a lifetime.

     It was desperate and raw and passionate—it was perfect.

     You broke apart, both gasping for breath.       

     “Listen, Boot,” Tim started. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “You’ve had a long and confusing day—”

     You interrupted him. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. But I’m not confused about this.”

     You brought your lips to his again. This time he didn’t hold back. He pulled you closer to him and you felt the warmth of him through his shirt. 

     When you came apart again, he was smiling. 

     “Well, I guess I can check thinking that you hate me off my daily checklist,” you whispered. 

     “I don’t hate you, Boot,” Tim said. “I actually hate how much I don’t hate you.”

     You studied the planes of his face, the light from the hallway illuminating his eyes. His lips. His jawline.

     “Boot—”

     “If you’re going to say that this is a bad idea, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight,” you said. 

     “I thought that was obvious.” Tim stated matter-of-factly. “I was going to say actually I’d appreciate it if you did turn on a lamp or something, because—”

     You laughed, kissing him again. 

     “But seriously,” Tim continued. “You know we can’t do this.”

     “Why not?” You pouted. “If it’s what we both want.”

     “It’s not about what we want—we could be putting both of our careers in jeopardy.”

     You knew he was right. Of course he was right. 

     “But is it—what you want?” 

     “God yes,” Tim blurted, standing up, his voice strained. “It’s what I’ve wanted from the moment I started training you. Do you know how hard it’s been trying to put distance between us and deny every damn thing when all I wanted to do was—”

     He broke off, running a hand along his hair. 

     “Then do it.” Your heart pounded in your chest. “You’ll only be my TO for a few more months, we’ll just keep it a secret until then. No one has to know.”

     Tim looked at you. 

     “Ok you’re right, Bishop and Lopez will totally know something’s up,” you admitted.

     “I guess I’ll just have to transfer,” Tim joked.

     “What happened to ‘Tim Bradford finished what he starts’?” You asked.

     “Oh I intend to do just that,” Tim whispered. “Are we really thinking about doing this?”

     You thought about the consequences you could face—Tim could face—if it got out that you and your training officer were romantically involved. You knew it would be a huge risk—one that could get you cut from the program.

     You looked at Tim. He was watching you like he never wanted to let you go again. You thought about how long you’d wanted this, even if you didn’t fully know it until tonight.

     And the decision seemed clear.

     “Yeah,” you beamed. “Yeah I think we are.”

     He cupped your face in his hand, his fingers warm against the back of your neck. Your eyes closed against his touch. You felt comfort for the first time in hours.

     “You need rest,” Tim whispered and your eyes fluttered open. “As much as I’d love to do this all night.”

     You nodded, backing up towards your bed. Tim ran a hand through his hair again and then sat back down in the armchair.

    “What’re you doing?” You asked him.

    “Going to bed,” Tim answered, as if it was obvious. 

    “Get over here,” you gestured, rolling your eyes at him.

    “I was hoping you’d say that,” Tim smiled. 

     You climbed into bed beside him, pulling the covers over both of you.

     You lay your head on Bradfords chest. You could feel his heartbeat in your ear as you closed your eyes.     

    “You know, this will kind of be like doing undercover work—minus the threat of getting killed,” you said. 

     “I don’t know about that—I wouldn’t put anything past an angry Sergeant Grey.”

     “We’ll just have to be so in-character that we never find out,” you said. 

     “I’ll make sure to be extra tough on you next shift,” Tim agreed. 

     “And that’s different from any other day how?” You shot back, sitting up. 

     “Hey, training rookies is a sacred duty and I take that very seriously. If you think I’m going to throw your education out the window simply because—”

     You shut him up by pressing your lips to his. You echoed his earlier words. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

     Tim shook is head slightly, eyes roaming over your face. 

     “What?” You asked.

     “You’re so beautiful, (Y/n),” Tim breathed. “I’m so glad I can finally tell you that.”

     “Me too,” you said. “Even if it took…this for it to happen.”

     “Speaking of which, maybe I’ll take a sick day tomorrow,” Tim said. “Since there’s no way Grey—or myself—is letting you go to work. What’d you say?”

     You wanted to fight him, say you were fine and you could make it to your shift the next day. But the promise of taking a sick day with Tim was to tempting to pass up. 

     “I say I’m glad your house is being repainted,” you teased. “Because then you’ll have to stay with me.”

     Tim smiled knowingly. “My house isn’t being repainted, Boot. And I’m all yours.”

     You grinned, laying back down and resting your head back against Tim. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

     You felt safe, protected in his arms. 

     The rest would come. Dealing with what had happened tonight. Starting your secret relationship with Tim. Eventually facing everyone at work who had heard the news and would want to ask if you were ok. And you would be ok.

     But for now, this was enough. He was enough. 

     “Tim?” You whispered.

     “Hmm?”

     You struggled for words to fit the gravity of what you were feeling for him. “Thanks for…everything.”

     “What are TOs for,” Tim shrugged. 

     “Apparently keeping the night light business afloat.” You giggled at the look on Bradford’s face. 

     “Shut it, Boot.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed loves!! i’m so down bad for tim it’s not even funny 😵‍💫

[lebguardians]

It's Complicated- Part 3

I know it's been a long while since I started this series, but after a lovely idea from a mutual I've managed to get back into this Evan Buckley series.

I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay

Series Taglist: @itsmytimetoodream @xceafh @senjoritanana @anea08 @lebguardians @piabeach @4-ln4 @zephyrmonkey

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: Things start to get tricky when Evan falls in love with his best friend's sister. It causes complications within the team. And things only start to get worse when an accident occurs.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mr Buckley, please calm down," With an exasperated sigh, the nurse held her hands out in front of her as if she was offering him an olive branch.

When Evan stepped to the side, the nurse followed in suit like they were stepping in tandem with one another, about to perform a dance. She didn't step back when Evan tried to step forward and it caused his shoulders to hunch up and a growl to vibrate in his chest.

She was deliberately getting in his way and preventing him from leaving the room and he didn't like it. She wasn't even helping him at this point, she was just being an obstruction.

"Can you sit down-"

"Tell me where (Y/n) is." Tears welled up behind his eyes and Evan finally looked down at the nurse.

She was older than him, nearing fifty or possibly a bit older. She was stout, she barely reached his shoulders and she was a little plump. Her face was warm and her expression was kind yet concerned and her hands were dry and flaking, probably from all the washing and hand sanitising she had to do.

"I have, she's gone for some scans, now please sit back down." She tried her luck resting her hands on his arms to usher him back towards the bed, but Evan wasn't cooperating.

He shrugged off her touch and tried to walk round her yet again. He wasn't doing this. He had already gone for an MRI, he had had his hand and wrist stitched back into place and bandaged up and he had been brought back down here. All while he was told (Y/n) was still in scans and deliberating whether or not she needed surgery. Why had he been helped so quickly yet her treatment was dragging out?

All he wanted was to go and see her. He wanted (Y/n). He wanted to know if she was alright. His mind was swimming and the only comprehensible thing was (Y/n).

Eddie had gone to get them both a drink and to call Bobby and Maddie because Evan needed his sister. But now he was gone and Evan was alone, he needed to find (Y/n). He couldn't sit here and wait any longer.

"Then I go to her. I want my wife."

"You know that's not possible now sit down before I have to go and find that brother of yours."

A groan tumbled past Evan's lips and he tilted his head down as tears began to flush his face. He couldn't keep getting these answers. Where was (Y/n)? Why was it taking so long? Why would no one let him see her? Had she died and they were trying to calm him down so he didn't go and find her? Had they moved her somewhere? Were they never going to allow him to see her? Didn't they know she was his wife- wasn't she?

He could feel his head spinning again and he wanted to be sick. The morphine they gave him had only taken a small edge off, but Evan was feeling horrid once again.

He could see the room spinning and the more angry he got, the worse he felt. If they just let him see (Y/n), he could calm down. But his body was writhing and shaking in frustration, his throat was tightening like he was going to be sick again and his head was pounding like a boombox.

"I want my wife!" The tone of his voice was shrill and the volume surprised even Evan who winced.

He pulled away from the nurse and tried to bypass her, but he paused when his right arm jerked. He looked to the side and huffed, realising he had a tube taped into the back of his hand.

Whatever that was, it was holding him back and he didn't want it. Evan could barely feel anything when he undid the tape and pulled the strange-looking green tube sticking out the back of his hand. Nope. He didn't want that. He tossed it on the floor, causing the machine to begin a horrid beeping that had him wincing and crying at the same time.

"Mr Buckley! Sit down, you need that IV you're dehydrated- I'll get the doctor." Her threats were futile when Evan pushed her out of his path at the same time as he tore his left arm out of the sling.

It was annoying him.

"Where have you hid her?! Where have you taken (Y/n)?" He wasn't quite sure who he was talking to and he stomped his boots down on the floor when he heard another beeping noise fill the room.

Unbeknownst to Evan, the nurse had pressed the emergency help button. She was going to need backup.

Evan barely reached the door before it opened and a bewildered Eddie stepped inside, quickly setting his drink down when he looked at Evan. He could see his right hand hanging by his side, blood dripping steadily down his fingers and pooling onto the floor from the missing IV.

"Buck, what are you doing? You need to rest-"

"I need my fucking wife! Do - do none of you realise she's pregnant? She's hurt, where have you taken her?!"

A brief look of fright flooded Eddie's eyes and took over his face when Evan lurched forward. Despite the bandage tightly strapped around his wrist that was padded with gauze, Evan seemed to have control over the battered hand. He dug his hand into Eddie's chest and gripped his collar with his good hand, pulling Eddie closer until he was almost stood on his tiptoes, nose to nose with his best friend.

"I want (Y/n). Now." The guttural tone to his voice made Eddie shiver and he felt for a dreaded moment that he was going to get punched.

Cautiously, Eddie lifted his hands to grip Evan's elbows and slowly tried to walk him backwards, away from the door. He couldn't have Evan roaming the hospital, shouting and screaming for (Y/n) in his state. He could cause a panic and make himself worse, he needed to rest and wait, the same as Eddie.

"We have to wait, okay? As soon as she's on a ward, someone will come and find us."

"No I want my wife!"

Those few words repeated on a loop like Evan was a scratched record, unable to say anything else. He rose his voice higher and higher and started to dig his boots into the floor when Eddie continued to hold him at bay.

This wasn't fair! Why were he and (Y/n) being kept apart? She was pregnant and she was hurt, Evan had to go and be with her. Someone had to take him to her.

"Buck sit down." The stern tone to Eddie's voice did nothing to make Evan waver and give in. All he did was scream and repeat those words again until drool was foaming on his lips and his face had gone the brightest shade of red Eddie had ever seen.

With a grunt, Eddie hunkered down and pushed his shoulder into Evan's chest to get him back towards the bed. His efforts seemed to work and he finally got Evan to sit down on the bed, but when he realised Evan was no longer screaming his repetition, Eddie looked up.

Evan swayed to the left and flopped onto his side, ignoring the agony that sparked in his bandaged arm when he pinned it between the bed and his chest. His head hung off the side of the bed and he suddenly threw up, splurting up a whole lot of water that he had drank when he got here, curtesy of the nurse who assured him it would help his concussion. And the last of his lunch crawled back up his throat.

"Fuck! Alright, alright Buck stay there, that's it." Pushing one knee on the bed, Eddie held the back of Evan's neck to keep his head tilted forward.

The nurse told him that Evan had aspirated into his lungs earlier when he passed out after throwing up. They couldn't have that happening again and risk an infection or pneumonia in his lungs.

He slid his hand up and down Evan's back when he finally stopped throwing up, but he didn't like the way Evan started to shake.

His arms twisted and pinned to his chest and his whole body rattled before his trembling hands moved up to cup his face. He seemed irritated by the bandages on his hand, but he didn't seem to notice the blood covering his right hand that was now smearing into his face.

His head was throbbing.

He could feel every inch of skin vibrating and pulsing and his blood was pounding in his ears.

A horrid, grating scream left Evan's lips when he realised he could barely hear a thing over the sound of his blood pumping in his veins. He didn't like it. He didn't like having one of his senses turned off like this. His nails punctured into his face, around his left eye that was already turning a very dark shade of purple and adding to the scratches littering his face and neck.

"Buck, Buck it's okay, come on, calm down for me buddy, please."

Eddie cringed at the way his sister's name tore so violently from Evan's lips, it was as if she was dead and they were both mourning her loss.

Another round of "I want my wife!" Spluttered past Evan's lips, but his voice was croaky and his volume was wavering from loud to little whispers, depending on how loud the blood was in his ears.

"You can see her very soon Mr Buckley, there now, that's it." The nurse leaned over his other side and carefully tugged him back on the bed.

She rolled Evan over so he was laid on his right side, facing her with his back now facing Eddie. She didn't want him laying on his left side and cutting off the blood to his arm or tearing the stitches beneath the bandages.

Eddie couldn't quite believe how Evan's mind tapered off. He went from screaming and shouting to laying there, motionless. And once his eyes rolled to the top of his head, it was clear he was on the verge of passing out. He didn't fight the nurse when she held his right hand and got the IV back into his vein which she taped up.

"I'm going to give him some tramadol for the pain, and some blood thinners, with his history of clots."

Eddie nodded and tilted his head back, running his hand all around his neck to try and get some feeling back and loosen the tension in his muscles. That was a good idea. Evan needed to be dosed up to keep him asleep for as long as possible, until (Y/n) was on a ward and safe. And he needed to be pain-free or else he was going to be a menace, and having him in agony wasn't fair.

The pair of them glanced towards the door when another nurse peeked her head round and for a dreaded moment, Eddie worried she was going to give him news on (Y/n). Right as Evan had passed out. That wouldn't be the best thing to happen.

She had a look of sympathy in her eyes when she looked over at Evan, spark out on the bed.

"We have a room on the trauma ward, we're ready to move him. And doctor will assess him once he's up there."

"Oh thank you." Eddie managed a small smile and he got up from the bed to stretch his arms up. He ran his fingers through his hair, did a few stretches and then moved over to the door.

He would get out of the way and let the nurses get the bed ready to transport. They couldn't get Evan in a wheelchair now he was passed out, they would have to move the bed which wouldn't be too much hassle. At least having him on a ward meant he would be booked in and he would have hourly checks. And Eddie wanted a doctor to check on him again, he had thrown up a lot and he had a concussion. He needed observation.

When he trudged into the hall, a sudden thought struck Eddie in the chest and he leant against the wall in fear of having another onset panic attack.

His parents.

He hadn't even told them yet. Eddie was down as (Y/n)'s emergency contact at the hospital, but they hadn't needed to call him because Eddie had been on the phone with Evan in the first place. Their parents would have no idea (Y/n) had been in an accident and they would want to come down here the moment they found out.

His fingers trembled as he fished his phone out his pocket and scrolled down to his parent's home number.

He prayed his mother would be the one to pick up the phone. Eddie didn't want to have this conversation with his dad. He could of cried when he heard his mother's voice on the other end of the line and his free hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, warding off the tears.

"Ma, it- it's me."

What was he going to say? How was he going to tell them? How did Eddie explain this mess?

He could hardly tell his mother that he found (Y/n) sleeping with his best friend and subsequently went off into a tangent at her. He couldn't admit he had been ignoring his sister when he found out she was pregnant. Or that he felt responsible for her crash.

If he'd of only swallowed his pride and talked to them earlier, if he calmed down and had a proper conversation with them, they wouldn't be in this mess. (Y/n) wouldn't of crashed, she might not have been out in the car at all if Eddie had talked to her earlier and put her mind at rest.

"No, I… I'm at the hospital- ma it's not Chris, he's fine, he's with Abuela. It's (Y/n), she was in a car accident."

The sound of his mother's shocked cry and the panicked tone of her voice as she called for his father made Eddie shiver. He didn't want to be doing this, but he had to. It was his fault, his responsibility to call them and say he had failed looking after his little sister.

"I don't know yet, she's- she's gone for a scan, she might need surgery, I've no idea what's happening. They can't tell me much."

He couldn't tell them. It wasn't worth telling them over the phone that (Y/n) was pregnant because Eddie had no idea if she had lost the baby. She might have already lost it. She might have to go for surgery and have a medical termination. She might lose it after any surgery, the possibilities were endless and Eddie couldn't tell their parents in case the worst happened.

He knew it would be easier for them to live in ignorance and it would be easier for (Y/n) not to tell them she had ever been pregnant if she lost the baby.

***

"Trauma ward, this can't be good." Hen's quiet comment clearly wasn't appreciated when she saw the stern look Bobby threw at her over his shoulder and the agony that flooded Maddie's eyes when she looked her way. But she couldn't help it.

The name of this ward didn't give the best impression. What kind of state would Evan and (Y/n) be in if they were up here?

The team barely knew (Y/n). They had seen her once or twice and thought she was sweet, but they had mostly heard about her from Eddie. Maddie had heard lots of stories from (Y/n), unknowing that it was Eddie's little sister her brother was smitten with.

The team were still reeling from the fight Eddie and Evan had had down at the station last week. None of them could believe Eddie would ever throw a punch at his best friend, nor at Evan for taking the hit and not responding. And now they were all down here, wondering if their teammate and family were okay or not.

"Here we are, room five." Bobby pointed before he rapped his knuckles on the door and pushed it open.

He took a quick look inside before hurrying in when he noticed Eddie waving him along.

All four of them crammed into the room where Maddie moved first and hurried to her brother's side. Tears pooled in her eyes and she smothered her mouth with her hand to fight off tears that were inevitable. She thought she had seen the last of her brother lying in a hospital bed, looking battered and bruised.

But here he was, passed out like a light with one arm bandaged up and strapped to his chest. His left eye a worrying shade of black, his brow slightly swollen and little cuts and bruises dotted all across his skin. Not to mention his right hand was wrapped up in a bandage to cover his IV and there were two sick bowls laid next to him on either side of the bed.

"What happened?" Maddie sat herself down on the side of the bed ad reached out for Evan's right hand. She held it on her lap and began tracing her hand up and down his arm while she looked across at Eddie.

"A drunk driver crashed into them, head on. Buck was on the phone to me when it happened… his hand went straight through the window, he broke a few ribs and got concussed pretty bad. They gave him a few painkillers and it knocked him out."

"Where's (Y/n)?" Hen rested her hand on Eddie's shoulder and stood beside him at the end of the bed. While Bobby moved to stand on Evan's other side and gave his shoulder a light squeeze, despite his sleeping state.

"I don't know… Buck must have got a pretty bad concussion." Eddie wrung his hands together in front of him, dancing his eyes across the room when he got a few curious looks.

"What makes you say that?"

"He was calling (Y/n) his wife, screaming for her. I nearly had to restrain him."

The way Evan had been calling for her made Eddie sure that he hadn't just said she was his wife to make sure he got updates on her. He had been confused. He wouldn't have been calling out for (Y/n) that badly, repeating the word 'wife' if it was just a ploy to stay close to her. He really had been confused enough to think they were already married. And Eddie prayed Evan would remember soon that they weren't married- yet.

Seeing how panicked Evan was to know if (Y/n) was okay made Eddie feel bad for punching him. It made Eddie feel horrid for giving them both such a hard time. He shouldn't have been so hard on Evan, but he didn't realise how much Evan loved (Y/n) until now.

"The baby?" Maddie's voice was meek as she looked over her shoulder.

She had wanted to be angry when she saw Eddie. After learning from Chimney about the fight, Maddie wanted to give Eddie a piece of her mind, but seeing him now, she didn't have the heart. She could see he had been conflicted and he had clearly made some kind of amends with Evan.

It hurt that Maddie had learned about the pregnancy second hand, from Chimney. He had come home with the gossip but he broke the news gently that Evan's new girlfriend was Eddie's sister, who also happened to be pregnant.

It led to an hour-long phone call between Maddie and Evan where he told her how madly in love he was with (Y/n) and how much he wanted things to work out with them all.

Eddie shrugged his shoulders, biting his lower lip so he didn't burst into another fit of tears.

"Can we-"

Whatever Bobby was about to say was cut off by a tepid knock on the door and a middle-aged nurse peering her head around the door.

All eyes fell to Eddie and he brushed his hand across his face and weaved behind Hen to go to the door.

Eddie was losing the will power and the energy he had come down here with. It was starting to get late and the longer he was here without any answers, the more deflated he was starting to feel. He had rang his abuela after his parents, just to check Chris was okay and she could have him for the night. He would go get Chris first thing in the morning to get him ready for school, but he dreaded the conversation he was going to have with his son to explain everything.

He stood just outside the door with the nurse who had a tender smile that was more promising than he had been expecting.

"Miss Diaz has been for all her scans, everything has come back okay, she has a bit of swelling around her spine but nothing evasive."

"Where is she?"

"We've moved her to the next room, so family can visit the both of them easily, and you don't have to stick to visiting times. We know someone will have to stay with Mr Buckley to keep him stable and calm."

Almost everyone on this floor had heard the palava Evan had created and knew he was going to be a tough patient to handle. It wasn't in his nature to be rude or cause a scene or make trouble, but where (Y/n) was concerned, normal behaviour flew out the window.

"Thank you." Eddie popped his head back round the door to look at the team after the nurse walked away. "She's in the next room, I'm gonna go check on her now."

Everyone nodded, all of them silently understanding that Eddie would need a few moments alone with (Y/n) and the doctor too, before they went ahead and bombarded the room to see her.

Eddie could feel his heart jumping into his throat when he burst into the room on the right without knocking. He wasn't expecting to find the doctor still in there, or a nurse doing the last few checks on (Y/n). He let the door swing shut behind him and his eyes focused on the nurse for a few moments.

There was (Y/n), seemingly knocked out from the painkillers they must have given her. Eddie hadn't seen her when she got brought in like he had seen Evan after his initial assessment in the emergency room.

She had cuts along her arms and a few dotted on her face. An oxygen mask placed over her mouth. IVs and an ECG and a lot of wires sticking out beneath the hospital gown to keep check on her vitals.

Eddie couldn't help but look over the machines. Her pulse was high; they would need to give her some medication to control that or else it would become a high risk problem. The blood pressure reading that had been taken was far too high for a pregnant woman. Her oxygen intake was the only good thing and that was only because she had a mask on to keep her levels where they should be.

"Are you a relative?" The doctor's voice brought Eddie out of his thoughts and a shudder passed down his spine as he turned to give his attention to the doctor.

"I'm her brother, her partner is in the next room. How is she?"

"Three broken ribs on the right side and her right knee was dislocated, but we put it back in place. Scans came back clear, no internal injuries, just some swelling on the spine to be monitored. But as for the baby…"

The lack of response caused Eddie's heart to rocket up into his throat. Oh God. This was his worst nightmare. What had happened? Had she lost the baby? How was he going to tell her- would Eddie even be the one to tell her, or would he have to let Evan do that?

How would he tell Evan?

"But what? Is the baby okay?" The persistent tone in Eddie's voice added with the extra step forward he took and made him seem very uneasy. He couldn't help being impatient, he wanted answers and he wanted them now.

"The impact and the shock to her system has made her and the fetus both unstable, she's at a high risk of miscarrying."

His fingers began to shake when he carded his hand through his hair, disshevelling the strands even more, making him look like he had received an electric shock. That wasn't good news. This was all his fault. His sister was still pregnant, but he had put her at high risk of a miscarriage.

(Y/n) wasn't going to cope if she lost the baby. Evan was going to have a meltdown if he found out. All Evan ever wanted was a family of his own and he wouldn't handle something like this.

"If she has constant rest and monitoring and we can get her stabilised, the fetus might be okay. We will just have to wait and see."

Eddie wasn't sure he liked the odds here, it didn't sound like the doctor was very hopeful. And how was (Y/n) going to rest, which implied no stress, if she had been in an accident? She was going to be unwell, she would be worried about Evan. If their parents came down, they would surely stress her out. This whole situation was a recipe for disaster.

Eddie might just be able to wait and see what would happen, but he knew Evan wouldn't.

***

A shiver rolled down Evan's spine when he stood to his feet. He could feel his balance falling off kilter like the fluids in his ears weren't in equalibrium. Maybe they weren't. Maybe the concussion had set them uneven and therefore he couldn't keep his balance.

His head still felt like it had been split apart like a coconut. The left side of his temple was swollen where he had collided with the window. His eye thankfully wasn't swollen closed, but it was black and he was littered with bruises.

He looked down at his chest with a grimace. The binding the nurse had wrapped around his chest had been tight to help his broken ribs.

When his eyes danced across to his right hand, Evan carefully twisted the cap and disconnected the IV before he reached over the bed for the hoodie. He took care to slip it over his frame, trying not to sway or wobble as he did so and he ignored the pins and needles coursing up his left hand.

When he glanced towards the chair beside the bed, a softness fell over his features. Maddie was asleep. He didn't blame her. She had been here since he woke up and when he woke up, Eddie had been there too. Eddie had explained that (Y/n) was okay, she was right in the next room and he could see her in the morning when they were both better and not dosed on morphine.

Eddie had gone home to be with Chris. He would come back in the morning, and he would bring Chris by to see them both after school tomorrow.

Well, Evan wasn't waiting around to see (Y/n). He wasn't going to lay here and wait for insomnia to take over. He didn't want to waste away all night, thinking and crying out for (Y/n). He was awake now, he was up and the morphine wasn't as strong as it had been earlier. He was more himself than before and he wanted to see her.

With the jogging bottoms and matching hoodie shrugged on, Evan padded barefoot across the floor and slipped out the room. He didn't want to wake Maddie and he knew she would know immediately where he had gone once she woke up and realised he wasn't here in the room with her.

He ran his hands over his face to try and liven himself up a bit more, ignoring the way the bandages scratched and rubbed at his skin.

He could feel the way he swayed from one side to the next but he tried to hold himself upright when he pushed open the door and gingerly headed inside. He wouldn't want to wake (Y/n) if she was sleeping, he would just sit and hold her hand if that was the case.

The lights had been dimmed. Evan wasn't sure what time it was, all he knew was that it was late.

He shuffled over to the chair and let himself plonk down into the surprisingly plush chair that was as soft as sitting on a cloud. He slouched down so his knees were pushing into the bedframe and he slid his hand across to gently take (Y/n)'s hand in his.

It felt better to be sitting down, Evan had barely been on his feet for a minute and it had already drained him down to nothing. He probably needed more sleep, his head needed time to recover and his body was running on empty, but he didn't care.

(Y/n) was here. Her hand was in his and he could rest now he was next to her.

He was about to close his eyes when he suddenly felt (Y/n)'s fingers squeezing his hand. He sat upright in his chair rather than slouching down and leaned both elbows on the edge of the bed so he could be close as possible to (Y/n).

His thumb stroked across the back of her hand and a small smile pulled at his lips as adrenaline fuelled his stomach and fluttered up to his chest. It felt like weeks had passed since he'd last seen (Y/n), when in reality it had been twelve hours or less.

He leaned down to press a kiss to the back of her hand and he could of started laughing with joy when (Y/n)'s head started to move and a small mumbling of his name passed through her lips.

"Evan…"

"It's me, baby. I'm here."

His left hand began tapping on the bed, despite the ache it caused rattling up his arm. He leaned closer when (Y/n)'s eyes began to flutter open and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, leaning as much as he could to be close to her.

He could see it took a lot of effort for (Y/n) to try and get her senses into order and work out what was going on around her. But when she finally locked her eyes on Evan, she squeezed his hand again and tilted her head to the left to look at him.

(Y/n) tried to shift her elbows and press them down into the bed so she could sit up, but it didn't work. When she tilted her chest forward, a shockwave coursed down her back and had her whole body trembling. She felt Evan's hand let go of hers so he cold nudge her to lie back down.

"You hurt your back, sweetheart, stay lying down for a while."

"The- the car…" (Y/n) reached back out for Evan's hand and he realised she was shaking when she held onto him. The look in her eyes was clear; she didn't remember what happened. She was asking for an explanation.

He pushed up from the chair and shifted over so he was sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. He kept their fingers entwined and continued tracing his thumb over the back of her hand while he placed his left hand on her thigh.

"Some drunk crashed into us, we uh, we got a bit banged up. You broke a few ribs, dislocated your knee, and they said your spine is bruised. You'll need a lot of rest, sweetheart."

(Y/n) bit down on her lower lip when she reached her free hand up to trace the little cuts littering Evan's face. She didn't want to touch his black eye and cause him any pain, but she traced her hand down his shoulder towards his hand that was visibly bandaged beneath his hoodie.

"It's not broken, only my ribs." He murmured softly, flexing his fingers to prove his point. Although he wondered if breaking his wrist or his hand might have been more preferable to getting his vein sliced open. Now he was back on blood thinners and his hand and wrist had swelled up from the stitches. He had a constant aching from his elbow down to his fingertips.

Evan hated the horror he saw welling up in (Y/n)'s eyes and he knew exactly what dawned on her mind. He shuddered when she moved their entwined hands down to her stomach.

She was only four months pregnant, there wasn't much, if any, change to her shape or her stomach yet. It was something Evan had been waiting for since they found out about the baby, and now it was something that might not happen.

He couldn't help the way his hand started to shake against her stomach and he tried not to press down in case he caused her any pain.

"The baby?" (Y/n) tightened her hand around Evan's, dithering between wanting to press his hand down into her stomach to prove the baby was still there. Or to try and pull herself up into a sitting position and cling to his arm like it was her lifeline.

She settled on pressing his hand down into her stomach, watching Evan's reaction for any sign she could see. She couldn't tell if she was still pregnant or not. She didn't feel any different, but it was too early for (Y/n) to feel as if she were pregnant at all.

She didn't want to lose the baby. They wanted this baby. (Y/n) could still feel the worry in her throat when she told Evan she was pregnant and gave him the positive test. She could still see the light bubbling up in his eyes and feel the way he lifted her up and spun her round.

She had worried this might be too early, they hadn't been together long, Hell they hadn't been together a year. But she knew she loved Evan and he clearly loved her. She was thrilled at the thought of soon being able to have a baby, having a family of their own.

"Evan…?"

"The baby's unstable, but still here. Right here." His fingers began brushing up and down her stomach. But when he saw the tears falling down (Y/n)'s face, he moved.

Evan twisted around on the bed, laid his legs out beside (Y/n)'s and laid on his right side beside her. He liked the way (Y/n) took control of his left arm and laid it out across her like it was a blanket of protection. Her hands clutched tight to his arm and she twisted her head to bury her face in his chest, trying to hide herself away in his embrace.

"Will I lose them?" Her voice was so quiet Evan almost didn't hear her, but he felt her words vibrating through his chest and piercing his heart all the same. He tilted his head down until his lips were smothered against the top of her head and he closed his eyes, breathing in her scent to calm himself down.

"I don't know, baby." He had to be honest. He didn't know what was going to happen. He thought it was a miracle she hadn't already miscarried after the crash. "One day at a time, hm? It's gonna be okay, I'm gonna look after you."

[lebguardians]

Parallel Lines | Two Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He fears her proximity, and she fears his distance. As war looms, they’ll have to learn to make their marriage work to find comfort in each other.

Or at least, try.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Complicated Relationship Themes; Emotional Negligence; Major Character Death; Aemond and his issues are a warning on their own ok?

AUTHOR’S NOTE | All Valyrian lines were translated from english using a free online translator. They are likely to be grammatically wrong - but I don’t even know man. Yeah.

WORD COUNT | 9.5k - and not a single word is beta read. We die like warriors, I guess?

The moonlight spilled through the series of windows of her husband’s - not theirs, his - apartments in the Red Keep, casting a silvery glow over the austere elegance of the chambers. His wife stood by the window, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the night sky, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping across the dimly lit interior, taking in the cool, stone walls that seemed to absorb the flickering torchlight. She glided through the hall where intricate tapestries depicted dragons in flight, their scales shimmering with threads of gold and silver. The grand fireplace dominated one wall, the warmth emanating throughout the space from the burning logs within. She folded her arms into her chest, as if to preserve the heat as she shivered from the cold night - her thin nightdress didn’t help. Above the mantelpiece, Vhagar's fierce eyes followed her every movement, a fierce presence in paint.

Moving through the chambers, she passed through his personal library, every page a stern reflection of his interests. Shelves of dark, polished wood lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, their faint scent of aged parchment and leather permeating the air.

He mostly smelled of smoke, fire and leather. Of books and dragons - both of which he is passionate about.

It makes sense then, that no one will ever catch a whiff of her perfume on him.

They were far from passionate, after all.

In the center, his heavy, ornately carved desk was strewn with maps and documents, a well-used quill and inkwell ready for his expert hand to wield. She leaned on the table to look at it all, and spun one of the wooden markers between her nimble fingers for a moment - as she had seen him do countless times - before leaving it back where she found it.

She stepped into the bedchamber, its stark stone walls softened by the rich, crimson fabrics of the large, canopied bed. Dragons were subtly woven into the bedspread and curtains, a constant reminder of the Targaryen lineage that she had married and given birth to.

How long has it been since she laid with him on this bed? More than a year, she surmised. They did their duty on their wedding night, and the Mother was graceful enough to make his seed quicken in her immediately. She laid with him for a few weeks after - and when the maesters made it known that she was with child, that had stopped.

A good wife knows how to keep her husband satisfied, they said. Her husband never sought her out. If the whispers of the few around her were to be believed, he frequents a whore in a Silk Street brothel.

Was she not a good wife then?

She gave him a son. He may be sickly, but he is a son nonetheless. Surely it must count?

With a weary sigh, her eyes shifted to the adjoining armory, where Aemond’s armor and weapons were meticulously displayed. This part of his room exuded an air of readiness, a silent promise of the warrior who would soon return to his space.

From the whorehouse, no doubt.

She turned back to the window, her thoughts as fluid as the shimmering waves below. The apartments were a microcosm of her husband's existence: regal yet austere, scholarly yet martial.

And no sign of marriage, leave alone happy or healthy. How could there be, when he doesn’t feel half the happiness with her that he does when left alone with his beast or books?

There was no hate between them, surely not. Her husband was agreeable, but that was that. There was never any doubt in her mind that he did not want her - or the idea of her - but had to marry her anyway. There was no passion, and she could count with two hands the number of times they have lain with each other in the past year that they have been married - even that was before she had become with child.

There was nothing, truly.

She tried with him, initially. But any illusion of interest that she thought he may grow towards her was shattered the moment she heard that the very night that she’d met him, he was seen moving out of the castle grounds and into the Street of Silk.

He didn’t even bother with making it discreet.

Their wedding was a morose affair. They were the very picture of a royal couple, but neither felt the part - more like a pair of chastised children made to listen after a screaming bout. Even when he took her, he took her from behind - and she was fully clothed. It was nowhere close to the slow exploration that some of her ladies promised. He’s a scholar, he’d be willing to learn for your pleasure, they had said. He’d not even kissed her after their wedding ceremony, not once - he simply demanded that she get on the bed, and took her like an animal while the Small Council and their families watched her eyes pool with painful tears.

What had she done to warrant such embarrassment? She didn’t know what she’d done to make him shirk her so, but it was the way it was. It just was.

When he kept calling her back, he’d taken to offering her wine when they were finished. She didn’t linger when her goblet was emptied. She simply walked out, and wished him a good night.

He never once asked her to stay.

When the news of the babe in her belly had arrived, she’d been relieved - she’d never have to lay with a man who did not want her, ever again. He didn’t seem overjoyed either, and simply hummed with a hand on her belly.

“There is blood of the dragon in you now,” he said. And then he let his thumb run over her cheek. It was the softest he’d ever been with her, and she relished those few seconds. For a moment, he looked so peaceful and content… a stranger. That’s when it occurred to her that perhaps there’s more to Aemond than what he lets anyone see.

She could have fallen in love with him, if he’d cared enough to show her. But it seemed that he’d only viewed her as a duty and a burden.

The ghost of his touch lingered, and she brought her own hand to her cheek as though the warmth still remained. What did the whores have that she did not? Or was it the same whore each time?

Jealousy is unbecoming of a princess, she reminded herself. But so is unhappiness and a constant sense of dread, surely?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open. Her husband strode into the room, immediately aware of her presence. She felt the shift in the air and watched as the shadows of his boots slow, absorbing the sight of her. He removed his cloak with a fluid motion, letting it fall onto his chair before approaching her with the deliberate grace of a predator.

“Wife.” His voice was clipped and devoid of warmth, as though addressing a servant rather than the mother of his son.

She turned to face him, the pale moonlight highlighting the tension etched across her features. "Husband," she responded, mirroring his tone, though a flicker of hurt glimmers in her eyes.

Do you think of me as I think of you? Do you think of me at all?

A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken words. Her gaze scanned his face, searching for any trace of the man whom she foolishly once thought would love her. Instead, she found only the cold mask he wore, a fortress against the world and his own buried emotions.

Against her.

“Has the council kept you long?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. They both looked outside the windows, with her leaning into the railing while he stood with his hands held back, ramrod straight.

Always on guard.

“Long enough,” he replied, his eyes drifting to the dark expanse of the bay. “There are matters that require my attention.”

“And our son?” she asked, a touch of warmth infusing her words at the mention of their child. “Will you see Aerys tonight?”

For a brief moment, something softened in Aemond’s gaze, a fleeting shadow of tenderness. She must have imagined it - it was too fleeting and quick to hold any kind of weight.

She was jealous of her own son, for he elicits more from Aemond than she ever has, as little as it is.

“Perhaps. If time allows.”

She nodded, turning back to look at him; to see him.

The weight of his indifference settled over her like a shroud. The Blackwater Bay stretches out before them, vast and unchanging, mirroring the growing distance between them.

“I worry for you,” she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the night. “War will come to us soon, will it not?” If it hadn’t come so far, she knew it would now. Vaemond Velaryon’s rolling head and King Viserys’ worsening condition only made sure of it.

He stood rigid beside her, his posture unyielding. “It is my duty,” he said, as if that alone suffices.

“I know,” she replied, sadness threading through her voice. “But you are more than your duty, Aemond. You are Aerys’ father and my…”

The emotions were high tonight, higher than they’d ever been. She didn’t know why she sought him out. There has been ample evidence to support that he would not care, and yet here she was.

She wanted safety, and the only person she could approach is the one who has never made her feel welcome or safe in any capacity.

Who else do I have here?

The tears mangle her vision and she swallowed what threatened to follow.

“I have given you a son.” She trembled, her voice threatening to give way to s stream of tears. “The shadow of war looms upon us, and you’ve set me aside and I worry…”

He lifted his head just slightly as the words sank in, but she was too dejected to care about his acknowledgement. He may be cold, and his reactions to her come far and few in between - but she could not bring herself to mull over it too at the moment.

“War is coming. I am as certain of it as I am of the sun rising on the morrow and I know you are too -” He opened his mouth to interfere, but she was quick to not give him the gap to take over her speech. “Do not insult my intelligence by suggesting otherwise.”

“I was not.”

She turned to face him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her eyes as she wondered why the Gods had not seen fit to give her a husband who loved her. He was beautiful, a cruel irony that made her anger flare even more. Despite all the hurt he had caused, she could not help but feel drawn to him. To hide her tears, she looked to the floor, trembling as she forced out her next words.

“I know you do not love me. I know you do not want me. But I… I have given you a son. An heir to continue your legacy, and that… I like to think that it would be reason enough to ask you to not forsake me. We have not supported each other all this time, but the least you can do is assure me that you will keep us safe.”

A flicker of something unrecognizable flashed in his eye, and he turned to face her fully, leaning against the window arch. “Did you… truly think that I would leave you to die if it came down to it?”

“You haven’t given me reason to believe that you’ll want me around.” Her voice was bitter, dripping with contempt.

He was ethereal as he reached out, holding her jaw between his thumb and finger, bringing her closer to his porcelain skin and alabaster hair. Her gaze flitted about chaotically, struggling to meet his eye. Her body shivered from the cold, torn between wanting him to let her go and needing him to hold her tight.

“You are my wife. I swore to the Gods that I would honor and protect you. You and Aerys are my family, and I would be slain a hundred times over before I see either of you hurt. I may not be… I may not be the man you want, but I can assure you that I am an honorable husband who will safeguard you and our boy.”

She did not know what she expected. A declaration of hidden love? Certainly not. But somehow, his assurances fell short. “Honorable.” She tested the word on her tongue, finding it the most bitter sound she had ever uttered. Her cheek alarmed him, and she spat venom. “Honorable?” His grip on her chin tightened, and she took it as a sign to continue.

“I know you frequent the Silk Street brothels. I know you’ve been going there since the very first day we met. Unless the professions of whores have changed, it is safe to assume that you are not honorable or loyal. And if you are, it is certainly not to me.”

A whore out there enjoyed her husband’s undying devotion, while she sat in the castle hoping and praying he would recognize her, let alone love her.

His expression shifted, a storm brewing behind his eyes, but he did not release her. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a chasm of pain pulling them apart. She met his intense gaze finally, tears brimming in her eyes, the anguish of their fractured bond laid bare for him to see.

He tasted of smoke and fire, and yet her mouth craved him anyway. He was an eternity away from her—always, always—and yet her fingers yearned to touch him.

“I do not go there for…” He took a long breath before completing his sentence, almost as if he needed his composure to simply survive.

Not there for what? Was he not fucking the whores? What else could he possibly do?

“Do you think I do not know the sacrifices you have made?” His voice was a harsh whisper, a mixture of anger and something deeper, almost pleading. “Do you think I do not feel the weight of our shared duty, the responsibility to our son? My responsibility to you?”

“But you have never shown me,” she whispered back, her voice breaking. “You have never given me a reason to believe that you care, that you see me as more than just a broodmare for an heir!"

For a moment, they stood frozen, the distance between them both physical and emotional. The moonlight casted a cold glow over their figures, highlighting the stark contrast between their proximity and their separation.

“It is not easy for me.”

“It should not be hard to love your wife. Or at the very least respect her.”

“I—”

She brought her hand up to stop him before any more of his lies spewed out and stepped away from him. She walked to the door at an amazing speed, her skirts swishing past as she tried to get out before her tears spilled out. In a late change of heart though, as her hand rested on the door latch, she turned.

“No lady should beg her husband to love her. No matter if he is a prince. It is beneath her, and I am no different. I will not beg…” If she had looked at him properly, she’d have noticed him flinch at her damning words.

“I will not beg you to love me after dismissing me all this time; I do have my pride. But I will beg you to save my life if it needs saving. That is all I ask.”

“You never had to ask.”

She took a breath and drank some leftover wine in the goblet next to her, not caring for whose it originally was. The thought would make her retch usually, but she was beyond caring.

“Your mother… she loves me surely, but I think she doesn’t like me very much. Your sister and I never managed to understand each other. Your brother… well he is a mindless lecher. I can’t quite figure out your grandfather at all. And you… you know what we’re like. I just… I worry that in this impending war within kin, I will be forgotten and left to die simply because my job is done with the birth of my son and I am too close to the storm and you don’t care and I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die-”

“You are my kin.” he said. It made her smile, albeit a woeful one. “You may need to remind me every once in a while.”

He didn’t respond. She simply left.

And even now, he didn’t ask her to stay.

She wished he did.

Aemond stood by the hearth, cradling their feverish son in his arms. 

Dressed in his somber blacks, he looked every bit the stern warrior, yet the gentle way he held Aerys belied that image. The babe was flushed and fretful, his tiny hands gripping Aemond’s hair and tugging insistently. Aemond hissed softly at the sharp pull, but did not dislodge the child's grip.

“Byka zaldrīzes,” he grumbles. It is strict, but not unaffectionate - she was familiar with that tone. She’d watched him use it with their son often when he thought no one was looking. [Little dragon.]

From the doorway, she watched them. They looked like a loving family - the devoted mother standing watch, her eyes filled with affection as she observed her husband and son. But appearances were deceiving, and both of them knew the truth beneath the surface.

Aerys, in his restless state, grabbed at Aemond’s eyepatch, tugging it down and exposing the scarred, empty socket. Aemond’s expression tightened as he shifted the boy from one arm to the other, quickly adjusting the patch back into place. In that brief moment, their eyes met, and she glimpsed the vulnerability he so meticulously hid. He seemed to close himself off even more, as if shielding his heart from her gaze.

It was a deep, almost dark blue. She noticed, she always noticed.

“I came to check on him before luncheon,” she said softly, breaking the silence that had settled like a heavy shroud. She always ensured that she made a solitary routine of her visits, ensuring that he’d have time alone with her son like he seemed to want. To be together - as a family - stumped her beyond belief, no matter how second nature it should be.

What was he doing here?

Aemond nodded, his voice measured as he recounted the maester's instructions. “The maester believes he will grow healthy with time. We must be diligent with the poultices and draughts.” His tone was clinical, as if discussing a strategy for battle rather than the wellbeing of their son.

She watched as he laid Aerys gently in the cot, the child’s feverish grip slackening as he drifted into a fitful sleep. She approached, brushing a strand of hair from Aerys’s forehead, her touch tender and light.

Aemond stepped back, retreating to the armchair close to the cot where a goblet of wine awaited him. He took a long sip, his gaze fixed on her as she sat at his foot, and peered in to take a look at their son. Facing away from him, she began to sing softly. Her voice, though tinged with sorrow, was soothing, and Aemond’s stern expression softened as he watched the scene unfold. For a moment, the room was filled with a fragile peace.

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

She didn’t say anything and let the silence engulf them both when she finished her song. She then turned around and sat on the floor near his feet, her back leaned against her son’s cot as she looked up to face her stoic husband. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke - his words measured but with the intent of concern. He spoke them like he was testing them out on his tongue.

“The maesters… they say you’re being given herbs as well.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of her exhaustion in every fiber of her being. The birth had been horribly hard on her body, leaving her depleted and fragile. Only now was she beginning to regain her strength. The whispers of the servants echoed in her mind—comments about how all this suffering was for a sickly child. But those whispers meant nothing to her. She would move the ends of the earth for her son, no matter what anyone thought. 

He was the blood of the dragon. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, and she would not allow her son to be any different.

“Ever since the birth, I have grown… weak,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aerys took a toll on me when he came.”

Aemond’s eyes were detached, but she heard the slight concern and contemplation in his voice. “Were you in pain? In the days after?”

She hesitated for a moment, surprised by his sudden show of concern. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I was. I still am.”

His questions were gentle, as if he truly cared, as if he genuinely wanted to understand what she had gone through. This unexpected tenderness from him was jarring, and it took all her strength not to withdraw. She had longed for this moment for so long, the chance to finally, truly connect with the man she had married.

And now that it was here, it felt as foreign to her as the other continents of the realm.

“I should have been there,” he said, his voice laced with regret. He didn’t look at her, head turned away as he spoke.  “I should have been by you-”

She’d heard the rumors that her good mother worked hard to ensure she’d never hear. While she labored and went through all the Seven Hells giving birth to their son, Aemond was at a whorehouse, doing Gods know what.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “I don’t want to know,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “I’d rather choose blissful ignorance than a painful truth. Especially when it comes to you.”

Aemond nodded slowly, regality exuding from him even in his slightest movements. “I have failed you,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. He did not apologize, and she knew that he never would. This was the most she would get from him, and for now, it had to be enough.

It didn’t mean that it shocked her any less.

Summoning her remaining strength, she stood and moved toward him. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the armrests of his chair, bringing herself closer to him. The curve of her breasts nearly brushed his chin, and she could feel his breath, warm and shallow, on her skin. His goblet of wine lay forgotten on a nearby desk, the contents slowly going tepid.

He looked up at her, surprise and something deeper flickering in his eye. His expression was a mixture of pain and longing, as if he too yearned for what she did. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he moved his hand and covered hers with his. His touch was tentative, as if he feared she might pull away. But she held firm, her fingers entwining with his. 

He was warm to the touch. She remembered that much from the first days of their marriage, but it felt better to be reminded of it this way. Almost as though he was tender towards her, like they never spent any time being purposefully apart from each other.

She felt like they were getting somewhere, a tentative bridge forming between their fractured hearts. Carried away by the newfound closeness, she hesitated only for a moment before reaching out, her hand trembling as it neared his face. Her fingers were delicate, soft against the rough texture of his skin as she traced the scar that marred his otherwise perfect visage.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing at the intimate touch. She moved slowly, her fingers gliding over the jagged lines. Her touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as if she could heal his old wounds with her tenderness.

Her eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of discomfort or rejection. Instead, she saw vulnerability, a crack in his formidable armor that allowed her a glimpse of the man beneath the warrior’s facade. His eye, the one not covered by the patch, was wide and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite name - something between longing and fear.

With a gentle caress, her finger traced the path of the scar down to his cheekbone, lingering there for a moment before moving toward the eyepatch. She felt his breath warm against her hand, the rise and fall of his chest quickening as her fingers danced over the leather. The eyepatch was cool and rough under her touch, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

She paused, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the tension coiling in him. Would he push her away? Would he retreat back into the cold distance that had defined their relationship for so long? But he remained still, his gaze fixed on hers, a silent permission in his eyes.

Encouraged by his silence, she allowed her fingers to explore the edges of the eyepatch, feeling the worn leather against her skin. Her thumb brushed over the strap that held it in place, her touch gentle and soothing. He shivered, a barely perceptible tremor that ran through him, and she felt a surge of something warm and hopeful rise within her.

His reaction was slow, almost imperceptible. He closed his eye briefly, as if savoring the sensation, then opened it to meet her gaze again. She could see the conflict within him, the struggle between the desire to protect himself and the yearning for this rare moment of intimacy.

She moved closer, her body almost pressing against his as she continued her exploration. The curve of her breasts brushed against his chin, and she felt the heat radiating from him, the tension in his muscles. Her fingers lingered on the eyepatch, tracing the lines where it met his skin, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat beneath her touch. His hand reached up, covering hers. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, suspended in a fragile, tender silence.

“Will you let me see?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

His hesitance and silence said more than his words ever could. 

The moment stretched, taut and fragile, until it seemed to snap under the weight of unspoken fears. She saw the flicker of rejection in his eye, a retreat behind the barriers he had so carefully constructed. Her face fell, the light of hope dimming as she realized she had pushed too far. But she understood; perhaps he needed more time. Withdrawing her hand, she felt the ghost of his touch linger on her skin, a burning reminder of the closeness they had almost shared.

He grasped her wrist gently, as if he wanted to ask her to stay, but the words remained unspoken. She did not want to stay unless he wholeheartedly asked her to. His grip was firm, yet she felt the reluctance in it, the silent struggle to decide whether to hold on and let go.

“I should go,” she said softly, gathering her skirts. “Your mother and sister await me at luncheon, and it would be unseemly to be late.”

He watched her walk away, her steps slow and measured, each one pulling her further from the fragile connection they had started to form. Left alone with his son, Aemond felt the weight of his failure press down on him, a cold, heavy burden that settled in his chest.

Aerys slept in the cot nearby, his tiny body trembling with each breath as if the sickness that plagued him might take him at any moment. Aemond moved his chair closer to the cot, peering down at the infant with a mixture of fear and determination. The soft tufts of silver hair marked him as undoubtedly his, a tiny mirror of his own lineage.

How many nights had she spent alone, watching over him like this? Scared that if she stepped away, Aerys may be gone?

In a quiet tone that would otherwise go unheard, he whispered to his son, his voice thick with emotion. “Ao kostagon’t tepagon bē va īlva, riñnykeā.” [You can’t give up on us, child.] After a moment of composure, he continued. “Ziry braved vīlībāzma naejot tepagon ao naejot issa. Gaomagon daor henujagon zȳhon.” [She braved battle to give you to me. Do not leave her.]

Aemond's voice trembled, the words almost breaking under the weight of his desperation. He held his son closer, cradling the tiny, fragile body against his chest. He thought of his wife's strength, the pain she had endured, and winced at the realization of how badly he had treated her. His neglect, his coldness - they had all but shattered her. 

He had done enough to her. The last thing he wanted was to see her lose Aerys too.

The dim light of the chamber cast soft shadows on Aemond's face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow etched deep with worry. His eye, normally a piercing blue, now seemed almost muted, dulled by the depth of his concern. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on his son’s chest, feeling the weak but steady rise and fall of his breaths. Aerys stirred slightly, his tiny fingers curling around a strand of Aemond’s hair. The grip was weak, but determined.

“You are the blood of the dragon,” he continued, his voice a fierce whisper. “You will grow strong.”

The Dragonpit was packed, the air heavy with the murmurs of the gathered smallfolk and the flickering light of countless torches. She stood beside Aemond, her posture as straight and regal as she could manage, her heart pounding in her chest. The spectacle of Aegon's coronation was unfolding before her eyes, a momentous event that would shape the future of the Targaryen family.

Hers.

The ceremony began with the Grand Maester stepping forward, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror held reverently in his hands. The weight of history seemed to press down on the room, making every breath feel heavy, every movement deliberate. Aegon - looking more like a squabbling, crying child than a King - ascended the steps to the dais, his face a mask of acceptance.

And when her husband nodded to his new King, she bowed deep.

She watched as Aegon’s expression shifted from indifference to a flicker of recognition of the power now bestowed upon him. The crowd erupted in cheers, their loyalty and fervor palpable, yet she felt a pang of unease amidst the celebration.

Beside her, Aemond stood tall and vigilant, his eye never leaving the proceedings. She glanced at him, seeking comfort in his composed demeanor, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of chaos. The noise of the crowd swelled, and she could feel the anticipation hanging thick in the air, a tangible force that seemed to wrap around them all. 

Aegon, now crowned, raised Blackfyre high above his head, the ancient sword gleaming in the firelight. The sight was awe-inspiring, a symbol of power and legitimacy. Yet, beneath the grandeur, she sensed the underlying tensions and overheard the words that Helaena kept mumbling. 

There is a beast beneath the boards.

Her feet shifted, and she heard the hollow sound that the ground made when her shoe met the surface. A hollow sound that comes when feet meets -

The boards.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble that grew into a deafening roar. Gasps of shock and fear rippled through the crowd, and she instinctively reached for Aemond’s hand. Before she could react further, the floor of the Dragonpit exploded upward, sending debris and chaos flying in all directions.

Rhaenys, astride her dragon Meleys, emerged from the smoke and dust, her presence formidable and terrifying. The dragon’s scales shimmered with an otherworldly glow, its eyes blazing with fury. The people scattered, screams of panic filling the air as the beast roared, the sound reverberating through the hall and shaking her to her core.

Her heart raced, terror gripping her as she stared at the massive dragon, its wings spreading wide, casting a shadow over the entire chamber. Aemond’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her behind him protectively. She could feel his body tense, ready to shield her from any danger. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, a faint surge of gratitude washed through.

You never had to ask.

Meleys roared again, the sound like thunder, and the heat of its breath washed over them. She could see the flames flickering in the dragon's throat, the promise of destruction just a heartbeat away. Rhaenys, regal and unyielding, locked eyes with Alicent, a silent challenge passing between them.

Aemond stepped forward, his presence a wall of defiance and strength. “Get behind me,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos. She obeyed without hesitation, her body pressed close to his, drawing comfort from his unwavering resolve.

The dragon’s eyes fixed on them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. She could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumbeat in her ears, and the cold sweat on her palms. Every muscle in her body was taut with fear, and she kept her eyes firmly set to the ground.

This is how I die. Do you call it a dragonrider’s death when you don’t ride a dragon?

My son. AerysAerysAerys-

Aemond.

Rhaenys stared at them all, the weight of her decision hanging in the air. Meleys shifted, the ground trembling beneath its weight, and for a moment, it seemed as though the dragon would unleash its fury. But then, as if making a choice that defied all expectations, Rhaenys turned Meleys away, the dragon's wings beating powerfully as they ascended through the shattered roof of the Dragonpit.

The relief was overwhelming, a rush of emotions that left her weak at the knees. She clung to Aemond, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she tried to process what had just happened. The hall was filled with the sounds of weeping and the murmurs of disbelief, the aftermath of the encounter leaving everyone shaken.

Aemond’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, his breath warm against her ear. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. She nodded, still trembling, her heart beginning to slow as the adrenaline ebbed away.

She did not notice how closely he held her when it came down to it - for the very first time. 

Aemond's fingers dug into Sylvi's hips as he thrust into her from behind, each movement fierce and relentless. Her back arched under the pressure of his hand, pushing her down onto the bed. The room was filled with the raw sounds of their coupling, echoing off the walls.

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with her moans. His grip tightened, nails biting into her flesh as he drove into her harder, seeking release in the violent act. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, an intoxicating mix that fueled his aggression. "Gods,” He growled, his voice a low, primal rumble. He watched as her body responded to each thrust, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the sheen of sweat on her skin glistening in the candlelight. She was a willing vessel for his frustrations, and he took her with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

Her moans turned into cries of pleasure, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her as she braced herself against his onslaught. He felt a dark satisfaction at the way he could bend her to his will, the power he wielded in these moments of raw, unbridled lust.

The climax came in a wave of intense pleasure, his body shuddering as he spilled into her. He collapsed over her, panting, his chest pressed against her back as he tried to catch his breath. The aftermath was a stark contrast to the ferocity of their coupling – a quiet, intimate moment where their bodies remained entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of their shared passion.

Her arms wrapped around Aemond's naked body, her touch tender and soothing after their rough encounter. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from the sheets.

Aemond's breathing gradually slowed, his chest rising and falling against hers as he allowed himself to relax in her embrace. His mind, however, was anything but at ease. He thought back to the scene that had haunted him since he left his chambers earlier: his wife, cradling their son, her eyes red from crying, her body and mind still fragile from the ordeal of facing a dragon at Aegon’s coronation.

"She was crying before I left to come here," he began, his voice a low murmur against her neck. "Holding our son, so shocked by near-death.. It didn’t seem as terrifying to me, but... she was so scared. She's worried, you know. About the impending war."

The Madame’s fingers traced gentle circles on his back, encouraging him to continue. "She doesn't have dragonrider's blood," he went on, almost to himself. "I didn’t know how to comfort her. I want to help, but I don’t know how."

Her hands moved up to his shoulders, her touch grounding him. Her presence was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. He lowered his head to her chest, his lips finding her breast. He suckled softly, kneading the soft flesh, seeking solace in the familiar act.

Holding their son brought comfort to his wife, and for him, coming here to the Madame, was his escape. The warmth and intimacy they shared, however fleeting, was his way of coping with the weight of his responsibilities and the emotional distance between him and his wife. As he continued to be held, he couldn’t help but wonder if he and his wife would ever find this kind of comfort in each other; if he’d ever find the courage or the trust to truly tell her what he needs without worrying about losing her respect.

If he'd walked in and held her while she cried instead of leaving her to it and coming here, could he have made her feel safer?

Too many questions, not enough courage for answers. Too much pride and so little sense between them both.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as Vhagar soared through the stormy skies back to King's Landing. The cold wind bit at his face, but it was nothing compared to the icy dread gripping his heart. 

He had killed Luke. His nephew, his blood. 

The act had been unintended, a consequence of their reckless chase, but it was done. There would be no undoing it. If there hadn't been a war before, there certainly was now. The weight of his actions settled heavily upon him, more suffocating than the fiercest storm. As the familiar silhouette of the Red Keep came into view, a storm of emotions churned within him. Guilt, fear, and a desperate need for comfort twisted together, making his insides writhe. 

He dismounted Vhagar with a heavy heart, his drenched form slipping through the darkened halls of the castle like a shadow. His mind raced, an entire host of thoughts battering against the walls of his consciousness. He needed solace, a place to hide from the storm he had created. The whorehouse crossed his mind briefly, a familiar escape, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough this time. He needed... he needed...

Before he knew it, his feet had taken him to her apartments.

Her. His wife.

He stood before the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. His wife was readying for bed, her state of undress evident. She wore a robe over her shift, her hair loose around her shoulders. The soft light from the hearth bathed her in a gentle glow, as he took her in. She turned to him in shock, her eyes widening at the sight of him. It was clear how rare this occurrence was, how unexpected his presence was in her chambers. But she was quick to pull him in, taking in his drenched form with a worried expression.

"Husband, what has happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

He did not answer, his eyes trained on her as she moved. Her exposed skin drew his attention, and he found himself wondering. 

Was she softer? Kinder? Would she hold him in her soft arms if he so wished? Did he deserve it from her? Would she shame him?

She kept asking, but he remained silent, his mind too chaotic to form coherent words. She moved to find him something to dry off with, but he reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist in a death grip.

"Don't go," he whispered, his voice raw and choked, barely more than a breath.

She looked up at him, her confusion gradually giving way to a quiet curiosity. He gently guided her arms around his cold and damp waist, his touch unexpectedly tender. This was not a whore; this was his wife. She deserved to be treated differently. 

At first, she froze, her body tense and uncertain, but slowly, she let herself relax – at least as much as she could manage with a husband who had sought her out for the first time in a year.

He felt her hesitation and understood the significance of her yielding. The weight of his guilt pressed harder against his heart, but he clung to this moment of closeness, desperate for the comfort he so craved.

"What has happened, husband? Why are you here?" she asked softly, parts of her words muffled into his chest.

He remained silent, waiting to see what she would do. Her repeated questions slowly stopped, a resigned understanding settling in her gaze. In the silence, he became acutely aware of her form – soft, untouched by anyone but him, made for him. The thin layers of her robe and shift did little to keep his hands from exploring her.

His fingers trembled as they traced the curve of her spine, brushing against the delicate fabric of her robe. Every slight movement, every breath, every shiver she made became magnified in his mind. Her body responded to his touch with a delicate gasp, and he felt a surge of something he couldn't quite name – a need, a longing, a desperate desire for solace in her embrace.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, every intake of breath, every flinch and gasp. He noticed a stray hair that had fallen across her face, the way the delicate hairs on her skin raised at his touch, the way her eyes widened and then softened. Each detail etched itself into his mind, a stark contrast to the murder that had driven him here.

She tightened her arms around him, her touch gentle yet firm. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent – lilacs and something uniquely her that anchored him to this moment, to her. It was a comfort stronger than any he had ever received, yet calm and grounding at the same time.

His hands roamed her back, feeling the delicate curve of her waist, the slight tremor in her muscles as she responded to his touch. He pressed his lips to her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Her breath hitched, and he felt the vibration of her voice as she whispered his name, a question and a plea all at once.

"Aemond," she murmured, her voice breaking the silence. His body reacts in shivers and heat at the sound of his name upon her lips. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Had she ever said his name out loud before? He did not know. But he wanted to hear it again and again until the world as he knew it ended. Perhaps it was the guilt - over Luke, or over his neglect of his wife - he did not know. But it was all bubbling at the surface now, and he was much more open and vulnerable than he’d ever been.

He bent his head down, his eye locking onto hers. The intensity of his gaze seemed to drown out the room, focusing solely on her. He could see the concern, the worry etched in her features, and it tore at him. He couldn't tell her, not yet. Not about the blood on his hands, the life he had taken, not why he was here and what he’d wanted.

But he could let her consume him, to forget. He could lose himself in her.

He felt the warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves against him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to forget the horrors of the night. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, memorizing every curve, every angle. Her skin was smooth and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, damp leathers clinging to him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. Her eyes searched his, looking for answers he couldn't give. Despite her confusion, the turmoil in his mind quieted, replaced by the steady, reassuring rhythm of her heartbeat. She was his anchor, his solace, and he clung to her like a lifeline in the storm.

Wordlessly, he moved back enough to get a good look at her, his eyes tracing her form with a reverence that made her pulse quicken. He then slowly untied the front of her robe, the silk falling away with a whisper. His hands fell to her shoulders, pausing there for a moment as he sighed. As he pushed the sleeves down, his hands traced the newly revealed skin - his fingers glided from her collarbone to her shoulders, down her arms, and finally to her fingers, which he intertwined with his own. The robe slipped to the floor, leaving her in a thin shift that clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

His eyes remained locked on hers, the intensity of his gaze a silent plea for forgiveness, a desperate need to be anchored by her presence. He took her trembling hands and placed them on his damp leathers, his touch firm but gentle, giving her silent permission—no, a quiet command—to undress him. His breath hitched slightly as he waited for her to take the lead.

She moved slowly, her fingers deftly working the buckles and straps, peeling away the layers of his clothing until he stood before her in only his trousers. Her hands hover over his chest, her touch hesitant, almost afraid, as if she's not sure she's allowed to touch him. His skin was warm under her fingertips, his heart pounding just beneath the surface.

His hands covered hers, guiding them lower, to the waistband of his trousers. His touch was both a plea and a command, silently asking, demanding, begging her to take this final barrier away. She did, her movements slow and deliberate, until he stood bare before her, exposed in every sense of the word.

She did not dare try to take off his eyepatch, not this time.

He watched her intently, noting every flinch, every gasp, every shiver that runs through her. His fingers traced delicate patterns on her skin, exploring every inch with a tenderness that speaks of his desperation for her. He needed this moment, her touch, to forget what he'd done to Luke, to drown the guilt that threatened to consume him. Every breath he took was a reminder of his failures, every brush of her skin against his a lifeline that pulled him back from the edge from the proverbial edge.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder - not her lips, he had not kissed her on the lips since their wedding ceremony. His hands roamed her body, mapped out the places that made her gasp, the spots that made her arch into him. He was attuned to her every reaction, his focus entirely on her.

All he asked for in return - with no words - is that she make him feel safe for this one night.

With his body bare and hers still clad in her shift, he silently gestured to her bed with a tilt of his head. She moved toward it, her movements graceful yet hesitant, and then crawled to the back, letting her spine rest against the headboard. He stood there for a moment, watching her, his breath uneven and his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

He did not miss the way she looked at him. Desire flickered in her eyes, growing with each second her gaze roved over his body. Her eyes widened when they settled on his manhood, and he could see the anticipation building within her. She expected him to take her tonight, he knew. He hadn't given any indication otherwise in the last few moments, and she had no clue what he actually wanted; or why.

Would she welcome him to her bed if she knew he was a kinslayer?

The thought gnawed at him, but he chose not to tell her. She might not offer her true acceptance, but he would take her false comfort tonight – even if she thought it true.

He moved to the side of the bed with all his characteristic grace. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. When he lifted his knee to place it on the plush mattress, she shifted to make space for him. He laid down beside her, his movements deliberate and slow, as if fearing she might vanish if he was too hasty. She mirrored his actions, and soon they were facing each other, their warm breaths mingling in the stillness of the room.

Their eyes locked, and he saw her questioning gaze. Her next words, soft and tentative, knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"Are you alright?"

For a moment, he couldn't answer, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the worry etched in the lines of her face, the softness of her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly as she waited for his response.

"I will be," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

Tentatively, he placed his hand on her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shift. He slid the material up, his fingers tracing the smooth expanse of her leg. 

"Gevie.” [Beautiful.]

His fingers continued their journey, moving to her inner thigh. Her legs shivered at his touch, and he smirked for a moment before he withdrew his hand and moved closer. Their bodies were now a hairsbreadth apart, the heat between them palpable. 

His hands moved to her breasts, feeling their fullness beneath her shift. He was acutely aware of every breath she took, every flinch and gasp that escaped her lips. Each reaction to his touch drew him further into the present moment, away from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. Her body was a haven, a sanctuary where he could lose himself, if only for a while.

Encouraged by her soft gasps, he continued to knead the mounds of flesh and pinch her pert nipples, his touch gentle yet insistent through the shift. Lowering his head, he nestled himself at her bosom, inhaling deeply. The scent of lilacs and milk overtook him, and he let out a contented sigh.

"You are a mother... the mother of my heir," he murmured into her chest, his voice a mix of reverence and disbelief.

She said nothing, but when her initial shock faded, she began to comb her fingers through his soft hair, humming the same song she sang to their son to sleep. The melody was soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. He didn't know if her singing was to calm him or herself, but he found solace in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took.

He took in the way her body trembled slightly beneath him, the softness of her skin, the rhythmic beating of her heart against his cheek. This was not the harsh, immediate and uncertain release he sought at the whorehouse. 

This was more, more, more.

Sleep came to him easily in her arms, draped in her comfort; devoid of any nightmares, dreams, or heavy thoughts. 

If she wondered why he'd simply laid with her rather than fuck her, she did not ask.

Would she welcome him again when she finds out what he did?

The council branded him a kinslayer when he told them what he'd done. He embraced it, staring into their eyes, defiant and unyielding. He told them he did it on purpose, each word a dagger thrown with precision. Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

Aegon patted his back, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "A job well done, drawing first blood in the King's name," he said, his voice a blend of admiration and malice. His grandfather's face remained a mask, revealing nothing. Criston was disappointed, his disapproval a heavy weight in the room. And his mother... 

His mother was disgusted, her eyes filled with a sorrow he had never seen before. When he stepped out and walked through the corridors, the word had spread like wildfire. 

Kinslayer. 

The whispers followed him like a relentless shadow. Servants and maids stepped out of his way, their gazes avoiding his. The tension was palpable, a living thing that tightened the air around him. He wanted to escape them all, to flee to the skies where their judgment could not reach him. But before then, he wanted to see them.

He stood near the doorway as she had a few days prior, watching her rock their fitful, sick son to sleep. Her movements were gentle, contrasting all the shock, anger and brashness he’d seen since he stepped out of her room before she awoke. He wanted her to look at him, to see beyond the blood and the sin. He was asking too much of her, he knew that. They were strangers bound by duty, their recent shared moments brief and fraught with his own selfish needs for comfort.

His heart pounded as she finally met his gaze. He was not prepared for the slight fear in her eyes. It cut through him deeper than any sword ever could. She looked at him as if he were a creature she could not recognize. 

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed in his mind, a relentless chant that drowned out everything else. He took a step forward, his hands trembling. "I—" he began, but the words died in his throat. What could he say? How could he explain the unexplainable, justify the unforgivable? She held their son closer, her grip tightening protectively. The room was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what he had done and what it meant for them. His mind raced, filled with a cacophony of anger, regret, and despair.

The need to escape surged within him again. He wanted to flee to the skies, to find solace in the cold, indifferent clouds. But he couldn't move, couldn't tear his gaze away from the image of her fear-stricken eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

With a heavy heart and a mind in turmoil, he turned and walked back into the shadowed corridors, each step echoing the relentless chant of his new title.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed through the empty halls, a reminder of the path he had chosen and the price he would pay.

If he’d told her last night as he laid in her arms, would she have understood?

He’d never know.

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[lebguardians]

Everything pt4 (FINALE)

PJO Show Ares x Child!Reader (no gender specified)

Word count: 6772

Summary: It’s been years since you’ve spoken with your father, but with Kronos’ armies marching and the final battle approaching, you have one question on your mind. If you survived this, would it be too late to mend what was broken? Unbeknownst to you, Ares is wondering the same thing. Warnings: Spoilers for The Last Olympian (not too big though), giving Hestia a power idk if she has for the plot, angst, OOC Ares but y’all know this already

You know what sucks more than daddy issues?

The world ending. 

Both are seriously draining but the world ending? It was a real bummer. Not only was it a bummer, but it was incredibly confusing. You expected to be actively in battle right now, not being made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich by Luke's mom. 

As shady as it sounded, you couldn't understand for the life of you how Hermes had fallen in love with her. She looked as if she had been electrocuted multiple times and the smile she wore reminded you of something you'd see in a horror movie. Looks aside, sandwiches and cookies were rotting in her house and it smelled like something had died. You couldn't see Hermes being here. 

“Ms. Castellan” you began as nicely as possible. “I'm not Luke. My friends aren't either. This is Percy, Nico and I'm Y/N. We're…” the people that want Luke dead. No. You couldn't say that. “We're friends of Luke. That's all”. She seemed to understand what you said, even if her eyes told a different story. 

“Friends… Friends? Friends with my precious boy…” you almost scoffed. “I'm so glad he has friends. I've always wanted to meet his friends”. She spoke like she was in a dream state and her eyes stayed on you, not blinking once. “You've come for a sleepover? I'd have to talk to your parents first. I need to know if you have allergies! Then your parents and I can also be friends and spend time together! I'm sure I'd like them”. 

You forced yourself to keep smiling at her, even if she unknowingly brought up something you were trying desperately not to think about. In 2007 you and your father Ares came to an agreement that it'd be best if you never saw each other again. The year was 2009 and you were still keeping up your side of the deal. You didn't burn offerings for him, you didn't go see him for that field trip, you haven't even uttered his name since then. When you heard about the gods fighting Typhon, you tried not to think about him getting hurt. 

You were the one that proposed the deal, yet you immediately regretted it. A part of you thought “good job! You're keeping your peace! Your relationship would've never gotten better anyway!”. The largest part of you kept thinking “but what if you were wrong? What if he changed?”. 

You shook your head. Curse your stupid loyalty. You could've turned Nico and Percy down, but Percy pleaded with you to come with him. The last time you become someone's adoptive older sibling… 

“Nah, you wouldn't like my dad Ms. Castellan. He's a real hardhead”. She chuckled, which looked insanely creepy because she still hadn't blinked. 

“Men tend to be. I'm sure he's still very lovely”. Yeah, if you enjoyed headaches. 

Nico took over the conversation and thankfully your familial issues were no longer a topic. Thankfully should be in quotations though, because the conversation quickly turned depressing. May Castellan spoke like she was floating and talked about her son and Hermes as if the last couple of years hadn't happened at all. In your heart, you knew that she either didn't know, or she forgot. You didn't know what happened to her and why she looked like she took a tumble in Wonderland and never escaped, but whatever happened caused her to never see reality the same. You pitied her. Poor woman. Forever making sandwiches for a boy that had grown into a man. An angel that snipped his own wings. 

Suddenly she stopped and screamed. You all jumped up and you pushed the two boys behind you. You doubted May Castellan would try to fight any of you, but you wouldn't take that chance. 

A glowing green filled her vision and she rasped “My child! Must protect him! Hermes! Help! Not my child! Not his fate! No!”. She grabbed at your shoulders and continued screaming about fates and you pushed her off. 

“Guys! Let's get out of here!” You yelled to the boys behind you. 

You were prepared to run out of there, but May collapsed and Percy ran to catch her before she could hit the floor. 

As quickly as she was screaming about fate and her eyes were glowing, it all stopped. She went back to her version of normal. 

“Normal” was a word that really sucked as a demigod because your version of normal would never be what you wanted. What you wished was normal for you was going to school, complaining about teachers, listening to music and playing video games. Your normal was fighting monsters, training, keeping the world from ending and nightmares. When other people's lives diverged from the norm, it was probably something small, like dyeing their hair a neon color. Your version of “well this doesn't always happen” was sitting across from Hestia and listening to her do that thing gods do, where they give you advice in riddles. 

The conversation was mainly on Percy, until it wasn’t anymore. Hestia looked over at you and you couldn’t help but feel small under her gaze (which was comical considering she looked like an 8 year old girl), like she was peering deep into your soul in search of something. 

In any other circumstance, you would’ve stayed silent. You didn’t have time for more mysteries right now, so you cleared your throat and said “my lady, is there something you want to say?”. 

“I just wonder…”

”Wonder? About what? Please, I wanna hear it” 

“I wonder whose side you’re on”. 

What?

Your brows furrowed. “The gods obviously”.

”Is it obvious though?”. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Making an enemy out of Hestia wasn’t on your to do list.

”My lady, may I speak bluntly?”. She nodded. You really wished she didn’t choose the form of a child so you wouldn’t feel so silly. “The world is ending and there’s still so much I haven’t done. I’m stressed out, wondering if I’ll survive the battle-” if your father would care if you didn’t, “-if our efforts will be enough, how many mortals will die, if the gods survive their battle with Typhon. Please don’t add ‘not understanding a riddle’ to my stress. Whatever you’re thinking, just say it”. You could feel Nico shooting you a ‘are you crazy?’ look. How else were you supposed to say it? You thought you were being extremely kind and respectful. The alternative was “English please”.

Hestia looked you over as she thought. “I’ve heard about your conversations with your father”. Yeah sure, let’s bring that up again. Perfect!

You shifted uneasily, not wanting to talk about this anymore. Hestia either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I wonder why you didn’t side with Kronos”.

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes this time. Did she truly think so little of you? “Why would I side with him?”.

”Many of the demigods on his side feel neglected. No doubt you do as well. I wonder what’s the difference between you and them” 

“Brains” you answered. “We all have parental issues. You don’t side with a guy like Kronos”

”You think little of those demigods? Think yourself above them?” 

“You know what I did when I was angry with Ares?” His name felt strange on your tongue. It’d been so long since you said his name. “I gave myself terrible bangs and wore all black. I stared outside car windows, listened to sad music and imagined myself in a music video. I wrote in a diary that said ‘do not touch or I’ll kill you!’, all in uppercase letters. I didn’t side with a crazy Titan that wants to destroy the world as we know it. Seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?”. She nodded.

“My lady I mean this with respect and love in my heart; what is the point of this conversation?”.

She poked at the fire a bit before answering. “This battle will be a hard one. Perhaps I am buying time and trying to memorize your face in case something goes wrong”. Gee, thanks for all the hope lady.

”If something goes wrong for me, I at least hope everyone else gets a happy ending”

”Your death does not frighten you?” She asked with a raised brow.

”Of course it does” you answered truthfully. “But I can’t let fear stop me from doing what I know is right. You’re the goddess of the home, so you should understand when I say I fight for my home. I don’t think home is just a place though. Home can be people. Percy, Annabeth, 

Grover, Nico…” you swallowed, “… my dad. They’re my home. I won’t let my home be hurt without a fight. I’m willing to fight, kill, and die for my home. That’s how much home means to me”.

She smiled. “Spoken like a true child of Ares”. You wish she’d just tell you why she was hassling you in simple words. “But homes can be hectic-“

”My relationship with Ares is hectic but it doesn’t matter”

”You have hope”

”Sounds more like a statement than a question” you mumbled.

You looked at the fire, not wanting to look at (what appeared to be) the child on your ass.

When looking at the flames, for whatever reason you thought of home.

Images flashed in your mind. Images of camp, of laughing campers, of you and Percy giving Sally multiple heart attacks.

Of you and Annabeth debating, you and Grover planting flowers, you and Clarisse training together.

Images of your life flashed quickly, yet it all made sense. You could see everything as if you were there again.

Then the images slowed.

You felt Ares arms as he caught you when you fell from multiple floors up in the mall.

You could smell burgers and fries in the diner and saw him sitting across from you.

You could hear the two of you arguing and your ears started to burn with rage when you suddenly felt his warm embrace. You leaned into him and sighed, feeling his beard against the top of your head. You probably looked ridiculous to everyone else in the diner, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt his warmth and you knew you never would again. 

“I love you dad” you said.

You couldn’t believe what you heard next. He said “I love you too” and he genuinely sounded like he meant it. At the time, you thought there was no possible way he could’ve been being genuine.

“He’s gotten good at lying” you thought. “That’s all. He doesn’t care. You’re making things up”.

But what if you were wrong? What if there was a chance?

”I have to have hope” you said out loud. You were too busy looking at memories in the fire and missed Hestia’s satisfied smile. 

Hope.

Home.

If you were still alive by the end of the war, you knew you’d have to break your end of the agreement.

You knew you had to go home.

***

Everyone knew war was coming.

The hope for everyone else was that Kronos would never get strong enough to challenge the gods. Hope wasn’t something you could depend on though. You had to actually work, and apparently the gods hadn't done enough. 

All the gods, besides one, was nervous. Of course Ares was more excited than nervous, like a child in a candy store. If he had the power to control time, he’d speed this whole thing up so he could be in battle already. The anticipation was killing him.

It was so grim and depressing in Olympus. Everyone was on edge and acting as if this would be their last time seeing each other. Complete and utter bullshit. They were the 12 Olympians for fucks sake! Anyone else there was there for a reason. They’d beat Kronos and his army, then drink to their victory and hug their children.

Hug their children? 

“Stop”, he thought. “Not that shit again”.

He didn’t wanna think about children.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance and made his way to a nearby fireplace.

”Ares” Hestia greeted without having to look at him.

“Hestia” he greeted back and sat down next to her on the ground. “Poking at the fire again?”

“What else is there to do?”

“You could be preparing for the battle”. She made a noise of disapproval, 

“You know I'm not one for fighting. I am where home is”. He couldn't say he understood it, but whatever kept her happy. Ares wasn't fond of all the gods, but he liked Hestia. She stayed to herself and overall was friendly with everyone. She didn't blab her mouth or make jokes about him and Aphrodite being caught by Hephaestus. She was a breath of fresh air honestly. 

Hestia looked over at him and cocked her head to the side. “No” he said before she could get anything out, “don't start asking me questions about feelings and try to dissect me”. Hestia was nice and all, but she always noticed when someone was off, and even if they weren't she'd find a way to make a conversation more deep than it needed to be. 

“Ares, the battle ahead will be a difficult one. There's a possibility that you could be destroyed or that your children-”

“Don't”. His voice came out harsh and he shot her a warning look. Unfortunately for him, Hestia was never intimidated by that. 

“They can die. Do you think they're keeping their feelings bottled? I doubt it. I hear them whisper their fears around the campfire at camp. They're terrified Ares.”

“How many are terrified?”

“All of them”. 

He wished he didn't ask. He should've stayed curious. 

Hestia was right. Any of his children could die. Maybe all of them. They all probably whispered to each other in their cabin, trying to comfort each other, and what was he doing? Sitting in Olympus. 

He hated that he cared. Ever since his last talk with a particular child, he had been trying to build those walls back up and go back to being his “normal” self. Unfortunately, those cracks seemed to remain and refused to go away. He tried to seal them, but even something as small as a talk with Hestia revealed those cracks again. “They'll be ok” he said although he knew the truth. The truth was that he had no idea what would happen. 

“I could deliver a message to them if you'd like”

“There's nothing I can think to say to them”

“Then perhaps you could say something to me. Whatever is on your mind, you can speak and I will listen”. 

Ares didn't wanna look at her so instead he looked at the fire in an attempt to ignore her. That proved to be an error when his nose filled with the familiar smell of rain and his ears filled his child's voice. 

“To me… to me you were everything. You are everything. “. Your tears mixed in with the rain and you wore a deep frown full of a child's repeated crushed dreams. His heart squeezed tightly for the first time in a while and he hated it. That's when it all started. 

Other memories flashed. Memories of him and the other Olympians fighting wars, sometimes with each other. 

He saw a time before strict rules and before he vowed to keep himself distant from his children. A time when he mourned them fully and intensely when their final breath passed their lips and their bodies became limp. 

He saw the time now and while it was full of distance and misery, he saw his other children. He saw them visiting him and talking about things he didn't care about but listened to anyway. Saw their sad faces and hung heads when they had to leave. 

It all went back to you though. 

“You want more from the child of Ares?!” You had puffed your chest when you said his name and held your sword tighter. “I have plenty to give!”. 

He heard your back and forth snarky comments to each other before the smell of food filled his nose and the conversation went from humorous to angry then sad. 

“I don't matter to you. Just admit it so we can move on”. You were so wrong but you said the words with such conviction. You genuinely thought you were right. Was that truly how neglectful he had become? All his children had become strangers and he couldn't blame anyone but himself. 

“Seeing you at all, it gives me hope” Was hope so bad to have though?

“You want this?”

“No” you said immediately. He remembers how he was surprised you had been that honest with him. He thought you'd make up a lie and pretend to be extremely confident, but your voice cracked and this time there was no rain to hide your tears. If earlier you wore a frown of repeated crushed dreams, that day your eyes filled with a child's final dream crushed. 

But then he felt the both of you hug and he couldn't help but think to himself “Does the dream have to be crushed? Does hope have to be lost?”. 

The fire continued to show him more memories of his children before it went back to you purposefully ignoring him. He had to admit that seeing you spend time with Hermes instead of him made his brows lower in frustration. But he agreed to a deal. 

“Ares?” Hestia questioned. Ares kept staring at the fire and hoped the images would return, but they slowly faded away. She said his name again. She had saw what he saw and felt the way his heart cried. It was a feeling she never wanted to experience again. 

He agreed to that deal… but what would happen to him if he broke it? Nothing that hasn't happened before. How could he see all of that and still want to keep his side of the deal?

“I think…” he whispered “I think I miss my children…”. 

His children. His family. His home. He had to believe that hope was possible. 

Hope.

Home.

He'd fight with his all while keeping everyone in the back of his mind. He knew he'd have to break his end of the deal. 

He knew he had to go home.

***

If someone were to ask how you felt in this exact moment, it'd be irritation. Because of some stupid disagreement between the Ares kids and the Apollo kids, Clarisse ordered that none of Ares' children were to attend the battle. When you reminded Clarisse that this battle was bigger than some stupid argument over a chariot and that campers have already died and more will, she simply puffed her chest and went on about how she's tired of Ares getting disrespected. Sure, ok. Maybe you got a point Clarisse. Couldn't this wait until after though?

You shared some harsh words, half of them being curse words, and joined the battle with everyone else. 

Manhattan as a whole was trapped in a deep sleep, yet somehow they seemed like the lucky ones. Sure, maybe a monster would step on them but at least they'd die in their sleep. If you died you'd be fully conscious and you knew it'd hurt. 

Only a fool feels no fear. A bigger fool lets fear paralyze them. You did your best to let your fear move you through your enemies and you cut and hacked at them, leaving a trail of dust in your wake. You tried at first to ignore how many old campers you were killing, but it was hard to when your sword was soaked and you stared in the eyes of people you used to call friends before you took their life. It didn't feel good but it was either you or them. None of them held their punches and those same kids came in camp and killed campers, so you wouldn't hold your punches either. 

A squeal filled your ears and you winced as you looked up. The fighting stopped and you understood why when you saw a huge flying pig heading straight towards everyone. You scoffed and wanted to make some sort of joke, but figured now wasn't the time. 

“As far as I know, no hero has ever beaten it” you heard Annabeth say when you got closer to her and Percy. Your heart beat in a skittish panic but you forced yourself to hold your sword firmly and say the words “we will” as serious and brave as you could muster. 

Percy had some idea and while you were told to keep the enemies back, your eyes landed on a white Pegasus and you knew you couldn't. 

“Hey Annabeth” you grabbed her arm, making sure not to grab too tight because of her previous wound. 

“Yeah?” she asked. Annabeth looked terrible. She was covered in dirt, dust, blood, and her hair was so out of place that you thought May Castellan would take kindly to her. You didn't know how you looked but you knew that all of you would need showers if you survived. 

“I love you too”

No. When you survived. 

“I'm gonna try and help Percy. Stay here. I'll come back. I promise”. Before she could ask you what you meant or remind you that you couldn't promise such a thing, you ran off to the Pegasus. 

“Hey buddy” you waved and forced a smile. You knew Percy could understand them and vice versa, but you couldn't understand them and you didn't know if that could understand you. “Me” you pointed at yourself, “friendly” you raised a thumbs up. You pet its head and it didn't bite you, so you assumed it understood. 

“Me” you pointed at yourself. “You” you pointed at the Pegasus. “Follow Percy and pig” you pointed at Percy and the pig, who were quickly vanishing from view. It nodded its head and after a sigh of relief, you got on its back. 

If it wasn't for the war and death, you'd say you were really enjoying this. How many people could say they had done something like this? Not many, that's for sure. 

“Hey Sharkboy!” You yelled when you were within shouting distance. Percy thankfully was no longer hanging by a rope, but was on Blackjack. You didn't know if Blackjack recognized you as the one always giving him donuts, but he made a pleased sound when he saw you. “Uh, is this a part of your plan?” You motioned to the statue that took his place attached to the rope. “It's a pretty shit one”. 

The boy rolled his eyes and huffed at you. Whether it was because of the nickname or insulting his plan, you didn't know. It made you smile either way. “I gotta get close to it! I can activate the statue to fight the pig!”. 

Flying pigs, fighting statues, just another day as a demigod. You rubbed in between your brows to stop the migraine that was forming. How hadn't you gone insane yet?

“It sounds crazy but-” Percy kept talking but you stopped listening. You looked behind you at the battle and like a fool, you froze. 

Manhattan was a war zone. This you knew. Seeing it up high like you were a god though made it all seem so much worse. You could see family being forced to fight each other. You could hear screams and pleads and crying. You could see kids trying to dodge being stepped on. You saw so many people not being allowed to mourn. You saw death. You saw it everywhere. 

Then your shock and fear turned to anger. These were your friends and family killing each other! Sure, they were still responsible for their actions, but there wouldn't be any actions for them to take if Kronos hadn't got in the way. He used these people and he didn't care how many died. He just wanted his throne. Annabeth could die. Grover could die. Percy could die. 

Your father could be destroyed. 

You didn't know how you looked, but you must've looked terrifying because Percy “talks back to everyone” Jackson looked at you the way you expected him to look at the gods; with edge. 

“Hey-”

You pet the animal under you neck and pointed at the pig “closer!” You ordered. It obeyed. It beat its wings harder and you passed Blackjack and Percy with ease. The closer you got, the more you could smell its stench. Under normal circumstances you'd pinch your nose and walk the opposite way, but this time you kept going straight towards it. 

The animal under you whined and you assumed that meant it was having a hard time keeping up. Your eyes fell to the rope and you knew what you had to do. 

Your sword morphed back into a necklace when you brought it close to you and after so much practice, clasping it wasn't a problem for you anymore. 

“Good boy or girl. I'll get you some snacks when this is all over. You like donuts?” it made a pleased sound and you pet its neck. 

You moved so that instead of straddling the animal, your legs were hanging over one side. 

“Don't let me die” you whispered to no one in particular then you pushed yourself off. 

A mixture of luck and skill prevented you from becoming a mark on the concrete. 

The rope burned your bare hands but you held on anyway. You managed to grab on above the statue and started climbing upwards, using the beating in your chest to motivate you not to fall and die. The white Pegasus stayed beside you as you forced yourself up the rope and you gripped the pig's fur to pull yourself all the way up. Now, pigs don't have tons of fur, but a giant pig had plenty enough to grab onto. 

The wind blew through your hair so harshly that you were surprised it didn't snatch it all off. The pig was flying at an intense speed with its only goal being to destroy everything you loved. 

You pulled your necklace off and it turned back into the double edged sword your father gifted you so many years ago. 

It was only now that you realized something. 

When you killed this thing, it'd disintegrate. You wouldn't. In the mall you were high up but you were only up a couple floors. Now you were definitely above the mall and many other buildings. The white Pegasus was no longer keeping up with you and when you looked behind you, Percy and Blackjack were still a while away. 

Percy connected the dots a lot faster than you did and you saw his lips move and Blackjack's wings flap faster. 

What do you say when you know you're gonna die? Damn. You didn't have time to prepare and you didn't have time for a speech. 

You felt like you were looking back at the flames. At home. At hope. You were supposed to return home after the battle and things would be okay again. But in the same breath, this is why you were fighting. You were fighting for your home and so the people you love could live as peacefully as they could. 

The sword felt heavier in your hand. You smiled to yourself. You still had a piece of home with you and you'd use it to better the lives of the other people you call home. 

You screamed as loud as you could in hopes Percy would hear you. “IF EVERYTHING GOES OKAY, TELL MY DAD THAT…” tell him what? You had so much to say. What could wrap everything you wanted to say together?

“... TELL HIM I MISS HIM! AND THAT I LOVE HIM!”. 

Blackjack's wings beat harder, yet he was still far. Percy wore a look of determination and you laughed. You couldn't believe he was still the young scared boy that arrived at camp when he was 12. 

“I LOVE YOU GUYS TOO!”. You smiled at him to leave him with something nice to remember. “THIS WAS FUN!”. 

You turned away from him and with as much strength as you could muster you plunged the sword through the pig’s skin. 

You felt its body crumble away and then you felt yourself slipping through the air. 

***

As one could assume, war was Ares' element and where he felt the most comfortable. There wasn't much to say about the battle. Sure, it was a battle for humanity but honestly? Ares wasn't that worried. Call it an inflated sense of self. Was it really that though when you could back up how high you thought of yourself?

As corny as it sounded, the war in his mind was much more intense. As he fought, his mind kept slipping back to what he saw in the flames. His family. His children. His home. His hope. The reason he fought. Sure he liked a good fight but he fought this giant monster with the other Olympians for his family. 

Ares is a proud man, so naturally he had faith that his children would survive the battle, but an ego could only get you so far. He knew the truth. He knew that any of his children could be crushed at any second, or squeezed to death, or stabbed, or eaten, or whatever Kronos and his army had planned. He knew that he could return to whatever was left of Olympus and he could mourn children that he had forced to become strangers. He wanted to be better. He had to be. He just needed time and that meant he needed his children alive. Especially the one that started this. 

Besides the diner, Ares had only held you once. He didn't think he'd remember it well yet somehow he could smell the cookies your mother had baked and he could remember exactly how the furniture was. He could see blinds covering the windows and the white walls lined with family photos and art pieces. He could see the black couch that sat across from the TV which sat on a table. 

And he could feel your mother place you in his arms. 

“This is your child” she had said. He looked over at her and she smiled down at you with a sense of joy and pride, which was much different to how he saw her look at you recently, with hate and contempt. 

You were so small then. Only months old, still exploring the world and having no idea how life would beat you down. You cooed as you looked up at him and shifted in his arms. He wondered if somehow you knew he was your father and that he was no threat to you. 

So small. So curious. So innocent. Now you were a warrior seasoned by the battles you had been fighting since you were a small child. 

He kept thinking about what would happen next the entire time. He knew he'd have to break his end of the agreement, but it was up to you and any of his other children to accept him turning a new page. It absolutely did NOT frighten him more than the Titan he was battling. Absolutely not. 

As Ares suspected, the Olympians and their children won the war. Kronos was gone and his armies were slaughtered. That was the best part. He didn't get the chance to have a good look at the battle, but seeing the damage the demigods caused made him proud. He hadn't seen you though, which was something he noted. 

The worst part was looking at Percy Jackson's face. Sure, he started the fight but that didn't matter! When Ares said “enemy for life” he meant it! The fact that he had to listen to Percy be praised and he couldn't beat on him right then and there made him tap his finger against the arm of his chair in discontent. 

“Lord Ares” Percy said and he could tell he hated saying the “Lord” part. It made him grin. 

“Boy?”

Percy's fist balled and Ares continued smirking. 

“I have a message from your child”. 

His smirk fell when he heard your name. A message? Did that mean… 

“They said that they missed you and loved you. They were… They…” he paused and Ares leaned forward. “They were in trouble and out of everything they could've said, they said that. They’re-” 

Ares didn't let him finish. He jumped out his chair and his feet thundered against the ground as he sped walked to the elevator. 

This couldn't be. That boy was wrong. His child was fine! He wanted to be better for them and now…?

No. No no no no! This couldn't be! He pressed the floor button repeatedly hoping that the elevator would move faster, even if he knew that's not how elevators worked. 

He lied to you once and said that gods didn't feel fear. How wrong he was. His whole body felt warm and if he wasn't pressing the button then he was tapping his fingers against his legs and if he wasn't doing that then he was pacing and if he wasn't doing that then he was imagining your limp body covered in blood. Was it at least quick?

“I love you dad”

No… 

Not his baby… 

After what felt like hours the elevator dinged and the doors opened. 

He stepped into the hall of the building. 

***

Turns out you should give Blackjack a lot more credit. 

You closed your eyes and hoped that the fall wouldn't hurt as much as you suspected it would and then suddenly your crotch hit something hard. 

“Fuck!” You exclaimed. Your eyes flew open and that's when you realized Blackjack actually managed to catch you. Percy let out a breath you suspected he was holding the whole time. 

“You don't ever do that again!” he scolded. Ironic coming from the guy who always did stupid things. 

“I hope I won't have to”. He rolled his eyes and looked back ahead of him. 

“I just knew you were gonna do something stupid. I just couldn't tell what it was at first. And don't you ever look at me like that again”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to kill something”. Once again, ironic. Percy had that same look on his face more times than you could count, but instead of arguing you kept a hand on his shoulder and said “sure Sharkboy”. 

You tried to tune out the rest of the battle to keep yourself sane. One moment you and Percy joined everyone else, then Percy and Annabeth went to Olympus and now you were sitting in the Empire State building completely exhausted. You were slumped in a chair, covered in dirt and grime when the Stoll brothers came over. 

“Guess what we have” Connor said in a sing song voice and raised his brows.

“An Advil?”. The two laughed like what you said was funny. It wasn't funny to you. Your head was killing you. 

“Even better” Travis said. “Boom!”. You hadn't noticed the bag he had on him somehow, and when he opened it your eyes were filled with candy. You looked back up at their faces, both with an ear to ear smile. 

“I thought Percy said not to snatch anything when everyone was asleep”. 

“We didn't! How could you say something like that?” The two looked at each other with faux innocence but their devious smiles betrayed them. Whatever. You were too tired to scold them and it wasn't your business that got ransacked. 

“Listen, we'd typically charge for these but since you killed that pig, you can get something for free”

You raised a brow at them and looked at them disinterested. “Or I could report you and make you take all that back”

“You won't” Travis challenged. 

Little shit was right. 

You looked in the bag for what you wanted and chuckled when you saw it. 

When you and Ares talked in the rain that night, you debated on burning a fruit roll up as an offering. You decided that was a shit offering and didn't do it, but your father saw you in the rain and came over anyway. 

Now that same flavor of fruit roll up was sitting at the top of all of that candy. 

You took it and thanked the two. They were on their way after, probably about to scam some poor kid by overcharging it. They never tried that with you or any of the other older kids. 

You pocketed the candy and used your sword to help you stand. You were exhausted. Your shoulders sagged, your back ached and you smelled like everything unfortunate in the world. You needed a shower and new clothes desperately. 

You began walking then a ding filled your ears and out of curiosity you turned from the door and looked over. 

It was him. 

By the way his eyes softened you could tell he saw you. You were done lying to yourself and convincing yourself he didn't care. You knew you saw relief in his eyes. 

Maybe Ares should've listened to what else Percy was gonna say. Maybe he was gonna say “they're fine but you should really talk to them”. Something like that. 

Ares had seen you tear up multiple times. In sadness, in anger, in betrayal. This time though? You didn't look hurt. You looked relieved. You looked like how he felt. You looked like a huge pain had been lifted off your shoulders. If before you looked like a child whose dreams were crushed, now you looked like an adult who realized there was nothing crushed that couldn't be fixed. 

You had grown up more since he last saw you. He didn't wanna miss any more years. 

“And I hope the idea of me calling you Ares instead of dad terrifies you” 

The words rang in his ears. You were right. It terrified him. It paralyzed him. He had one question on his mind. 

What would you call him?

The two of you stood facing each other for seconds but it felt longer. Both your minds were racing. You were both thinking of the past, the fact that both of you were okay, and wondering what the future would be.

You felt like a kid again. You just stared at him with so many emotions coursing through you. The main ones being joy and relief. 

Without thinking, you threw your sword to the side and ran at him. “Daddy!” You shouted with the inner voice of a child who was finally getting everything they wanted. You jumped into his arms and he caught you. His grasp was firm and he kept you close. 

You both closed your eyes and focused on each other's warm embrace. You were both okay. You were both home. Neither of you held your tears and vulnerabilities from each other. 

“I heard you were missing me” he said. You knew it was a joke but you couldn't laugh. You nodded into his shoulder. 

“I did”. 

“I missed you too” he admitted. It felt so good to finally admit. 

It felt so good to finally hear. He missed you. He cared for you. He loved you. He was holding you. 

“I don't like our agreement anymore” you mumbled. “You gonna rearrange my fingers or-”

“No” he answered firmly. He set you down and his hands held your face. “No” he said again. 

“Not gonna turn me into an ant either?” You joked. He smiled at you and pulled you into another hug.

“I love you dad”

“I love you too”. 

Ares did something he hadn't done in a while and he kissed the top of your head like he saw other fathers do. It surprised him how much happiness it filled him with. You on the other hand thought this would only happen in dreams. You were so glad you were wrong. 

Then he did something else he hadn't done in a while. 

He apologized. 

“I'm sorry”

“I know” you answered simply.

“I'm gonna be better”. 

You smiled and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to melt in his embrace. 

“I believe you”. 

Hope. 

Home. 

You two managed to hold onto hope. What others would call delusional or stupid, you called a dream. You both managed to make that dream a reality. 

After years and years of complications, heartache and frustration, you two made it. 

You two made it home. 

If y’all sexualize the reader calling Ares “daddy” I swear I will rewrite this and have the reader die a terrible death. Do NOT-

Anyway y’all IT’S HERE! We finally made it to the end! Y’all feeling as proud and emotional as I do? Originally Everything wasn’t gonna be a series. I made pt1 and was like “yeah. A simple one shot” but people wanted more and it became a series. I got 2 abandoned series for different fandoms so it’s an accomplishment I finished this one. I don’t have any new series planned right now but I wanted to say thank you for the support Everything has gotten and the nice comments I’ve received. This was really fun. Until next time! (Also I told y’all they’d get a happy ending. I know some of y’all didn’t believe me)

Taglist: @kyuupidwrites @chadmeeksmartinswifey @lebguardians @beansficreblogs @itzjustj-1000 @white-wolf-buckaroo @elsisenta @leathesimp @marshymallo @stickyfictioninwriting @asexualaromosafezone @arialikestea @1mawh0re @samoanroyalty @wolfgirl294 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn

[lebguardians]

Never Again

Summary; After a violent encounter with another ship. James blames himself. You decide to set the record straight Pairing; Captain James Flint x Reader WordCount; 608 Warnings; Mentions of injury. A/N; Requests are open. Request guidelines are pinned at the top of the page Credit to @cafekitsune for the banner and the divider

James stared into the calm sea. Exhausted, however, remained determined to keep his eyes open. No one would sneak up on him or his crew, again. The seas were calm yet danger could lurk on the horizon patiently waiting to attack them.

"Why don't you let someone else keep watch for a while?" James refused to turn around. To take a glimpse at the real reason he'd become extra vigilante, so paranoid.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed. You need to rest." James was met with silence. He couldn't hear anything except the waves crashing into the boat while it glided across the ocean.

Creak.

"I thought I told you to go back to bed" James turned his neck taking a brief glimpse back at you.

"When have I ever enjoyed listening to orders?" James would usually find your attitude endearing, he enjoyed the way you kept him on his toes. However, you could have died today. He could have lost you today and it doesn't bear thinking about.

"Do not disobey your Captain!" James snarled, choosing to turn his body towards you. Your arm was wrapped close to your chest, your lip busted open, and the left side of your jaw had a fresh purple bruise covering it.

Failure. James had failed to protect the most precious and important person in his world. The person who kept his life threaded together. Unable to bear it any longer. James faced the stern once more. A hand slipped its way into his rough, calloused hand. How could someone so pure love someone like him? He was broken, cruel, ruthless and relentless. He did not deserve it.

Selfishly, he kept taking the love you were so willing to give. "You can't keep avoiding me-None of this was your fault. Life on the ocean is not easy. It's ruthless and dangerous; only the strong survive." One by one fingers entwined, delicate between calloused., calloused between delicate.

"I am the Captain of his ship. It's my duty to protect the crew-"

"James, you did protect the crew! Everyone is-" "You got shot! You could have died and it would have been my fault! Why do you constantly put yourself in harm's way to love me!" Teeth clenched, veins popped. To anyone else, Captain James Flint was one of the most ruthless pirates to sever sail the seven seas. To you,, he was James Flint, the man you loved. Yet without unlacing your hands, you stepped in front of the Captain. James looked away, unable to meet your gaze. "James look at me- look at me" James reluctantly glanced at you, momentarily before looking away. "Would you risk your life to protect me?" "Yes! I'd move the heaven and the earth to ensure your safety. Anyone who dared to hurt you would die slowly. Do you question my loyalty to you?" "No of course not. Why do you question why I would do the same? We are not young anymore. I knew of the risks when I agreed to sail the seas with you." Untangling your hand, James placed a tender hand on your cheek. "I do not know what I would do if I'd lost you" "You'd show everyone why it would be the biggest regret of their existence. Do not think about that now We're alive and we're together." James swept his arm underneath your legs, scooping you into his arms. Worry remained prominent in his mind and the next ship who dared to cross him would feel his wrath. He'd remind everyone why he obtained his reputation. No one would dare to dream about looking wrongly in your direction.

[lebguardians]

O Captain, My Captain.

A/N: It sure has been a while. I'm non-binary now. Feel like compared to those fic writers that disappear for years and come back saying 'sorry I was in prison' that coming out as NB isn't all that big. This is a request from anonymous:

'Can you please do a Captain Flint X Reader where he spent the night with the reader on his ship(If you can add smut, that'll be great!! But If you're not comfy with it I understand!! <333) and when he's having a meeting with his crew the reader just woke up and is trying to find him, so she's just wearing a translucent robe and when she opened the door with Flint and His crew she was embarrassed and Flint's crew was all flustered and stuff.

IDK IF THIS MADE ANY SENSE, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!! IF YOURE ABLE TO MAKE THIS, THANK YOU SO MUCH!! MWA 💋

I love Captain Flint ;>'

Sorry its so short. I am well out of practice.

Words: 1683

Warnings: Smut. Porn. Lemon. Whatever you want to call it.

His hands were warm, leaving trails of lightning in their wake as they roamed the expanse of your bare skin. He grabbed and pulled at your soft flesh as his tongue swirled around your clit expertly. The sounds he was pulling from you were filth as he moved to tease your entrance with a single digit. Slowly, torturously so, he slid inside your cunt with ease. You groaned and bucked your hips, a wordless demand for more. He chuckled lowly at your impatience and placed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs.

"So needy." He growled, the sound low in his throat. He added another finger, stretching you just a little further as he began pumping them in and out of you. Your breathy moans were music to his ears and his cock twitched at the sound but despite his wavering self-control, he remained focussed on the task at hand. Moving his mouth back to your clit, he sucked the bud into his mouth and gently licked it with small flicks of his wicked tongue. Your back arched as he curled his fingers, stroking that spot inside you just right. For a moment, among all the sensations, your eyes scrunched closed and you swore you could see stars. He didn't stop but he didn't speed up his movements either leaving you just short of that tantalising peak.

"Ple-Please, Captain. I need more. I need-" Before you finished that sentence his pace quickened, knowing exactly what you needed. His tongue firmly lapped at you applying just the right amount of pressure. His fingers curled upwards and thrust in and out at a ruinous pace which your breathing quickly matched. You gasped, a hand coming to grip his hair. Time stood still, the feeling of your climax washing over you in powerful waves. His pace never slowed, his mouth continuing its patterns pushing you deeper into the pleasure. He moaned, the vibrations sending little shockwaves through you. Your back arched and his eyes found yours as you convulsed. The bastard smirked, knowing he was the only one that could bring you to the brink so violently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he began to slow, bringing you back to reality with gentle touches to your body, the soft flesh tingling with the aftermath. Your eyelids grew heavy as he cleaned you up lazily with his mouth but you wanted to make him feel the way you did. You moved a hand to grab his thick cock as he crawled his way over you.

"You're tired." He blinked at you, eyes much softer than they were before. "You don't have to return the favour." You smiled, appreciating the gesture, but despite your tiredness, if you didn't have him right now you might just explode. Grabbing him tightly, you stroked up and down his length, brushing your thumb over the tip as you squeezed. His eyes rolled back and he sucked a breath in through his teeth as you undid the last of his self-control. The darkness in his eyes pinned you in place, the softness replaced with a charged gaze. "You're sure?" His voice was clipped. A nod from you was all it took as he grabbed your hands roughly and pinned them above you with a single hand, the other gripped your jaw as he kissed you. It was desperate and you could taste yourself on his lips, tongue darting out as you moaned wantonly into his mouth. He lined himself up and slammed into you, filling you up in one thrust. You gasped loudly, throwing your head back at the sudden intrusion. Leaving you no time to process, he started bucking his hips into you, the sound of skin on skin mixing with your whines filling the Captain's quarters. He moved his mouth to your neck to suck bruises into your skin, biting down hard as the speed and harshness of his thrusts increased.

You could feel him letting go of all control, for once letting himself drown in you, not fearing if he would break you. His thrusts became brutal, his cock slamming ruthlessly into just the right spot over and over again. "Touch yourself." He growled into your ear, releasing your hands. You obeyed him, fingers deftly circling your own clit as he watched, sweat beading on his forehead. "Thats it. You take me so well." The praise made waves of hot pleasure run through you as he lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder pushing him even deeper and you let out an involuntary scream as your vision turned white. A hand came to cover your mouth, muffling the sounds as he fucked you into the bed. You came. Violently. Your whole body shook and you couldn't suck in breath fast enough as his thrusts became sloppy. You dragged your nails down his back. The sight of you coming undone beneath him, the exquisite pain of your scratches, your screams against his palm, all of it brought him over the edge with his own guttural moans. You felt him twitching inside you as you came down from your high. Your breaths were fast and you continued to shake lightly as he pulled out of your still sensitive cunt, falling into the bed beside you. A few moments pass, both of you catching your breath before he pulls you into his chest.

The exhaustion chased away the remaining pulses of your orgasm as you bury your face into his neck. He kisses your forehead and pulls back to look at you, checking to see that you were alright. "Get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

-----

Sounds of the seagulls screeching outside the ship ripped you from your peaceful slumber. You let out a moan as you stretched, your body aching deliciously after last nights events. They came flooding back to you as you smiled blissfully to yourself, rolling over to find… nothing. You awoke alone. The bed was cold meaning he must've left long before you woke. You sat up, the pang of hurt making your chest tight. The cabin was empty. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stood, quickly realising that the next few days may be a little sore. A white robe hung from one of the hooks near the door and you quickly threw it on to search for your Captain. The crew were on shore leave and shouldn't be back until the early afternoon. So where was he?

Pulling open the door, you tiptoed through the short wooden halls in search of some fruit for breakfast. The smell of the sea mixed with gunpowder as you passed storage barrels and cannons. The ship was empty as expected. Turning a corner, you could hear someone behind the door to the small dining area. Thinking it was Flint, you threw open the door, ready to give him a piece of your mind. Something about leaving a lady in his bed to wake alone and how he should make it up to you in some way. Yes, that would do nicely.

Those thoughts stopped as soon as the door opened. He wasn't alone. The crew were here. All of them.

The heads of every man on the ship turned to look at the intrusion, each of them at the table with their Captain stood at the head. They stared at you and suddenly you were acutely aware of the translucent white robe you had thrown on in a hurry to see him. Billy is the first to avert his eyes, face going bright red. Gates opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly shuts it as he looks between James and you. The air turns hot around you. Or is that your face? Looking into his eyes you quickly slam the door, embarrassed at the thought of those men seeing you almost naked. You hear him grumble something to the crew like 'You act as though you have never seen a woman before' as footsteps approach. You begin to turn and leave, deciding to return to his quarters and pretend that it did not just happen. Maybe if you were quiet and still enough, you would cease to exist, the wooden floors of the ship opening up to eat you whole. Or you could throw yourself off the side and just take a big gulp of the sea-

The door opens and closes, Flint coming to stand beside you. Your cheeks are bright red, your arms trying to cover your body. You look up at him, barely meeting his ocean coloured eyes. He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around you. Its like a blanket on you because of the size. It is warm and smells just like him bringing some comfort.

"I am SO sorry. I didn't mean to intrude, I didn't think the crew would be back until the afternoon and-" You start babbling, feeling absolutely ridiculous. "Its half past two" He cut you off. You blink up at him. Your brows furrow as you stare at his clothed chest, thoughts flooding your skull. You had slept through the morning. What time HAD you gone to bed? It must've been late by the time you fell asleep. That's why he wasn't there when you woke. He had let you rest. A hand tilts your chin upwards, forcing you to look at him. His eyes look your body up and down, undressing you even though you wore so little. He wets his lips. "There isn't any need to apologise, I think that given the marks on your neck they know who you belong to." He looks away for a moment. "If not, what I'm about to do to you will ensure they get the message." He smirks, eyes returning to bore into your own. Your mouth suddenly runs dry, which is odd given that his words had the complete opposite effect between your thighs. Unable to form words, you simply nodded up at him earning a hungry kiss as he pulled you towards the captains quarters.

[lebguardians]

Contracts and Captains. - IV

A/N: Remember how I posted something before one of my other fics saying that I had been consistently updating for weeks? Neither do I lmao who was she? Don’t know her anyway heres the fourth chapter of this black sails fic.

Words: 1823. Honestly I’ve been writing this since about 12pm I don’t know how its so short and its probably shit bc I haven’t written anything in months.

Warnings: Mentions of vomit as per the last chapter. Think thats it lmao. See you in three months.

Keep reading

[lebguardians]

Contracts and Captains - III.

A/N: I’m definitely making this a Billy fic sorry lmao. 

Words: 1844

Warnings: Drinking and vomit.

Keep reading

[lebguardians]

Contracts and Captains. I.

A/N: Well, I’ve found it only takes a pandemic and a lockdown to get me to write again. I’ve started watching Black Sails and I love it I’m almost on season three. I can’t find many flint x reader fics so I’ll do it myself. I have far too much work to do for University but heres the first chapter of a possible longer fic I want to work on. Knowing me and my unreliable updates lets see how this goes. lmao.

Words: 1818.

Warnings: Blood, Violence. Probably will have smut in later chapters I’m thirsty. Also I’m going for a Flint fic I don’t know how it will end up. Might end up with a Billy fic who knows tbh. 

Keep reading

[lebguardians]

Contracts and Captains - II.

A/N: Its been a little while since the first chapter and although no one really seemed to read it, it is an almost dead fandom but I like writing it so heres a second chapter. Still not sure if this is a Flint or Billy fic but I’m leaning towards Billy because its more convenient. Flint already has Miranda and Thomas which is difficult to work with.

Words: 1067.

Warnings: Nothing really.

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[lebguardians]

Everything pt3

PJO Show Ares x Child!Reader (no gender specified)

Word count: 6999 (I made a few word changes at the last minute so this is inaccurate. Rip)

Summary: Everything pt1 and 2 from Ares perspective

Warnings: Sad shit. Ares threatening to murder Athena’s owl so animal cruelty? OOC Ares but this is not y'all first rodeo. Possible OOC Athena but who isn’t a little shit to their sibling? (The way that most of the gifs of him on here are him beating on Percy-)

You wanna know how to keep your sanity somewhat intact as a god?

Don't worry about your children. 

Gods are immortal. Their children? Not so much. If the gods watched over all their kids and were as involved as people wanted them to be, that meant everytime one of them died, they'd be torn up. Gods had too many kids. The grief would never end. 

That's how Ares saw it at least. Plus, that's how Zeus had it. You couldn't be too involved, and Ares didn't complain. Hating your kids was so much easier than openly loving them. Sure, he would watch his kids from a distance sometimes but there were gods like Hermes who thought about his kids every single day. One specific child tore him up from the inside. If anyone ever mentioned Luke Castellan, his face would go all solemn and he'd make some excuse to leave. 

That's what happened when you cared about one child. Imagine how it would be if the gods cared about all their kids this way. Endless torment. 

The brain was a funny thing though. You could try not to think about something, and it'd pop in your head anyway. Sometimes, you just did things because your brain was used to it. Like a morning routine. You don't think about everything you're doing when you're getting ready for the day, you just do it because that's what your brain is used to. Sometimes you'd look somewhere and be flooded with emotions linked to certain memories. The brain was very interesting. 

Ares didn't mean to stumble upon one of his kids. It just happened. Went back to that brain thing. Ares only meant to have a nice late night drive in the rain, no real destination in mind. That was his mistake. If he had a destination in mind, he wouldn't have been on autopilot and drove down a street that was linked with multiple emotions and memories. 

Memories of a woman he shared laughs with. Memories of a woman he'd hold hands with and take on various bike rides and walks. Memories of a woman he called beautiful and loving on multiple occasions. Memories of a woman that had one of his children and looked as happy as could be when she held them. 

There were other memories though. 

Memories of a woman he watched turn bitter and cold towards him. He was gone too often and they both knew she wouldn't be the last person he was with. There were memories of them fighting, of her telling him that he left her with a curse she couldn't get rid of. And Ares watched from afar as all the anger she had towards him was targeted at his child because they were within reach. 

He gritted his teeth as he thought about it, and he was planning on turning around, but he decided not to when he saw the figure sitting on the ground. He didn't have to be close to know it was you. You sat outside a lot, and he assumed it was because your house was too loud at times. Plus, you had a specific hoodie you got as a gift in middle school and you kept it ever since. Pros of getting a gift way too big for you. 

His mind screamed at him. “Do not go any closer! Just mind your business and turn around! Now!”

He didn't stop his bike as he was thinking, and the view of you and what he assumed was gonna be your poor excuse of an offering came closer and closer into view. A fruit roll up? He probably would've ignored you if he wasn't so close. 

“Tough night” he said once he was in front of you. Your confusion was clear. You hadn't technically made an offering, so you weren't expecting him to appear. “You were going to”. 

You asked why he was here and he responded a little more sarcastic than he meant to, but oh well. Wouldn't matter. He'd take you back to camp, forget this conversation, then that'd be it. 

“Why don't you like me?”

The question caught him off guard. It was sudden and came out of nowhere. He hasn't told you or any of his kids he didn't like them, so where the hell did you hear that?

Then you explained, and the conversation kept getting more heated. 

Anyone would expect for him to love arguments and usually, he did. This one though, he didn't. The more points you kept bringing up, the more he'd try to deflect and move on, and then you'd bring up even more points. You didn't accept him saying he didn't have to explain anything to you, and he hated it. Any other kid wouldn't dare talk to their parent this way, so why did he have to get the difficult one?

You made another good point about how his eyes shouldn't wander when he has Aphrodite and that calm facade slipped for a moment. Not because he didn't want you speaking about her, but because you were right and he had no actual answers for you. He should be satisfied with Aphrodite, and he was. But he was also a god and sleeping with mortals was part of the gig. They never really thought about what happened after. They weren't supposed to. 

“I didn't choose to be abandoned by my father and be stuck with a dysfunctional family for the rest of my life. You should be angry at that, not me mentioning Aphrodite. You should be enraged at the thought of anyone putting their hands on me and your hands should be covered in their blood! That is how it should be”. 

“Believe it or not, the gods aren't too keen on the idea of killing mortals”

But he wanted to. You had no idea how hard it was to watch one of your children be stuck in a situation you wanted to save them from but couldn't. 

Couldn't. 

Ares hated that word. As a god, he should've been allowed to do whatever he wanted. “Couldn't” shouldn’t be in his vocabulary, but rules put it there. You had no idea about all he had done to keep those types of men away from you. Did you honestly believe he “broke his wrist at work”? He worked at a fast food place. What were the chances?

He tried. The guy was just persistent. When he eventually gave up, your mom married another guy like him, just in a different font and had kids almost immediately with him. Like the last guy, this one was also persistent. There was only so much Ares could get away with before it'd cause a bigger problem, but he tried to make your life better from afar. 

He wanted to beat himself over the head. Why was he so frustrated with himself? The whole point of telling yourself and others that you hated kids, including your own, is that eventually you'd believe it. It was supposed to stay that way. He should've just said “I tried. Get over it”. Why did he wanna try harder? Why did he have this weird ache? Why did the rain suddenly hit him harder and the air smell so bitter?

“None of us asked for this. You all just decide to create and leave us. And you hating the people you created is… I don't know. And it's so stupid that I've spent years of my life trying to get you to be proud of me, only for it to be impossible!”. 

That wasn't true at all. Him not being proud of you? He wasn't supposed to have a favorite, but in the back of his mind he knew his favorite was you. He didn't give gifts to just any of his kids, it was for a reason. It was a small hint that he was watching and liked what he saw. He watched how you carried yourself in battle. You didn't just run in angrily, no. You understood battle. You understood your opponent. You actually looked into wars and you and a few of his other children would try to spot where his influence was. He'd be pretty stupid not to have you as a favorite. 

But you couldn't hear that. If he said any of that out loud, that'd make it real. If he said all of that out loud, his facade would crack and that's something he couldn't let happen. So he defended himself instead. “I claimed you didn't I?”. 

He didn't expect what happened next. 

Firstly, he didn't expect that you'd start to actually yell at him. Only fools who didn't care about their lives did that. Secondly, he didn't expect that ache he felt to get worse with every little thing you said. Especially the last part. 

“... If you asked me to extinguish the sun, I'd find a way to because to me… to me you were everything. You are everything”. 

The facade slipped from his face for a second. How couldn't it? You looked so beaten down and broken, and not because you were in a fight. He would've preferred that. If you had just finished a quest and you looked badly beaten with bruises everywhere, he would've felt better than he did now. At least then he wouldn't feel so guilty. Guilt was another feeling he hated. It meant he did something or made a mistake and he had a reason to feel guilty. Feeling guilty meant he cared enough about you and regretted what he done. It meant the lies he told himself for years weren't satisfying him anymore. It meant he had a problem. 

He tried to tune out the rest of the interaction. He heard your comment about being a burden, and your crying, then your realization that you had yelled at a god, and your comment about him cursing you, but he tried not to focus on any of it. All he did was throw a pouch of drachmas on your lap and watch you suspiciously open it. If you didn't want a ride from him back to camp, you could at least call for another. He could've just tossed you one, but you didn't have any on you. He figured you needed it more than him. 

“You're leaving?” You asked.

“I have a busy schedule”. It wasn't necessarily a lie. He had a particular house call he had to make, so technically he had something on his schedule. Besides that though, he knew he had to leave.

The thing about being away from your kids, is that it makes hating them easier. As twisted as it sounds, they're not there to defend themselves. It's easier to put walls up when there's not someone in front of you knocking them down over and over again. 

Then you did another thing that weirdly hurt. You didn't call him dad. 

What was wrong with him? Must've been just an off day. That's all it was, right?

“Yeah” he accidentally replied to himself out loud before he sped off. 

Just an off day. 

~

You wanna know another way to keep your sanity intact as a god?

Don't have an off day. 

Why? Because being around gods is like being around elementary school bullies. The gods still hadn't let Ares live down that day when him and Aphrodite got trapped by Hephaestus. Almost every single meeting they'd had, someone made a sly joke. Do you know how annoying it is to hear “I heard you're good at… NETworking” multiple times a year? You'd help Kronos escape too!

Gods notice when you have off days. They also dabble in business that had nothing to do with them. 

When Ares noticed he was missing offerings from a particular child, he must've seemed off. You know who smelled it on him? Athena. 

Ms “look at my owl! I'm so smart! Dad loves me more! Hahahaha I'm just so much better at war!”. Couldn't Kronos strangle her first?

“Ares, brother of mine, you seem so distracted”. Shielding her nosiness as concern. Of course. 

“I was taking in the view until you ruined it”. She smiled, but it wasn't a smile of joy. It wasn't a smile of bitterness and anger either. It was the kind of smile someone gave you before they dealt a crushing blow. Sinister almost. 

But sure, she was totally the better and nicer god. Yeah, ok. 

“Olympus certainly is beautiful. I'm surprised a brute can comprehend something as ‘beautiful’ and 'take in a view’ ”. 

He couldn't help but think to himself “this is the person people prefer?”. At least he was openly mean. Athena was like one of those mean girl characters in movies Aphrodite made him watch. Real snarky but hid it well. 

“You can't turn me into a spider, so I'll just say it; you're a real bitch and one day I'm gonna kill that disgusting owl of yours”

“You'll do no such thing!”. Threatening an owl made her angry? But if he called her pathetic then it's “Ares be nice to your sister!”. 

“Anger over an owl? You're pathetic-”

“Ares!” Hermes seemed to shout from out of nowhere “be nice to Athena!”

See?

He couldn't even throw something at Hermes because he was there one second and gone the next. 

Athena chuckled. “The smell up here is heavenly too. I can smell the offerings my children give me so well up here-”

“What do you want?” he asked, tired of this game already. “Get to it and make it fast. I don't like you”. 

“Hmm, you know who does like me? A particular child of yours”. She didn't need to say your name for him to know who she meant, but she did it anyway. 

“I don't care” he lied. It should've been the truth, but the memories of your last talk coming back and the fact that you chose her out of all the gods to switch over to pissed him off more than he liked to admit. “I have other kids”. 

“But each child is special, aren't they? There's only one of them”. 

“I don't care about any of them”. 

“Then you shouldn't care about what I'm about to say next; it's not just me. I asked around and I guess your child prefers others. Such a sad time. Speaking of other gods, did you know Poseidon got an offering from them recently? Poseidon, father of the child that beat you in combat, well they'll be watching over that child that beat you in combat. Maybe they'll even visit that beach where-”

“It was one time and his dad helped him!” 

“Whatever you say”. Ares had to remind himself that destroying another god wouldn't look good for him. That owl though? He was gonna poke a hole through it. 

“I couldn't imagine any of my children doing that. Must put a lot on your mind” she patted his shoulder then walked away. 

You gave offerings that belonged to him, to other gods. Worse of all, Athena. Then you decided to watch over Percy Jackson of all people? Really proved you were his. You knew how to hit people and make them feel it. It was just unfortunate it was happening to him. 

He didn't care. That's what he told himself. He was just being nosey. Hermes did it all the time, why couldn't he? 

He didn't think about your last conversation and ever since then he'd been watching over his kids more. 

He didn't care about one child not giving him his offerings. 

He wasn't seeing what the hell was going on being he cared. Absolutely not. He was just bored and nosey. That's all it was. 

~~

Ok so Ares had made a little oopsie. 

After your talk, Ares made a little house call and things got out of hand and some hospital visits had to be made. Whoops?

Because of that, your mom and step dad needed no convincing when you asked for legal documents so Sally could take you in. 

Well fuck. There went that obstacle.

And because he absolutely did not care and was only a bit nosey… he kept watching over you. 

He kept debating with himself. On one hand, he shouldn't have cared. Sure, he was missing offerings from one person but it was only one person. On the other hand, the fact that you kept making offerings to Poseidon, and he even gave you a gift, rubbed him the wrong way. Offerings, gifts, staying with that mortal woman and his son, going to school near each other, it's like you were changing families. Not only did that damage his pride as a god, but it also twisted a knife inside him that he didn't know how to get out. 

One day though, Ares got tired of it. He was a god and if he wanted you to cut this shit out, then he'd just force you to. All these emotions were making him weaker than he was, and he was tired of it. You weren't Poseidon's child, you were his. Simple as that. You just needed a reminder.

Slight problem. You and that Jackson boy were idiots. 

For reasons unknown to him, neither of you thought “hey, wouldn't two demigods attract a lot of monsters?”. So a big chunk of the time he was watching over you, he was killing monsters. You may have thought you were killing lots of monsters when you snuck over to Jackson's school, but he did a lot more work than you. Behind the schools, outside the apartment building, in between alleyways, everywhere. If he was anyone else, he wouldn't have been having as much fun as he was having. 

Fun had a limit though. He'd think about Poseidon and Percy and your last talk and that “fun” would become “annoyance”. Right now, the annoyance was higher than the fun bar. 

He was approaching the mall you worked at, and let out a deep sigh when he got closer. He was sure to mortals, it looked like a group of women were standing around and talking about whatever older women talked about. To him though, and anyone else that could see through the mist, the view was more sinister. 

Harpies. Not just one. Not two. Not even three. He didn't count them individually, but if he had to guess, there were at least ten. At least. 

Ten harpies. One demigod. 

One demigod that happened to be his child. 

All of that equaled one very pissed off god. 

The battle was short. The smart harpies flew away when they smelled him. The stupid ones were ripped limb from limb, beheaded and had holes put in them. 

Afterwards, he had a pep in his step. If there were at least ten outside, he could only imagine some made their way inside. 

By the time he found you, you had just stabbed your sword through a harpy’s throat. You pulled it out just as another harpy flew in the air. 

“MY SISTER!”, it shrieked. You looked up at it, no sense of fear in your body language. 

“You want more from the Child of Ares?! I have plenty to give!”. A sense of pride shot through him. 

You wouldn't get it unless you were him. He was the god of war for fucks sake, so not only was he watching a child of his in battle, but that same child used his name as a battle call. Sure, armies used to all the time, but it felt different when it was your kid. Once again, you wouldn't understand unless you were him. 

Unfortunately though, the fight was cut short. The harpy saw him and stopped, “L-L-Lord Ares. I-”. He didn't waste any time. He grabbed you and threw you at it, and watched as your sword lodged into the harpy and the wall. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked. 

“Saving your life”. 

Your face turned sour and he couldn't help but chuckle. Maybe you didn't know, but you looked the farthest from pleased. If he had to guess, you were probably thinking something like “I had everything 100% under control”. His children tended to have prides as big as Olympus itself. 

“Are you gonna catch me?” You asked.

 “What for?”

 “Because you threw me all the way to the fifth floor and it’d be nice not to break something”

 “You need me to warm up milk up for you too?”. Ares made smart ass remarks, and he expected you to make one back. Instead, you firmly planted your feet against the wall and pushed, and like a reflex he moved his arms so he could catch you. 

Ares couldn't remember the last time he held you. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he ever held you. He wasn't sure he held any of his kids. He used to. Time was hard to keep track of when you were immortal, but he remembers a time, maybe a hundred years ago, when he used to be present for his kids. Before rules were made and “couldn't” slipped its way into his vocabulary. He used to see his kids all the time. He'd actually keep track, help them on their journey and watch over them. When they died, he'd truly mourn them. 

Then rules were in place and now he kept his distance. When they died, did it hurt? Sure. Not as much as it used to though. A pro in a boatload of cons. 

When you slipped out of his hands, he noticed a few things. You were a few inches taller, and your hair had grown out. Such small things. Anyone else wouldn't notice, but because of his absence, he always noticed small things like that. He used to think “ok, whatever”. But now, he felt an aura of sadness. You, and the rest of his children, were getting older and he was never really there. 

He missed when he was just annoyed or angry when he saw his kids. Anger was way better than sadness. 

“I thought you're not allowed to interfere” you said, and he raised a brow. He thought it was real ironic that suddenly you cared for rules as if you hadn't been breaking them. 

“Are you gonna tell on me?”

“If you hadn't caught me”

“And now?”

“My lips are sealed”. He wasn't really bothered about you telling. Zeus would get over it, and you only knew about one fight. Not the others. 

He could've walked away and left it at that, but he didn't want to. Your words from last time kept ringing in his ears. 

“... If you asked me to extinguish the sun, I'd find a way to because to me… to me you were everything. You are everything”. 

He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because you were the only child of his that actually voiced how you felt. You made him feel guilty and that small amount of guilt cracked the walls and foundation he worked so hard to build mentally. 

Another thought crossed his mind. He didn't want this conversation to stop now. The gods were on borrowed time. Who knew when Zeus would get a bit nosey and he'd be forced to go? He craved what used to be normal hundreds of years ago, and even though it probably wouldn't be that way again, he could pretend for the time being. 

“You have money on you?” 

“Uh, yeah”

“You're paying for dinner. Let's go”. You owed him offerings anyway. 

“I can't” you said after you grabbed his arm. 

“Can't?”

“Yeah. I can't. My uh… my ride. Mom. She's coming to get me. You don't want mom knowing you're in town, right?”. Sneaky asshole. If he hadn't been watching, and if you hadn't paused so much, he would've believed you. 

He looked you up and down, debating on if he should pop your bubble now. 

“Just tax them another burger” he thought and didn't mention he already knew you were staying with Jackson and his mom. Instead, he told you the name of a diner nearby and to be there by noon tomorrow. There was no sneaking your way out of this one. 

~~~

Ares wouldn't say he was nervous. It just felt different. Not in a bad way either, which was alarming him. He enjoyed being around one of his kids, even though he was occupied with the Twitter war he started about vaccinations. 

You looked at him from across the table with a furrowed brow, and that's when he finally addressed you and told you what he was doing. 

He didn't know if you noticed this, but you made a little sound. Like you were beginning to scream but didn't. He looked up at you and you looked laser focused. Were you… were you screaming in your head? Alright. Maybe it was time to put the phone down before you popped a blood vessel. 

“You're probably wondering why I've called you here”

You squinted, “I'm wondering why I'm paying”

“Ask me”

“You know I wanna know though so why am I asking?”. He didn't respond. He just stared at you and tapped his foot on the floor loudly. He hoped it annoyed you as much as your smart mouth annoyed him. Maybe this was how parental relationships were supposed to feel though. It'd been so long. 

“Ares, the amazing God of War. The Protector of Mistreated Women. Wearer of biker jackets. I come before you as your humble child, begging thee to tell me what required my summons and why you were at the mall last night. Please please please tell me. I'll fall over and die if you don't”. Chiron was doing a terrible job when it came to teaching you manners and if you were anyone else, he would've gotten angry. Instead, he was mildly annoyed. 

He motioned towards the platter of burgers and fries, “this is your thank you. This is your offering to me since you haven't been doing that”. 

There it was. You visibly tensed now that you were caught. 

“You noticed?”

“I did. You demigods think you’re so smart. You have these big egos and think you’re ahead of us. You gave your offerings to Athena and Poseidon of all people” saying it out loud left a bitter taste in his mouth and he got angry again. Poseidon and Athena? Two gods that wouldn't have saved you from that mall incident. Two gods that didn't even try. In all the incidents you've had so far, it's been him trailing behind you and keeping you safe! “And then you stay with that fish boy and his mom. Yeah. I saw that too. And I save your life and you don’t seem the least bit grateful”.

“Yeah dad, I’m super grateful my life consists of monsters trying to eat me and a dad I only see once in a blue moon. Totally grateful”.

“We can’t interfere” he tried to defend his actions again. 

“Didn’t stop you last night”

He tsked, “I don’t get you. You complain about my absence then you complain when I’m here when I could be doing anything else!”. Ares kept putting his foot in his mouth. He was so bad at this, it was insane. Ares was never one to coddle his children, but he used to be able to be strict and stern without hurting someone's feelings… majority of the time. Sometimes things are said, but he didn't used to be this bad at it. What he should've done was apologize, but apologizing was never something he was good at. And if he apologized, he'd have to admit he was wrong and promise to do better, and he wasn't sure he could or that he even wanted to.

“Then go do those things. I’m not holding your hand and making you stay! And this isn’t about us and you know it. This is about you. This is about your ego being hurt. You don’t care about my safety. You didn’t go to the mall to protect me. You just love a fight and you were probably disappointed you couldn’t do more”. The scowl you had was so familiar, it was almost creepy. You weren't 100% his twin by any means. You had your own facial features, but dammit, anyone could tell by the scowl alone that you were his. It made that knife he couldn't get out twist a little more. 

You were so wrong. Sure, he was at the mall planning to set you straight but he genuinely did care about your safety. You had no idea how many monsters he killed or scared away that were tracking you down, and you had no idea about the other harpies outside the mall. The fact that you thought he didn't care about you at all, hurt him more than he ever wanted to admit. 

“That's what you think?” he asked. A tinge of anger in him, but mainly regret and sorrow. 

“That's what I know. And I didn’t need your help. I was just fine. The only thing you would’ve missed if I somehow died was your little offerings. I don’t matter to you. Just admit it so we can move on” he wanted to tell you how wrong you were, but you beat him to the punch. “And for your information Percy and Sally are very nice people. They feel more like family than you do”. 

The knife kept twisting. 

He wanted to share the blame. He wanted to find a way to blame you, or his other kids, or Zeus, but he knew he couldn't. Zeus was a problem. No point in denying that. But Ares could've always tried, and he didn't. He allowed himself to lie to himself over and over again about how he felt about his kids, and now it felt like you were slipping through his fingers and he wasn't strong enough to hold on. He wasn't fast enough to grab you. 

It got silent. He didn't know what to say. Ares hardly ever felt powerless, but that's exactly what he felt in this moment. Completely and utterly powerless. 

“Have you heard the song American Pie? Yes, it’s somewhat important to what I have to say. Yes or no only please”. He didn't need a mirror to know he looked unamused. What did a random song have to do with anything?

“I don't know. Maybe? Who cares?”. 

“There’s a line in the song that says this’ll be the day that I die. And for whatever reason it made me think about what I’d do if I were dying. If I woke up one day and I knew I was gonna die that day, what would I do? You wanna know what I realized?”. He leaned back in his chair. He had no idea where you were going with this but he might as well hear you out. “Shoot”. 

“I realized-” your voice wobbled and he did his best to not reveal how much it hurt to hear. “I realized I'd spend every second trying to make you love me”. 

The room stilled for him. Everything seemed to pause and he was left in a silent room. Everything was silent, except for his own heartbeat which thumped in his chest in an increasingly slow rhythm. 

If Ares was asked to describe how much those words tore him apart, he'd be at a loss for words. It was a feeling you'd only understand if you were a parent, and it was a feeling you'd hope you'd never feel. It was words you hoped you'd never hear. What was worse is that he only had himself to blame. Ares spent years lying to himself about how he felt. It became natural and sometimes he'd lie about things he didn't have to just because lying felt normal. It didn't feel that way anymore. It felt… he didn't know how to describe it. Each lie he's ever told in his life felt like it was being shot back at him at point blank range. He kept feeling various holes being shot in him and he had no idea how to cover them back up. 

When you started blinking, which was an obvious attempt to not cry and said “And I uh… I don’t wanna be that way anymore. And selfishly I hope that scares you” that knife kept twisting. 

“Gods don't feel fear” he lied. Gods felt fear. They were just better at hiding it. 

“Well whatever you wanna call it I hope you feel it. I hope -and I’m gonna keep calling it fear- I hope you feel afraid for what that means for us”. How defeated you looked filled his head with memories he wanted to keep buried. It reminded him of when he found you on that rainy night. It reminded him of when you started leaving cracks on his mental fortress. 

 “Allow me to humor you for a bit” all the sarcasm and hostility slipped from his voice now. He had a question but he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. “Why would you not wanting to spend your last day with me scare me?”

You gave him an answer and if he could go back, he wouldn't have asked at all. 

Ares knew that his kids wanted to bring honor to his name, and as demigods, it was kinda their job. With that being said, he still felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. 

Grief. 

Grief because your relationship was ending before it actually began. Hearing that you were intrigued by him before, and when you were claimed you read every story with him in it, only for all that excitement to be crushed… he wouldn't even wish this feeling on Athena, and on more days than not, he wanted to strangle her. It's a feeling you only wish on your worst enemies. 

“... And I hope the idea of me calling you Ares instead of dad terrifies you…”. 

It did. He never thought it would, but it did. Ares made many claims, like gods not dreaming or feeling fear but it was all false. Right now, he had a dream. A dream that this feeling would roll off him and he could go back to being how he was before. His fear was that that wouldn't be possible anymore. You cracked him. You broke his walls down but he was too late to welcome you in. He was too late to welcome any of his kids in. 

Everytime he tried to blame Zeus for his stupid rule, or Poseidon for welcoming you in before he did, it never stuck. He could only do so much blaming before he had to wake up and realize he wasn't fully innocent. None of the gods were perfect but some tried a lot harder than others. Why didn't he do that instead of convincing himself he didn't care for his kids?

“... and if you hate me I am begging you to have mercy and leave me be. No visiting. I won’t come to see you when we do that little field trip either. I’ll stay at camp or I’ll go bother another god. Hermes is really nice. And if I break my end of the deal you can do whatever you want to me. Turn me into an ant, rearrange my fingers, throw me down a flight of stairs at full force, whatever”.

He didn't hate you. He understood that a little too late. All of his kids thought the same? He understood why, but fuck. He missed when he was just angry. He missed how he was before he stopped to check on you that night. 

“You think, but you don't know anything” he managed to get out. Ares wasn't the type to cry, but his mind was going so fast and it was hard to slow it down. Each word that came out of your mouth twisted a knife inside of him more and more, and the injury was so severe, he could genuinely feel it. 

“Then tell me what I don't know”. 

Should he? Should he say anything? Should he tell you that he was sorry and he wanted to make things right, for not only you but for all of his children? Should he comfort you? Should he admit he was wrong? Should he go back to having a personal relationship with his children? Should he go back to fully mourning them when they passed?

No. 

What good would it do? Would he end up like Hermes? Paralyzed with grief for a son that wasn't even dead yet? Would him changing even mean anything anymore? He tried to be better, then what? He didn't even know how. He'd string his children along, making them believe it'd be better, then he'd be reminded of their impending deaths or the fact that gods couldn't be too close without there being a problem. Then he'd stop. Then his kids would push away harder. Then he'd be Ares, donor to many but father to none. 

“Sally's been waiting outside so…”

Wouldn't it be better this way? Let his favorite go and move on? Let the child that tore down his walls go and work on building them back up? Go back to being the Ares people expected?

“Yeah” he answered himself out loud. He let out a breath as he felt another twist inside him. “You want this?” he asked. 

“No” you said instantly. That voice wobble again… he was so much happier when people were angry with him. Anger he could take and give out, but he couldn't remember the last time someone was disappointed in him and he couldn't remember the last time he broke someone down without trying.  “No I don’t but this just seems like the best thing to do”. He didn’t argue with you even if he wanted to. 

Your hand went to reach inside your pocket for money but then he spoke again “keep it”.

Money was the last thing on his mind. 

“It’s no problem-”.

“Just keep it”.

You nodded. 

It fell silent for a moment. He could've just left, but he stayed seated. Ares from a couple years ago would probably feel lively and free, but Ares today? He felt like something was crushing him and that was hard to do. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

“Another one?” he responded lifelessly. Pretending to be unaffected was exhausting, and he was beginning to feel the effects. 

“It's not a favor if you don't wanna see me either”. He didn't respond. He didn't feel like lying anymore. “Can we do that thing mortals do? You know, when they hug and say they love each other before they go their own way? Or maybe just the ‘I love you’ part”.

He stared at you as he debated on what to do. One on hand he knew if he did as you asked, it'd be harder to let you go. On the other hand, a war was brewing and if you fell in battle, he knew he'd have forever to live with the regret of not hugging you. 

So he stood up. 

You stood up. 

It's strange how something Ares hadn't done in years could feel so right. Like this was how it was always meant to be. Like he was always supposed to be the type of father that was so present, that his kids would hug him regularly. 

He felt warm. He didn't know how else to describe it. He was just warm. Imagine it's a freezing cold day and you're walking home from school. You walk and walk, trying to ignore how numb your hands feel and the cold nipping at your nose. The cold is terrible, but you remember you left the heat on and that idea alone warms your body and keeps you moving. That's how he felt as he held you. 

“I love you dad”. It was natural. He wished he heard it more often. 

Go back to the scenario from before. 

You get home, so excited about the heat, only to find out the heat is off. Maybe you turned it off and forgot. Maybe someone in your house did. Either way, it was off and the inside of your house is just as bad as outside. The cold feeling seems to get worse now that the warmth of hope is gone. That's how he felt when he said “I love you too”. 

He meant it, but that warmth faded when reality hit. This was it. There would be no more talks like this. This was only the second time and your talks never went the best, but he still valued them. Maybe he was wrong to have favorites and maybe he was wrong to feel so hurt when he caused this but he was in agony anyway. 

When the two of you pulled away and you left, the knife twisted one final time then cut straight through him. He watched as you left for a moment before he looked away and sat back down, the emptiness becoming loud. 

You wanna know how to keep your sanity intact as a god?

Don't care about your children. 

Don't care about anything. 

Stay detached. Stay far away. Stay to yourself and a few other gods you can tolerate. Don't think about your children. Put your walls up and don't ever let them down. 

Stay angry. Don't feel sorrow or sadness. You'll live forever and the chances of that grief getting better are slim. Stay angry because at least you'll look intimidating instead of weak. Let people make their assumptions. 

Just. Don’t. Care.

But as Ares looked to the side, towards an empty booth with a window that perfectly showed you sobbing in Jackson's car, and your seemingly new family being there for you… he wasn't sure he could do that anymore. 

Y’all I swear they will have a happy ending… just not right now. But before y’all beat my ass, y’all knew damn well this part had no chance of being happy. The happiness is coming! I swear! I think I got everyone on the taglist.

Taglist: @kyuupidwrites @chadmeeksmartinswifey @lebguardians @beansficreblogs @itzjustj-1000 @white-wolf-buckaroo @elsisenta @leathesimp @marshymallo

[lebguardians]

Everything pt3

PJO Show Ares x Child!Reader (no gender specified)

Word count: 6999 (I made a few word changes at the last minute so this is inaccurate. Rip)

Summary: Everything pt1 and 2 from Ares perspective

Warnings: Sad shit. Ares threatening to murder Athena’s owl so animal cruelty? OOC Ares but this is not y'all first rodeo. Possible OOC Athena but who isn’t a little shit to their sibling? (The way that most of the gifs of him on here are him beating on Percy-)

You wanna know how to keep your sanity somewhat intact as a god?

Don't worry about your children. 

Gods are immortal. Their children? Not so much. If the gods watched over all their kids and were as involved as people wanted them to be, that meant everytime one of them died, they'd be torn up. Gods had too many kids. The grief would never end. 

That's how Ares saw it at least. Plus, that's how Zeus had it. You couldn't be too involved, and Ares didn't complain. Hating your kids was so much easier than openly loving them. Sure, he would watch his kids from a distance sometimes but there were gods like Hermes who thought about his kids every single day. One specific child tore him up from the inside. If anyone ever mentioned Luke Castellan, his face would go all solemn and he'd make some excuse to leave. 

That's what happened when you cared about one child. Imagine how it would be if the gods cared about all their kids this way. Endless torment. 

The brain was a funny thing though. You could try not to think about something, and it'd pop in your head anyway. Sometimes, you just did things because your brain was used to it. Like a morning routine. You don't think about everything you're doing when you're getting ready for the day, you just do it because that's what your brain is used to. Sometimes you'd look somewhere and be flooded with emotions linked to certain memories. The brain was very interesting. 

Ares didn't mean to stumble upon one of his kids. It just happened. Went back to that brain thing. Ares only meant to have a nice late night drive in the rain, no real destination in mind. That was his mistake. If he had a destination in mind, he wouldn't have been on autopilot and drove down a street that was linked with multiple emotions and memories. 

Memories of a woman he shared laughs with. Memories of a woman he'd hold hands with and take on various bike rides and walks. Memories of a woman he called beautiful and loving on multiple occasions. Memories of a woman that had one of his children and looked as happy as could be when she held them. 

There were other memories though. 

Memories of a woman he watched turn bitter and cold towards him. He was gone too often and they both knew she wouldn't be the last person he was with. There were memories of them fighting, of her telling him that he left her with a curse she couldn't get rid of. And Ares watched from afar as all the anger she had towards him was targeted at his child because they were within reach. 

He gritted his teeth as he thought about it, and he was planning on turning around, but he decided not to when he saw the figure sitting on the ground. He didn't have to be close to know it was you. You sat outside a lot, and he assumed it was because your house was too loud at times. Plus, you had a specific hoodie you got as a gift in middle school and you kept it ever since. Pros of getting a gift way too big for you. 

His mind screamed at him. “Do not go any closer! Just mind your business and turn around! Now!”

He didn't stop his bike as he was thinking, and the view of you and what he assumed was gonna be your poor excuse of an offering came closer and closer into view. A fruit roll up? He probably would've ignored you if he wasn't so close. 

“Tough night” he said once he was in front of you. Your confusion was clear. You hadn't technically made an offering, so you weren't expecting him to appear. “You were going to”. 

You asked why he was here and he responded a little more sarcastic than he meant to, but oh well. Wouldn't matter. He'd take you back to camp, forget this conversation, then that'd be it. 

“Why don't you like me?”

The question caught him off guard. It was sudden and came out of nowhere. He hasn't told you or any of his kids he didn't like them, so where the hell did you hear that?

Then you explained, and the conversation kept getting more heated. 

Anyone would expect for him to love arguments and usually, he did. This one though, he didn't. The more points you kept bringing up, the more he'd try to deflect and move on, and then you'd bring up even more points. You didn't accept him saying he didn't have to explain anything to you, and he hated it. Any other kid wouldn't dare talk to their parent this way, so why did he have to get the difficult one?

You made another good point about how his eyes shouldn't wander when he has Aphrodite and that calm facade slipped for a moment. Not because he didn't want you speaking about her, but because you were right and he had no actual answers for you. He should be satisfied with Aphrodite, and he was. But he was also a god and sleeping with mortals was part of the gig. They never really thought about what happened after. They weren't supposed to. 

“I didn't choose to be abandoned by my father and be stuck with a dysfunctional family for the rest of my life. You should be angry at that, not me mentioning Aphrodite. You should be enraged at the thought of anyone putting their hands on me and your hands should be covered in their blood! That is how it should be”. 

“Believe it or not, the gods aren't too keen on the idea of killing mortals”

But he wanted to. You had no idea how hard it was to watch one of your children be stuck in a situation you wanted to save them from but couldn't. 

Couldn't. 

Ares hated that word. As a god, he should've been allowed to do whatever he wanted. “Couldn't” shouldn’t be in his vocabulary, but rules put it there. You had no idea about all he had done to keep those types of men away from you. Did you honestly believe he “broke his wrist at work”? He worked at a fast food place. What were the chances?

He tried. The guy was just persistent. When he eventually gave up, your mom married another guy like him, just in a different font and had kids almost immediately with him. Like the last guy, this one was also persistent. There was only so much Ares could get away with before it'd cause a bigger problem, but he tried to make your life better from afar. 

He wanted to beat himself over the head. Why was he so frustrated with himself? The whole point of telling yourself and others that you hated kids, including your own, is that eventually you'd believe it. It was supposed to stay that way. He should've just said “I tried. Get over it”. Why did he wanna try harder? Why did he have this weird ache? Why did the rain suddenly hit him harder and the air smell so bitter?

“None of us asked for this. You all just decide to create and leave us. And you hating the people you created is… I don't know. And it's so stupid that I've spent years of my life trying to get you to be proud of me, only for it to be impossible!”. 

That wasn't true at all. Him not being proud of you? He wasn't supposed to have a favorite, but in the back of his mind he knew his favorite was you. He didn't give gifts to just any of his kids, it was for a reason. It was a small hint that he was watching and liked what he saw. He watched how you carried yourself in battle. You didn't just run in angrily, no. You understood battle. You understood your opponent. You actually looked into wars and you and a few of his other children would try to spot where his influence was. He'd be pretty stupid not to have you as a favorite. 

But you couldn't hear that. If he said any of that out loud, that'd make it real. If he said all of that out loud, his facade would crack and that's something he couldn't let happen. So he defended himself instead. “I claimed you didn't I?”. 

He didn't expect what happened next. 

Firstly, he didn't expect that you'd start to actually yell at him. Only fools who didn't care about their lives did that. Secondly, he didn't expect that ache he felt to get worse with every little thing you said. Especially the last part. 

“... If you asked me to extinguish the sun, I'd find a way to because to me… to me you were everything. You are everything”. 

The facade slipped from his face for a second. How couldn't it? You looked so beaten down and broken, and not because you were in a fight. He would've preferred that. If you had just finished a quest and you looked badly beaten with bruises everywhere, he would've felt better than he did now. At least then he wouldn't feel so guilty. Guilt was another feeling he hated. It meant he did something or made a mistake and he had a reason to feel guilty. Feeling guilty meant he cared enough about you and regretted what he done. It meant the lies he told himself for years weren't satisfying him anymore. It meant he had a problem. 

He tried to tune out the rest of the interaction. He heard your comment about being a burden, and your crying, then your realization that you had yelled at a god, and your comment about him cursing you, but he tried not to focus on any of it. All he did was throw a pouch of drachmas on your lap and watch you suspiciously open it. If you didn't want a ride from him back to camp, you could at least call for another. He could've just tossed you one, but you didn't have any on you. He figured you needed it more than him. 

“You're leaving?” You asked.

“I have a busy schedule”. It wasn't necessarily a lie. He had a particular house call he had to make, so technically he had something on his schedule. Besides that though, he knew he had to leave.

The thing about being away from your kids, is that it makes hating them easier. As twisted as it sounds, they're not there to defend themselves. It's easier to put walls up when there's not someone in front of you knocking them down over and over again. 

Then you did another thing that weirdly hurt. You didn't call him dad. 

What was wrong with him? Must've been just an off day. That's all it was, right?

“Yeah” he accidentally replied to himself out loud before he sped off. 

Just an off day. 

~

You wanna know another way to keep your sanity intact as a god?

Don't have an off day. 

Why? Because being around gods is like being around elementary school bullies. The gods still hadn't let Ares live down that day when him and Aphrodite got trapped by Hephaestus. Almost every single meeting they'd had, someone made a sly joke. Do you know how annoying it is to hear “I heard you're good at… NETworking” multiple times a year? You'd help Kronos escape too!

Gods notice when you have off days. They also dabble in business that had nothing to do with them. 

When Ares noticed he was missing offerings from a particular child, he must've seemed off. You know who smelled it on him? Athena. 

Ms “look at my owl! I'm so smart! Dad loves me more! Hahahaha I'm just so much better at war!”. Couldn't Kronos strangle her first?

“Ares, brother of mine, you seem so distracted”. Shielding her nosiness as concern. Of course. 

“I was taking in the view until you ruined it”. She smiled, but it wasn't a smile of joy. It wasn't a smile of bitterness and anger either. It was the kind of smile someone gave you before they dealt a crushing blow. Sinister almost. 

But sure, she was totally the better and nicer god. Yeah, ok. 

“Olympus certainly is beautiful. I'm surprised a brute can comprehend something as ‘beautiful’ and 'take in a view’ ”. 

He couldn't help but think to himself “this is the person people prefer?”. At least he was openly mean. Athena was like one of those mean girl characters in movies Aphrodite made him watch. Real snarky but hid it well. 

“You can't turn me into a spider, so I'll just say it; you're a real bitch and one day I'm gonna kill that disgusting owl of yours”

“You'll do no such thing!”. Threatening an owl made her angry? But if he called her pathetic then it's “Ares be nice to your sister!”. 

“Anger over an owl? You're pathetic-”

“Ares!” Hermes seemed to shout from out of nowhere “be nice to Athena!”

See?

He couldn't even throw something at Hermes because he was there one second and gone the next. 

Athena chuckled. “The smell up here is heavenly too. I can smell the offerings my children give me so well up here-”

“What do you want?” he asked, tired of this game already. “Get to it and make it fast. I don't like you”. 

“Hmm, you know who does like me? A particular child of yours”. She didn't need to say your name for him to know who she meant, but she did it anyway. 

“I don't care” he lied. It should've been the truth, but the memories of your last talk coming back and the fact that you chose her out of all the gods to switch over to pissed him off more than he liked to admit. “I have other kids”. 

“But each child is special, aren't they? There's only one of them”. 

“I don't care about any of them”. 

“Then you shouldn't care about what I'm about to say next; it's not just me. I asked around and I guess your child prefers others. Such a sad time. Speaking of other gods, did you know Poseidon got an offering from them recently? Poseidon, father of the child that beat you in combat, well they'll be watching over that child that beat you in combat. Maybe they'll even visit that beach where-”

“It was one time and his dad helped him!” 

“Whatever you say”. Ares had to remind himself that destroying another god wouldn't look good for him. That owl though? He was gonna poke a hole through it. 

“I couldn't imagine any of my children doing that. Must put a lot on your mind” she patted his shoulder then walked away. 

You gave offerings that belonged to him, to other gods. Worse of all, Athena. Then you decided to watch over Percy Jackson of all people? Really proved you were his. You knew how to hit people and make them feel it. It was just unfortunate it was happening to him. 

He didn't care. That's what he told himself. He was just being nosey. Hermes did it all the time, why couldn't he? 

He didn't think about your last conversation and ever since then he'd been watching over his kids more. 

He didn't care about one child not giving him his offerings. 

He wasn't seeing what the hell was going on being he cared. Absolutely not. He was just bored and nosey. That's all it was. 

~~

Ok so Ares had made a little oopsie. 

After your talk, Ares made a little house call and things got out of hand and some hospital visits had to be made. Whoops?

Because of that, your mom and step dad needed no convincing when you asked for legal documents so Sally could take you in. 

Well fuck. There went that obstacle.

And because he absolutely did not care and was only a bit nosey… he kept watching over you. 

He kept debating with himself. On one hand, he shouldn't have cared. Sure, he was missing offerings from one person but it was only one person. On the other hand, the fact that you kept making offerings to Poseidon, and he even gave you a gift, rubbed him the wrong way. Offerings, gifts, staying with that mortal woman and his son, going to school near each other, it's like you were changing families. Not only did that damage his pride as a god, but it also twisted a knife inside him that he didn't know how to get out. 

One day though, Ares got tired of it. He was a god and if he wanted you to cut this shit out, then he'd just force you to. All these emotions were making him weaker than he was, and he was tired of it. You weren't Poseidon's child, you were his. Simple as that. You just needed a reminder.

Slight problem. You and that Jackson boy were idiots. 

For reasons unknown to him, neither of you thought “hey, wouldn't two demigods attract a lot of monsters?”. So a big chunk of the time he was watching over you, he was killing monsters. You may have thought you were killing lots of monsters when you snuck over to Jackson's school, but he did a lot more work than you. Behind the schools, outside the apartment building, in between alleyways, everywhere. If he was anyone else, he wouldn't have been having as much fun as he was having. 

Fun had a limit though. He'd think about Poseidon and Percy and your last talk and that “fun” would become “annoyance”. Right now, the annoyance was higher than the fun bar. 

He was approaching the mall you worked at, and let out a deep sigh when he got closer. He was sure to mortals, it looked like a group of women were standing around and talking about whatever older women talked about. To him though, and anyone else that could see through the mist, the view was more sinister. 

Harpies. Not just one. Not two. Not even three. He didn't count them individually, but if he had to guess, there were at least ten. At least. 

Ten harpies. One demigod. 

One demigod that happened to be his child. 

All of that equaled one very pissed off god. 

The battle was short. The smart harpies flew away when they smelled him. The stupid ones were ripped limb from limb, beheaded and had holes put in them. 

Afterwards, he had a pep in his step. If there were at least ten outside, he could only imagine some made their way inside. 

By the time he found you, you had just stabbed your sword through a harpy’s throat. You pulled it out just as another harpy flew in the air. 

“MY SISTER!”, it shrieked. You looked up at it, no sense of fear in your body language. 

“You want more from the Child of Ares?! I have plenty to give!”. A sense of pride shot through him. 

You wouldn't get it unless you were him. He was the god of war for fucks sake, so not only was he watching a child of his in battle, but that same child used his name as a battle call. Sure, armies used to all the time, but it felt different when it was your kid. Once again, you wouldn't understand unless you were him. 

Unfortunately though, the fight was cut short. The harpy saw him and stopped, “L-L-Lord Ares. I-”. He didn't waste any time. He grabbed you and threw you at it, and watched as your sword lodged into the harpy and the wall. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked. 

“Saving your life”. 

Your face turned sour and he couldn't help but chuckle. Maybe you didn't know, but you looked the farthest from pleased. If he had to guess, you were probably thinking something like “I had everything 100% under control”. His children tended to have prides as big as Olympus itself. 

“Are you gonna catch me?” You asked.

 “What for?”

 “Because you threw me all the way to the fifth floor and it’d be nice not to break something”

 “You need me to warm up milk up for you too?”. Ares made smart ass remarks, and he expected you to make one back. Instead, you firmly planted your feet against the wall and pushed, and like a reflex he moved his arms so he could catch you. 

Ares couldn't remember the last time he held you. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he ever held you. He wasn't sure he held any of his kids. He used to. Time was hard to keep track of when you were immortal, but he remembers a time, maybe a hundred years ago, when he used to be present for his kids. Before rules were made and “couldn't” slipped its way into his vocabulary. He used to see his kids all the time. He'd actually keep track, help them on their journey and watch over them. When they died, he'd truly mourn them. 

Then rules were in place and now he kept his distance. When they died, did it hurt? Sure. Not as much as it used to though. A pro in a boatload of cons. 

When you slipped out of his hands, he noticed a few things. You were a few inches taller, and your hair had grown out. Such small things. Anyone else wouldn't notice, but because of his absence, he always noticed small things like that. He used to think “ok, whatever”. But now, he felt an aura of sadness. You, and the rest of his children, were getting older and he was never really there. 

He missed when he was just annoyed or angry when he saw his kids. Anger was way better than sadness. 

“I thought you're not allowed to interfere” you said, and he raised a brow. He thought it was real ironic that suddenly you cared for rules as if you hadn't been breaking them. 

“Are you gonna tell on me?”

“If you hadn't caught me”

“And now?”

“My lips are sealed”. He wasn't really bothered about you telling. Zeus would get over it, and you only knew about one fight. Not the others. 

He could've walked away and left it at that, but he didn't want to. Your words from last time kept ringing in his ears. 

“... If you asked me to extinguish the sun, I'd find a way to because to me… to me you were everything. You are everything”. 

He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because you were the only child of his that actually voiced how you felt. You made him feel guilty and that small amount of guilt cracked the walls and foundation he worked so hard to build mentally. 

Another thought crossed his mind. He didn't want this conversation to stop now. The gods were on borrowed time. Who knew when Zeus would get a bit nosey and he'd be forced to go? He craved what used to be normal hundreds of years ago, and even though it probably wouldn't be that way again, he could pretend for the time being. 

“You have money on you?” 

“Uh, yeah”

“You're paying for dinner. Let's go”. You owed him offerings anyway. 

“I can't” you said after you grabbed his arm. 

“Can't?”

“Yeah. I can't. My uh… my ride. Mom. She's coming to get me. You don't want mom knowing you're in town, right?”. Sneaky asshole. If he hadn't been watching, and if you hadn't paused so much, he would've believed you. 

He looked you up and down, debating on if he should pop your bubble now. 

“Just tax them another burger” he thought and didn't mention he already knew you were staying with Jackson and his mom. Instead, he told you the name of a diner nearby and to be there by noon tomorrow. There was no sneaking your way out of this one. 

~~~

Ares wouldn't say he was nervous. It just felt different. Not in a bad way either, which was alarming him. He enjoyed being around one of his kids, even though he was occupied with the Twitter war he started about vaccinations. 

You looked at him from across the table with a furrowed brow, and that's when he finally addressed you and told you what he was doing. 

He didn't know if you noticed this, but you made a little sound. Like you were beginning to scream but didn't. He looked up at you and you looked laser focused. Were you… were you screaming in your head? Alright. Maybe it was time to put the phone down before you popped a blood vessel. 

“You're probably wondering why I've called you here”

You squinted, “I'm wondering why I'm paying”

“Ask me”

“You know I wanna know though so why am I asking?”. He didn't respond. He just stared at you and tapped his foot on the floor loudly. He hoped it annoyed you as much as your smart mouth annoyed him. Maybe this was how parental relationships were supposed to feel though. It'd been so long. 

“Ares, the amazing God of War. The Protector of Mistreated Women. Wearer of biker jackets. I come before you as your humble child, begging thee to tell me what required my summons and why you were at the mall last night. Please please please tell me. I'll fall over and die if you don't”. Chiron was doing a terrible job when it came to teaching you manners and if you were anyone else, he would've gotten angry. Instead, he was mildly annoyed. 

He motioned towards the platter of burgers and fries, “this is your thank you. This is your offering to me since you haven't been doing that”. 

There it was. You visibly tensed now that you were caught. 

“You noticed?”

“I did. You demigods think you’re so smart. You have these big egos and think you’re ahead of us. You gave your offerings to Athena and Poseidon of all people” saying it out loud left a bitter taste in his mouth and he got angry again. Poseidon and Athena? Two gods that wouldn't have saved you from that mall incident. Two gods that didn't even try. In all the incidents you've had so far, it's been him trailing behind you and keeping you safe! “And then you stay with that fish boy and his mom. Yeah. I saw that too. And I save your life and you don’t seem the least bit grateful”.

“Yeah dad, I’m super grateful my life consists of monsters trying to eat me and a dad I only see once in a blue moon. Totally grateful”.

“We can’t interfere” he tried to defend his actions again. 

“Didn’t stop you last night”

He tsked, “I don’t get you. You complain about my absence then you complain when I’m here when I could be doing anything else!”. Ares kept putting his foot in his mouth. He was so bad at this, it was insane. Ares was never one to coddle his children, but he used to be able to be strict and stern without hurting someone's feelings… majority of the time. Sometimes things are said, but he didn't used to be this bad at it. What he should've done was apologize, but apologizing was never something he was good at. And if he apologized, he'd have to admit he was wrong and promise to do better, and he wasn't sure he could or that he even wanted to.

“Then go do those things. I’m not holding your hand and making you stay! And this isn’t about us and you know it. This is about you. This is about your ego being hurt. You don’t care about my safety. You didn’t go to the mall to protect me. You just love a fight and you were probably disappointed you couldn’t do more”. The scowl you had was so familiar, it was almost creepy. You weren't 100% his twin by any means. You had your own facial features, but dammit, anyone could tell by the scowl alone that you were his. It made that knife he couldn't get out twist a little more. 

You were so wrong. Sure, he was at the mall planning to set you straight but he genuinely did care about your safety. You had no idea how many monsters he killed or scared away that were tracking you down, and you had no idea about the other harpies outside the mall. The fact that you thought he didn't care about you at all, hurt him more than he ever wanted to admit. 

“That's what you think?” he asked. A tinge of anger in him, but mainly regret and sorrow. 

“That's what I know. And I didn’t need your help. I was just fine. The only thing you would’ve missed if I somehow died was your little offerings. I don’t matter to you. Just admit it so we can move on” he wanted to tell you how wrong you were, but you beat him to the punch. “And for your information Percy and Sally are very nice people. They feel more like family than you do”. 

The knife kept twisting. 

He wanted to share the blame. He wanted to find a way to blame you, or his other kids, or Zeus, but he knew he couldn't. Zeus was a problem. No point in denying that. But Ares could've always tried, and he didn't. He allowed himself to lie to himself over and over again about how he felt about his kids, and now it felt like you were slipping through his fingers and he wasn't strong enough to hold on. He wasn't fast enough to grab you. 

It got silent. He didn't know what to say. Ares hardly ever felt powerless, but that's exactly what he felt in this moment. Completely and utterly powerless. 

“Have you heard the song American Pie? Yes, it’s somewhat important to what I have to say. Yes or no only please”. He didn't need a mirror to know he looked unamused. What did a random song have to do with anything?

“I don't know. Maybe? Who cares?”. 

“There’s a line in the song that says this’ll be the day that I die. And for whatever reason it made me think about what I’d do if I were dying. If I woke up one day and I knew I was gonna die that day, what would I do? You wanna know what I realized?”. He leaned back in his chair. He had no idea where you were going with this but he might as well hear you out. “Shoot”. 

“I realized-” your voice wobbled and he did his best to not reveal how much it hurt to hear. “I realized I'd spend every second trying to make you love me”. 

The room stilled for him. Everything seemed to pause and he was left in a silent room. Everything was silent, except for his own heartbeat which thumped in his chest in an increasingly slow rhythm. 

If Ares was asked to describe how much those words tore him apart, he'd be at a loss for words. It was a feeling you'd only understand if you were a parent, and it was a feeling you'd hope you'd never feel. It was words you hoped you'd never hear. What was worse is that he only had himself to blame. Ares spent years lying to himself about how he felt. It became natural and sometimes he'd lie about things he didn't have to just because lying felt normal. It didn't feel that way anymore. It felt… he didn't know how to describe it. Each lie he's ever told in his life felt like it was being shot back at him at point blank range. He kept feeling various holes being shot in him and he had no idea how to cover them back up. 

When you started blinking, which was an obvious attempt to not cry and said “And I uh… I don’t wanna be that way anymore. And selfishly I hope that scares you” that knife kept twisting. 

“Gods don't feel fear” he lied. Gods felt fear. They were just better at hiding it. 

“Well whatever you wanna call it I hope you feel it. I hope -and I’m gonna keep calling it fear- I hope you feel afraid for what that means for us”. How defeated you looked filled his head with memories he wanted to keep buried. It reminded him of when he found you on that rainy night. It reminded him of when you started leaving cracks on his mental fortress. 

 “Allow me to humor you for a bit” all the sarcasm and hostility slipped from his voice now. He had a question but he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. “Why would you not wanting to spend your last day with me scare me?”

You gave him an answer and if he could go back, he wouldn't have asked at all. 

Ares knew that his kids wanted to bring honor to his name, and as demigods, it was kinda their job. With that being said, he still felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. 

Grief. 

Grief because your relationship was ending before it actually began. Hearing that you were intrigued by him before, and when you were claimed you read every story with him in it, only for all that excitement to be crushed… he wouldn't even wish this feeling on Athena, and on more days than not, he wanted to strangle her. It's a feeling you only wish on your worst enemies. 

“... And I hope the idea of me calling you Ares instead of dad terrifies you…”. 

It did. He never thought it would, but it did. Ares made many claims, like gods not dreaming or feeling fear but it was all false. Right now, he had a dream. A dream that this feeling would roll off him and he could go back to being how he was before. His fear was that that wouldn't be possible anymore. You cracked him. You broke his walls down but he was too late to welcome you in. He was too late to welcome any of his kids in. 

Everytime he tried to blame Zeus for his stupid rule, or Poseidon for welcoming you in before he did, it never stuck. He could only do so much blaming before he had to wake up and realize he wasn't fully innocent. None of the gods were perfect but some tried a lot harder than others. Why didn't he do that instead of convincing himself he didn't care for his kids?

“... and if you hate me I am begging you to have mercy and leave me be. No visiting. I won’t come to see you when we do that little field trip either. I’ll stay at camp or I’ll go bother another god. Hermes is really nice. And if I break my end of the deal you can do whatever you want to me. Turn me into an ant, rearrange my fingers, throw me down a flight of stairs at full force, whatever”.

He didn't hate you. He understood that a little too late. All of his kids thought the same? He understood why, but fuck. He missed when he was just angry. He missed how he was before he stopped to check on you that night. 

“You think, but you don't know anything” he managed to get out. Ares wasn't the type to cry, but his mind was going so fast and it was hard to slow it down. Each word that came out of your mouth twisted a knife inside of him more and more, and the injury was so severe, he could genuinely feel it. 

“Then tell me what I don't know”. 

Should he? Should he say anything? Should he tell you that he was sorry and he wanted to make things right, for not only you but for all of his children? Should he comfort you? Should he admit he was wrong? Should he go back to having a personal relationship with his children? Should he go back to fully mourning them when they passed?

No. 

What good would it do? Would he end up like Hermes? Paralyzed with grief for a son that wasn't even dead yet? Would him changing even mean anything anymore? He tried to be better, then what? He didn't even know how. He'd string his children along, making them believe it'd be better, then he'd be reminded of their impending deaths or the fact that gods couldn't be too close without there being a problem. Then he'd stop. Then his kids would push away harder. Then he'd be Ares, donor to many but father to none. 

“Sally's been waiting outside so…”

Wouldn't it be better this way? Let his favorite go and move on? Let the child that tore down his walls go and work on building them back up? Go back to being the Ares people expected?

“Yeah” he answered himself out loud. He let out a breath as he felt another twist inside him. “You want this?” he asked. 

“No” you said instantly. That voice wobble again… he was so much happier when people were angry with him. Anger he could take and give out, but he couldn't remember the last time someone was disappointed in him and he couldn't remember the last time he broke someone down without trying.  “No I don’t but this just seems like the best thing to do”. He didn’t argue with you even if he wanted to. 

Your hand went to reach inside your pocket for money but then he spoke again “keep it”.

Money was the last thing on his mind. 

“It’s no problem-”.

“Just keep it”.

You nodded. 

It fell silent for a moment. He could've just left, but he stayed seated. Ares from a couple years ago would probably feel lively and free, but Ares today? He felt like something was crushing him and that was hard to do. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

“Another one?” he responded lifelessly. Pretending to be unaffected was exhausting, and he was beginning to feel the effects. 

“It's not a favor if you don't wanna see me either”. He didn't respond. He didn't feel like lying anymore. “Can we do that thing mortals do? You know, when they hug and say they love each other before they go their own way? Or maybe just the ‘I love you’ part”.

He stared at you as he debated on what to do. One on hand he knew if he did as you asked, it'd be harder to let you go. On the other hand, a war was brewing and if you fell in battle, he knew he'd have forever to live with the regret of not hugging you. 

So he stood up. 

You stood up. 

It's strange how something Ares hadn't done in years could feel so right. Like this was how it was always meant to be. Like he was always supposed to be the type of father that was so present, that his kids would hug him regularly. 

He felt warm. He didn't know how else to describe it. He was just warm. Imagine it's a freezing cold day and you're walking home from school. You walk and walk, trying to ignore how numb your hands feel and the cold nipping at your nose. The cold is terrible, but you remember you left the heat on and that idea alone warms your body and keeps you moving. That's how he felt as he held you. 

“I love you dad”. It was natural. He wished he heard it more often. 

Go back to the scenario from before. 

You get home, so excited about the heat, only to find out the heat is off. Maybe you turned it off and forgot. Maybe someone in your house did. Either way, it was off and the inside of your house is just as bad as outside. The cold feeling seems to get worse now that the warmth of hope is gone. That's how he felt when he said “I love you too”. 

He meant it, but that warmth faded when reality hit. This was it. There would be no more talks like this. This was only the second time and your talks never went the best, but he still valued them. Maybe he was wrong to have favorites and maybe he was wrong to feel so hurt when he caused this but he was in agony anyway. 

When the two of you pulled away and you left, the knife twisted one final time then cut straight through him. He watched as you left for a moment before he looked away and sat back down, the emptiness becoming loud. 

You wanna know how to keep your sanity intact as a god?

Don't care about your children. 

Don't care about anything. 

Stay detached. Stay far away. Stay to yourself and a few other gods you can tolerate. Don't think about your children. Put your walls up and don't ever let them down. 

Stay angry. Don't feel sorrow or sadness. You'll live forever and the chances of that grief getting better are slim. Stay angry because at least you'll look intimidating instead of weak. Let people make their assumptions. 

Just. Don’t. Care.

But as Ares looked to the side, towards an empty booth with a window that perfectly showed you sobbing in Jackson's car, and your seemingly new family being there for you… he wasn't sure he could do that anymore. 

Y’all I swear they will have a happy ending… just not right now. But before y’all beat my ass, y’all knew damn well this part had no chance of being happy. The happiness is coming! I swear! I think I got everyone on the taglist.

Taglist: @kyuupidwrites @chadmeeksmartinswifey @lebguardians @beansficreblogs @itzjustj-1000 @white-wolf-buckaroo @elsisenta @leathesimp @marshymallo

[lebguardians]

thinking about ares holding the back of your head with one hand, holding you close, as he sloppily kisses you. he hates when you try to do things neatly, he'll force you to make a mess. so he takes control when you kiss. he lodges his tongue into your mouth, licks around your teeth and against your tongue. if you're chewing gum, he'll take it into his mouth. he especially likes to swap spit with you, sometimes going as far to spit onto your tongue and then kiss it clean. he likes when you're dumbed down from his cock and you can barely reciprocate, leaving him to perversely tongue-fuck your mouth while he's fucking your sopping cunt.

[lebguardians]

Not Meant to Be (Copeland!Ares x Reader)

Stupid little angsty blurb for my war daddy 🥰🥰

Ares doesn’t have a soft spot for anyone. Not even his own kids get special treatment from him. He’s a lone wolf, he doesn’t need anyone else.

He’s not a sentimental guy, it’s just convenient that the diner you’ve worked at since before he met you was just up the road from where he found the kids. He can feel you watching them but he resists the urge to meet your gaze. Once he sends the younger pair away, he thinks you’ll come over. But you don’t. You’ve always understood that you don’t fit in his life.

Once he’s packed the whole group into the back of a truck and watched them drive away, his mind is back on you. Your shift must be almost over if it isn’t already. He could use some time with you to blow off some steam. Before he could even think of looking for you, he heard you behind him.

“Hey” You said nonchalantly. You clutched your purse almost self-consciously and your eyes darted around nervously. Some part of him bristled, you were never nervous around him, that’s what drew him to you the first time you met. He couldn’t scare you off.

“I know you’re busy but could you give me a ride home? Those guys are freaking me out” You explained quickly. He followed your gaze over to the group of truckers watching you like hungry animals.

“Get on the bike” Ares said lowly, never taking his eyes off the men. He couldn’t do anything to them, not that he didn’t want to. He couldn’t risk drawing too much attention to himself right now.

The ride to your apartment was a journey Ares was starting to get used to. You were quiet which he was thankful for. You knew he hated small talk. Once he pulled up, you quickly removed your arms from his torso and hovered on the sidewalk.

“You wanna come upstairs? Got to thank you for being my big scary friend” You offered

“How were you thinking of thanking me?” Ares asked cockily.

“Well, you always like that thing I do with my tongue” You shrugged, a sly grin on your lips.

He didn’t need much more persuasion than that.

-

Ares should have left hours ago. He should have had his fun with you and left. But now the golden beams of sunrise were streaming through your bedroom window. You were blissfully unaware, still fast asleep against the soft pillows. He watched you silently for a second, admiring how you beautiful looked in the golden glow.

You deserve a good man, he thinks to himself. Someone who would give you the world and treat you like a queen. He’d never admit it out loud but it will kill him when you do find someone. You understand him in a way that most humans wouldn’t. Part of him wishes he could just stay with you, live in the fantasy of spending your life together. Who else would put up with him for that long?

You stirred slightly, huffing slightly at the light on your face. His hand covered your eyes slightly to help you fall back asleep.

“Shh darling, it’s just me” He whispered and you hummed in response.

He got up and pulled the curtain across, shielding you from the impending day. Once he was dressed, he stopped for a moment. He took in your sleeping form then convinced himself to go. He shut the door quietly as he left. And you were completely unaware.

[lebguardians]

Not Meant to Be (Copeland!Ares x Reader)

Stupid little angsty blurb for my war daddy 🥰🥰

Ares doesn’t have a soft spot for anyone. Not even his own kids get special treatment from him. He’s a lone wolf, he doesn’t need anyone else.

He’s not a sentimental guy, it’s just convenient that the diner you’ve worked at since before he met you was just up the road from where he found the kids. He can feel you watching them but he resists the urge to meet your gaze. Once he sends the younger pair away, he thinks you’ll come over. But you don’t. You’ve always understood that you don’t fit in his life.

Once he’s packed the whole group into the back of a truck and watched them drive away, his mind is back on you. Your shift must be almost over if it isn’t already. He could use some time with you to blow off some steam. Before he could even think of looking for you, he heard you behind him.

“Hey” You said nonchalantly. You clutched your purse almost self-consciously and your eyes darted around nervously. Some part of him bristled, you were never nervous around him, that’s what drew him to you the first time you met. He couldn’t scare you off.

“I know you’re busy but could you give me a ride home? Those guys are freaking me out” You explained quickly. He followed your gaze over to the group of truckers watching you like hungry animals.

“Get on the bike” Ares said lowly, never taking his eyes off the men. He couldn’t do anything to them, not that he didn’t want to. He couldn’t risk drawing too much attention to himself right now.

The ride to your apartment was a journey Ares was starting to get used to. You were quiet which he was thankful for. You knew he hated small talk. Once he pulled up, you quickly removed your arms from his torso and hovered on the sidewalk.

“You wanna come upstairs? Got to thank you for being my big scary friend” You offered

“How were you thinking of thanking me?” Ares asked cockily.

“Well, you always like that thing I do with my tongue” You shrugged, a sly grin on your lips.

He didn’t need much more persuasion than that.

-

Ares should have left hours ago. He should have had his fun with you and left. But now the golden beams of sunrise were streaming through your bedroom window. You were blissfully unaware, still fast asleep against the soft pillows. He watched you silently for a second, admiring how you beautiful looked in the golden glow.

You deserve a good man, he thinks to himself. Someone who would give you the world and treat you like a queen. He’d never admit it out loud but it will kill him when you do find someone. You understand him in a way that most humans wouldn’t. Part of him wishes he could just stay with you, live in the fantasy of spending your life together. Who else would put up with him for that long?

You stirred slightly, huffing slightly at the light on your face. His hand covered your eyes slightly to help you fall back asleep.

“Shh darling, it’s just me” He whispered and you hummed in response.

He got up and pulled the curtain across, shielding you from the impending day. Once he was dressed, he stopped for a moment. He took in your sleeping form then convinced himself to go. He shut the door quietly as he left. And you were completely unaware.

[lebguardians]

the magic school bus to mount olympus

part five — the killerverse masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of ares reader

summary: luke chaperones the winter solstice field trip to mount olympus, and you both have your own very interesting interactions with the olympians

content: talks about luke’s childhood and arguing

notes: set before tlt. enjoyy

“Eleven, twelve— Shit.” Luke’s brows furrow as he scans his crowd of campers again. “Connor, I swear I’ve counted you three times now.”

The boy is glaring. “I was in the bathroom, so that was Travis the first time, dickwad. And I think you’re just shit at counting.”

“Watch it,” you say absently, zipping up the boy’s jacket all the way to his neck. Connor unzips it again just to annoy you. “And there’s all fifteen, Luke, I counted.”

“How are you yelling at me for cursing?” Connor asks, genuinely confused. “You’re the one with an actual problem. Mr. D has threatened to wash your mouth out with soap about ten times.”

You make a show of turning around every which way, like you’re looking for something. “Well, good thing Mr. D’s not here, so he can’t say jack shit to me. And you’re younger than me, so you have to listen to what I say, asswipe.”

You add the last part just to watch him scowl.

“Hey—”

“Killer, stop arguing with the kids,” Luke says, chewing on the end of his pen. He checks a couple things off on his paper before tossing it haphazardly into his bag.

You stick your tongue out at Connor, and Luke tugs you away from him before the boy attempts physical harm.

“Then why don’t you listen to Luke?” Travis pipes up, materializing out of thin air. He’s grinning, because he knows he’s pushing your buttons. “He’s older than you, but you never listen to him.”

It’s your turn to scowl.

“He’s not the boss of me,” you defend, despite the way it makes you sound six years old. “But sometimes I listen to him ‘cause he gets this really scary and ugly look on his face when he’s mad at me.”

Luke laughs while he tries to wrangle one of the younger campers back towards the group. “Actually, she listens to me because she knows better.”

You make sure the brothers can see the way you roll your eyes.

“You got all yours, Luke?” Danny asks.

Danny’s one of the other older campers who agreed to come chaperone the trip. Victoria’s the other chaperone who’s standing a little further down the street with her pack of kids. Composed of the more well behaved campers, her group laughs quietly amongst themselves. You can practically see the mini halos above their heads.

Luke had drawn the short end of the stick. He yells at one of his siblings to not stand so close to the street before clearing his throat.

“Yeah, Dan. There’s all twenty—“

“Fifteen,” you correct.

“All fifteen of them,” he affirms.

Danny must be too tired to notice his slip up, because he gives him a nod before ushering his own campers through the revolving doors of the Empire State Building.

New York is absolutely frigid in December, and the wind bites at every exposed part of your face. It had snowed a bit ago, so there’s piles of brown slush packed by the sides of the street, making it a true Winter Wonderland.

You haven’t been to the city in forever, so you try and enjoy every second, no matter how bitterly cold. You’re so happy you even ignore how the wet ends of your nice pants stick uncomfortably to your ankles.

One of your brothers mumbles something about sneaking off to go to the restaurant down the street, so you take care to hook your finger in his hood and tug him in the direction of the rest of the group.

Victoria leads her kids through the doors after the last of Danny’s group files through, so you and Luke take up the back of the pack. It’s funny how clear the difference is between her group and Luke’s — her kids enter single file, quietly oohing and ahhing at the skyscraper or the pretty plants by the door. The second Luke’s group starts entering, a few of them run full speed through the revolving doors, forcing the ones already inside to try and dodge the spinning door coming to whack them in the back.

The inside of the building is nice and warm, and the entrance hall is glowing and gorgeous. You look around for Annabeth, who’s slack jawed at the sight of it. You think it’s pretty, but you’re sure she’s enjoying it in only the way an architecture buff like her would. Her eyes seem to glow at the sight of the details on the walls and all of the technicalities that probably went into it.

You aren’t quite sure what’s so special about it. It looks pretty ordinary to you, but you think the way her eyes shine is cute.

“We’re gonna have to drag her all the way back to camp,” you whisper quietly to Luke, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a half smile.

Danny flashes some sort of card to a security guard standing off to the side, who gives him the most confused look imaginable. Sheepish, he moves a little further down to the elevators, where another security guard regards him and his little card with more recognition.

As the rest of your gaggle of children nears the elevators, Danny turns to address you all.

“Wait patiently for your turn, guys. No more than ten at a time, and Ben,” he says pointedly, narrowing his eyes at a boy in the crowd. “If you even think about mashing all the elevator buttons, you’re walking back to camp.”

He deflates, his plans foiled. “I wasn’t gonna.”

Luke’s barely paying attention, too busy flicking through one of the pamphlets he’d taken from the stand by the door.

“Good read?” you ask.

He grunts in response, and you know he’s not listening. You force yourself into his personal space, dropping your chin onto his shoulder.

“You’re seriously reading up on the history of this thing?”

“Dunno,” he answers, sounding far away. “Thought Annabeth might want it after me.”

His eyes stare unmoving at the page, so you can tell he’s just turning the pages without actually looking at them. As you stare more intently at the papers, you realize it’s not about the history of the skyscraper at all, but advertisements for NYC tour companies nearby.

That does it for you — you give in. “Are you okay?”

Luke’s been off since the bus left camp a couple hours ago. You would’ve assumed he’s just busy being a responsible chaperone, but you won’t pretend like he’s doing a super stellar job at that. At the rest stop earlier, he nearly let the bus drive away without one of the kids.

Quicker than he can process, you replace the pamphlet in his grip with one of your own hands, shoving the paper into your back pocket. He does that thing you hate where he crushes your hand in his, making your bones shift weirdly.

“You’ve been spacey ever since we got on the bus,” you push. “What’s up with you?”

He grumbles something that’s not quite a response, still working your hand in his own. His eyes look glazed over, and you have to tug him forward when the group in front of you steps closer to the elevator. He won’t meet your eyes, staring dead ahead where the security guard is talking to Victoria.

“Luke,” you groan, drawing out the syllables of his name.

After a second of silence, he lets his eyes scan over you. Thankfully, his vision looks clear and less like his head is up in the clouds on Olympus.

“Hey,” he finally answers, a few responses too late. He lets go of your hand to drape an arm around your shoulders, tugging you close. “You okay? I like your shirt.”

It’s peeking out from your now unzipped jacket, one of your nicer tops that isn’t riddled with cuts and holes from messing around at camp. “Thanks, hero. But I’m the one asking you that question. Are you okay?”

Your words disarm him. For a second, he looks genuinely nervous. It only takes you another second to realize what could be bothering him.

You drop your voice low, so your words echo only in the space between you.

“Is it your dad?”

It feels like he slips right through your hands again. His eyes slide skyward, away from your stare.

You let him sit with his thoughts for a second, deciding not to push it. You settle for watching the kids in front of you mess around and tease each other.

When Luke speaks again, it's both soft and bitter. “It’s kind of everything, I guess. I don’t know.”

You know all too well that Luke’s relationship with his father is more strained than normal demigod-parent relationships are. Just being here at the Empire State Building must be a lot for him.

“You could always go up there and then fake sick,” you offer. “We could stay in the cabin the entire time.”

He gives you a sad smile. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

You wish he knew that he doesn’t have to be okay when it comes to his dad. The hurt there runs a lifetime deep, and would likely take another lifetime to recover from.

You press the side of your face into his shirt. Luke is dressed nicely too, even if he won’t admit it. You wish you could describe the smell of his cologne like they do in the books your friends read, but don’t know how. You don’t know what the hell sandalwood smells like, and honestly, ‘patchouli’ sounds like a made up word.

But he smells nice. He smells like Luke, and you resist the urge to tilt your head and dig your teeth into his shoulder.

You haven’t seen Hermes since the one time your little group had needed to go back to Westport. You don’t know if Luke has seen him since, and if he has, he hasn’t told you. But you don’t blame him for keeping it to himself if he has, because you know how hard it is for him.

“Well, we’re here together,” you promise. “So don’t worry. I won’t let you fend for yourself up there.”

He tightens his grip around your shoulders before letting you go.

After another minute, the two of you crowd into the elevator with the last of the campers. As you watch the metal doors slide shut behind you, it feels heavy and final.

You smile back at him when a familiar song crackles through the elevator speaker. The familiar sounds of synth and Christmas time fill the small space.

“Which of the Olympians do you think queued this one?”

It’s Last Christmas. A respectable choice.

“My dad loves Wham!” someone chimes in. It’s one of Apollo’s younger daughters, smiling up at you.

Memories from his last visit to camp flicker through your mind. You remember the way you had Careless Whisper stuck in your head for weeks, and how loud the campfire sing-along had been that night.

Apollo is the biggest George Michael fan. You should’ve seen that one coming.

—

A satyr ushers the crowd of you through the major sights. He walks you through the parks by the entrance, where he points out a very miniscule New York City in the distance. It reminds you oddly of some skyscraper Annabeth had told you about once, where you can stand on a glass floor and look straight down to see empty air and the hundreds of stories beneath your feet.

You all follow the satyr up a grand staircase (that the kids start using as a race track) that leads to a nice view of the countless gardens that decorate Olympus. And of course, he leads you straight to the grand palace itself.

You don’t know a word that could ever truly encompass the sheer size of the throne room. It puts everything into perspective — you and the other campers are pretty much insignificant.

The thrones, which are built like the size of houses, are rearranged around a hearth that burns bright in the center of the room. Everything here just radiates power, like even the slightest contact with a single pillar would send electric jolts through your body.

Annabeth’s eyes glitter at the sight of the domed ceiling, but your eyes are still trained on the sight of the thrones in front of you.

They’re empty, as expected. But you can’t help but feel antsy, knowing your father is around here somewhere.

Luke snaps you out of the trance you’re in, his tongue sharp. “Don’t worry. We have at least until the presentation before any of them even think about showing their faces.”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, and you can’t help but toss a wary glance over your shoulder. “You’re lucky Thalia’s old man isn’t here to smite you.”

It’s no secret to you that Luke isn’t the gods’ number one fan. But everyone knows they should at least be treated with some level of respect — unless you’re willing to test how far their kindness goes.

The mention of Thalia seems to shift something in his eyes. Luke brushes something off of your shoulder, his voice chilly.

“Lucky me.”

—

The presentation is over quickly, which you’re rather pleased about. You watch the Apollo kids that go before you put on their best show, glowing bright under the dark night sky. After they’re done, you and your siblings take your turn to throw around a couple of weapons under the watchful eye of your father.

You know you shouldn’t care too much about what he thinks, but still find yourself trying just the slightest bit harder than you normally would.

The moment your little show is over, the Olympians clap briefly. You think it’s just to be polite, because it doesn’t seem like anyone enjoyed it too much.

The satyr from earlier announces the beginning of the feast shortly after, and you turn your head to see a large collection of naiads, nymphs, and satyrs filling the center of the courtyard outside. They’re all crowded around a large table that’s filled with the usual foods that you see at camp — a massive variety of fruits, vegetables, cheeses, breads, and meats.

You’re surprised to see that none of the campers rush out the grand doors like they do at camp when dinner starts. Everyone gives each other tentative looks before walking at a snail’s pace out the door. Their usual rowdy behavior is no doubt mellowed by the presence of your parents. It’s funny.

A rough voice behind you says your name in a near growl, and your entire body moves to straighten like a conditioned soldier. The heavy hand that accompanies the words nearly tips you over when it lands on your shoulder, so you spin on your heel to face him, your back straight as a rod.

“Dad,” you rush out, trying to tamp down the surprise in your voice.

He lives here, you remind yourself. You were bound to see him eventually.

He’d at least been willing to come to you in his non-giant form, but you still have to angle your head to look him in the eye.

His chin is constantly tilted upward — a fact you hate. You always leave conversations with him with a strained neck and a tension in your bones. His black sunglasses are perched high on his nose despite the complete lack of sun, and his heavy boots seem to shake the ground when he takes another step closer to you.

He bares his teeth at you in a way that almost resembles a smile.

“There she is,” he starts, his voice loud and booming. “Camp Half-Blood’s mightiest warrior!”

A few stray campers turn to look at the commotion Ares is causing with the sound of his words alone. Heat rushes to your face.

“Have you been making me proud?” he continues. “Defeat another Nemean Lion? A drakon, maybe?”

You laugh as best as you can. “Uh, no. There haven’t been any quests since…” You don’t dare let your eyes stray from your father’s gaze to scan the crowd. “Well, there haven’t been any in a while.”

“I see,” he says, sounding disappointed, like you had stopped the flow of quests all by yourself. “Well, daughter, I’d better see you out and about soon. You’re a child o’ mine for a reason, yeah?” He takes his hand off your shoulder so he can knock you around with playful punches, miming an uppercut or two. “Don’t embarrass me.”

The first joking punch he lets graze you nearly knocks you back a foot, and you grin through it despite how sore your arm feels. “Yes, sir.”

A sudden wave of relief washes over you, and you can tell Luke is standing behind you before he even says anything. He presses a hand against your back, and you turn just enough so you can grab his other arm like a lifeline.

“Dad,” you begin, relaxing into a more normal stance. You didn’t even realize you’d been standing at attention, your entire body stiff. “You know Luke. He’s—”

“Hermes’ boy,” he finishes for you. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, scrutinizing Luke from over your head. He’s sizing him up, like he’s threatening the teenager to pick a fight with him.

The thought is ridiculous, but you hesitate for a second. Inspiring anger in people is something your dad is great at, and you wonder briefly about the possibility of Luke tussling with your dad.

For a second, recognition shows in Ares’ face. “Logan, was it? Or Liam?” he asks, despite you giving him his name seconds before.

“It’s Luke, sir,” he corrects, the usual traces of insolence wiped clear from his tone. You turn fully to face him, trying to keep the shock off your features.

Luke Castellan? Biting his tongue when disrespected? Who would’ve thought.

“You’re the boy from the failed Ladon quest,” your dad muses, stroking the thick hair of his beard in thought. “Hermes’ pride and joy, or whatever.”

Luke goes stock-still behind you. Your mouth goes dry at the mention of his father, and you flounder for something to say to get the heat off of him.

It doesn’t quite matter, though. The conversation ends immediately, because someone else is calling for you.

It’s practically a squeal, an affectionate slew of words. “Oh, my. Look at you two.”

Another form appears from behind your dad. The sight of a glimmering white gown makes itself clear, reflecting the fire of the hearth and turning it into pure starlight.

The sight of the woman takes the breath right from your lungs, and you know immediately who it is.

“You’ve both grown so big and tall!” you think she says, but you’re busy trying to uncross the wires in your brain. Her eyes have softened, and she presses a hand to her chest while she pouts at the sight of you, the way someone would look at little puppies at the park.

She’s gorgeous. Beyond that, actually. You fight for words to form.

“Hi,” you manage, trying to clear your brain of the haze that’s settled over whatever part forms rational thought. Aphrodite is glowing at your dad’s side, and you and Luke can do nothing but stare. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi.” Her eyes twinkle when she looks the both of you up and down. “Oh, you two are just the cutest.”

She actually reaches forward and pinches Luke’s cheek, and the blush creeps up his neck so fast you worry his head will explode.

“Look how handsome you’ve gotten!” she croons, familiarity in her words and disposition.

Luke’s just able to school the confusion off of his features, though his face is still tinted red.

“I forgot how fast demigod children grow,” she adds, more for herself than for you. “I’m glad to see you’re both doing good. I’m so obsessed with you two.”

“You know who we are?”

The idea sounds so absurd. Your head is still spinning from her knowing your name.

She laughs, like she wants to say well, duh.

“Did you hear that? ‘You know who we are?’” she repeats to Ares in disbelief. Your dad is looking less than thrilled at the topic at hand. “I just adore young love, don’t you?”

You fight the way your jaw begs to fall open.

Jokes like that have followed you and Luke around since the start of time. It was embarrassing at first, sure, but you’ve gotten so used to it over time it stopped being such a big deal.

But for the goddess of love to be saying this? You wonder how disappointing your dad would find it if your cause of death was embarrassment.

Luke clears his throat, and you think a muscle in his face actually twitches. “Oh, uh…”

You wonder briefly if you should drop your hold on his wrist to save whatever scraps of dignity you can manage. “We aren’t dating.”

She waves you off. “Well, I knew that. But the early years are always my favorite!”

You lock eyes with Luke and know the two of you share the same sentiment.

What the actual fuck.

“There are so many juicy things waiting for you two, I just can’t wait!”

It’s like she’s waiting for the next episode of her favorite show to come out. All you can do is smile politely.

“How old are you two again?”

Luke is barely able to get his answer out before she squeals in excitement.

“Already?”

“Yeah,” you say with a bit of a forced laugh. Your dad is definitely judging you, so you try your best to wrap it up fast. “Aging, huh?”

Luke smiles politely at her. “It was… nice talking to you.”

His next words are directed towards you. “I’m uh, headed to the food. That deli sandwich from earlier wasn’t so great, and I’m starving.”

“Me too,” you say slowly, trying not to seem too eager to leave.

Luke squeezes your shoulder before nodding once at your father, a small show of respect. He slips away, giving you a few moments alone.

You’re more grateful than you let on. You and your dad aren’t close, but you have no idea when the next time you’ll see him is. You’ll probably be five years older and a lot different.

You turn your attention to your father first, extending your hand for him to shake. “Bye, dad.”

It’s the firmest handshake you’ve ever received. His hand envelops your own and whips it around. “Beat up those punk kids at camp for me.”

Your grin is genuine. “You got it.”

When you turn to face Aphrodite, you find your tongue tied in your mouth again. She’s really pretty.

“It was really nice meeting you,” you say, after a few moments of silence.

She smiles, and your face goes a little warm. She winks at you. “Goodbye. To you and your boy.”

When you and Luke walk away, he pulls you closer with an arm around your shoulders.

“Have you met her before?” he asks the second you’re at a reasonable distance.

You nudge him lightly. “I was about to ask you that, Mr. You’re-So-Tall-And-Handsome-Now.” He sighs with his entire chest when you pinch his cheek the way she had. “How sure are you that you’ve never met her before? She seemed to be really familiar with you.”

The two of you reach the table where the buffet is set up, and your conversation is paused for a second while one of the younger Hephaestus kids asks Luke what he thinks is peanut-free.

“She knew who you were too,” he points out, after the boy scurries away with a salad soaked in dressing. “I’m getting the feeling we’ve both seen her and just had no idea.”

“It’s not impossible, I guess. We’ve met a lot of people over the years.” You take the bowl he hands you filled with grapes the size of rocks and mangoes so perfectly ripe that the sight of them makes your mouth water. “It’s weird thinking that Aphrodite could’ve been one of them.”

He hums, but doesn’t say anything more about it. And though Luke may be pretty calm, you feel like you’re going to tear your hair out.

The goddess of love just insinuated that you and Luke were going to be something. About fifty times over.

You have no idea whether to believe her or not. But you have a hard time doubting the goddess of love on issues concerning your love life.

Is that really what was going to happen? Was that really you and Luke’s future?

“Hey. Are you coming?”

Luke’s standing a few feet away, nodding in the direction of where the rest of the campers are. They’ve taken to making their own firepit in the center of a park a good distance away from the palace.

You follow dutifully behind him just to give your mind something to do other than ruminate over being something with your best friend.

The bonfire is louder than it’s been in a while — it’s like it’s the summertime when camp is at its largest. Even though you can barely hear anything they’re actually saying over the noise, your friends cheer when the both of you show up. Everyone scooches over to make room for you and Luke in the circle of campers, and you settle side by side against a log.

“You two!” your friend Alana nearly yells. She’s rubbing her friend’s back soothingly. “Mieka’s devastated. You could barely tell she went off key during the show, right?”

(It was totally noticeable. You had to elbow Luke to get him to stop laughing during the presentation.)

You play dumb. “You went offkey?”

There’s a chorus of people chiming in with various versions of, See? and I told you so.

Mieka gives you a bashful smile, and you know you don’t feel bad for lying if it made her feel better. “Thank goodness. I almost walked out of the throne room, ‘cause my face was on fire!”

“You guys were amazing, I promise,” you insist, and that part is honest.

“Wait! I almost forgot!” one of the Hephaestus boys exclaims. “Did anyone else see Gavin almost catch Kenny on fire?”

The boy’s face goes bright red. “That wasn’t my fault!”

It feels like the fire grows ten times warmer when all of you sit and listen to Gavin’s ridiculous story of what really happened, and how it was all Anika’s fault, technically.

It definitely wasn’t, but you all dogpile on her just for fun.

You all sit and talk for hours, trading stories and talking about your parents even though they’re just around the corner. And it must be the warmth of your heart that draws you so close to sleep. You yawn, your eyes sliding shut while you listen to someone’s awkward recount of the first time they met Athena.

When you open them again, you’re slumped against Luke’s side.

“Welcome back,” he teases quietly, trying not to disturb the peaceful silence around you.

The fire is close to dying out in front of you, and only you and Luke are left by the pit.

You almost knock into his chin when you sit up, looking around. You hear voices coming from behind a small cluster of oak trees, but it’s clear it’s been a while since anyone else has been here. “Where’d everyone go?”

“Danny yelled at us to go to bed a bit ago ‘cause we gotta wake up early, or something stupid like that.”

You yawn again, so you tuck yourself closer to Luke’s side. “And you didn’t wake me up?”

“Thought I’d let you sleep in for a little. You looked tired.”

“I was. Thanks, Luke.”

“I got you.” He squeezes your side. “Want me to set up for tonight?”

You kiss his shoulder, pouring as much of your gratitude into it as you can. You’re going to need a minute or two before you use your legs again. “If you insist.”

“Don’t get lost,” he jokes, nodding in the direction of the group of trees nearby. “The cabin’s just through there, and you can’t miss it. It’s the size of the White House.”

You promise him you’ll be able to walk the hundred yards all by yourself, and he winks at you when he disappears into the night.

You let yourself sit back against the log, a lot colder without everyone out here with you. It’s just you and the full moon and the wind and—

“Hey, kid.”

The voice inspires so much rage in you, you’d think it was the god of war himself, encouraging you to pick a fight. But it’s not.

You don’t bother hiding your scowl when you turn your head.

“Hermes.”

He looks like Luke. It makes you sad, because Hermes doesn’t deserve to. He’s not really his father, and doesn’t deserve to share any resemblance to him.

“You and my boy have grown so much,” he says quietly. He walks towards you, moving around the log so he can stand right across from you.

With your dad, you tend to stare straight into his eyes, something he treats as a sign of respect. Out of spite, you decide not to look Hermes in the face once.

You glare holes into his loafers and his tailored pants.

“So I’ve heard.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, already itching for the conversation to be over.

You haven’t stood up, and he hasn’t sat down, so it honestly feels like the both of you are talking to yourselves. You wonder when he’ll crack, because you know you aren’t going to stand up for him.

“I’m happy to see you two are alright.” His voice is light and kind and so genuine it stings. “Have you been doing better?”

You scowl harder than you ever thought possible. “The last time we saw you, we’d been running from monsters day and night for five years. I think anything would be ‘better’ than that.”

You triumph in the way he winces. “Right.”

The fire crackles slightly behind him, and you wish Luke were here. You wonder how long it takes to set up two sleeping bags.

You curl further into yourself when a breeze wracks the small clearing you’re in. The last of the fire is snuffed out.

“May I?” Hermes asks, gesturing to the grass in front of you.

That was faster than expected.

“Be my guest.” Your voice is chilly, but it doesn’t deter him from sitting down right in front of you.

Hermes shifts awkwardly, brushing his hands free from grass before crossing his own arms over his chest. He seems at a loss of what to say.

“Why are you talking to me?” you can’t help but ask. “I’m not your kid.”

You bite back your additional remark of how he doesn’t talk to them, either.

“Even though you’re not my kid, I watched you grow up,” he answers simply. He adjusts the sleeves of his button up again. He’s nervous. “May never stopped talking about you. I met you and your mother when you were just a few weeks old, you know.”

The mention of Luke’s mom stings like a new wound. But Hermes had met you as a baby — you hadn’t known that.

“And I’m also talking to you because you’re important to my son,” he adds. “Which means you’re important to me.”

Ah, there it was.

“I’m important because you want me to talk to him for you, right?”

When he purses his lips, you know you’re right.

Your laugh is bitter. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Look,” he starts slowly. “I know it’s hard for Luke to talk to me—”

“Of course it is,” you hiss, before you can stop yourself. How dare he come up to you, pretending to care about how you were doing, just so he could use you to get to Luke? “You’re a terrible father.”

Hermes’ lips flatten out into a straight line, his patience thinning. “Kid, I know you’re smart. You know we can’t interfere with mortal affairs.”

You hadn’t meant to start off so strong, but the words have started and you can’t stop them.

“I don’t care,” you seethe, anger warming your face. “Was it too much for you to ‘interfere’ when he would hide in his closet because he was terrified? Was it too much for you to ‘interfere’ when he decided he wanted to leave home forever? He was eight. Luke was a baby, and you did nothing.”

You clench your fists, trying to reign in the anger that's spilling over in waves. Hermes is taking every second of it.

“He would come crying to my house. Biked all the way there because he was so scared, and sometimes it was every night.” You practically spit the words in his face. “I was a kid, and I was all he had. Me and my mom are more of a family to him than you are.”

Hermes looks sad. His eyebrows crease the slightest bit, and you see the face of Luke Castellan plain and clear in his features.

Him and his son are so similar, and he’ll never know.

The thought of it is so sad that the kindest part of you wants to lay off of him. But then you think about holding Luke in your childhood room while he wondered why his dad didn’t love him, and the anger returns tenfold.

Hermes’ voice wavers when he says, “But you did it because you care for him. You love him.”

“Of course I love Luke.” There’s so much force behind your words it rattles your chest. “Do you?”

“More than anything,” he insists desperately. “But I need you to understand that I couldn’t. I couldn’t, no matter how much I wanted to. No matter how much I still want to.”

Luke calls your name from the place beyond the trees. He’s talking in the way that tells you he’d just been laughing about something, his voice amused. You know he must not be able to see the two of you with the way there isn’t a trace of tension in his voice.

Hermes has turned in the direction of where the sound came from, and he looks pained in a way you’ve never seen a god look before. There’s pure anguish amongst the calm he tries to wear on his face. He looks human.

For the first time, you meet Hermes’ gaze. You recognize the look in his eyes immediately.

It’s love, written all over his face.

You falter.

You understand what it’s like to have so much love for Luke Castellan that it hurts.

“I don’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive you,” you say honestly.

Hermes nods, his expression melancholic. “I know.”

Luke says your name again, louder this time. He’s going to come into view any second.

Hermes grips your shoulder firmly. There’s so much sadness there in the intensity of his gaze it makes you suck in a desperate breath. “Take care of him for me.”

“You didn’t have to ask. You know I will.”

“I know. But promise me. He’s going to need you. Stick together, no matter how bad it gets, you understand?”

It’s you and Luke until the end. Forever. You’d already planned on that, anyways.

“I promise.”

He smiles for a second, his tight grip letting up. “Thank you. For now and for all the years I was gone.”

“Don’t thank me,” you say softly. “I need him just as much as you think he needs me.”

Hermes is walking backward now, back in the direction of the throne room.

“Take care of each other, then. Luke’s sweet on you, he always has been.”

Luke’s father and his sly smile disappears the second his son appears between the grove of trees.

He’s grinning in the way Hermes had just been. “Gods. Took Danny fifteen fucking minutes to give up his spot.”

“Yeah?” You can’t speak loud enough for him to hear you because your head is spinning.

You study his face as he walks closer to you, his hands outstretched. The resemblance scares you.

A huff of air escapes him when you wrap your arms around his chest. He squeezes you so hard in return it hurts your ribs.

“It’s been less than twenty minutes,” he teases, but he keeps you trapped in his arms nevertheless. “Something happen? Or did you just miss me that bad?”

You have a good idea of how he’d take the idea of you getting into it with his dad on his behalf. He’s never been a big fan of other people fighting his fights for him, and his relationship with his dad is such a sensitive topic you know he’d be more than annoyed if you told him.

The lie almost chokes you on its way out. You hide from it in the crook of his neck.

“Just tired. You know how it is.”

You can do nothing but hope that he buys it. He always messes with you about how clingy you get when you’re tired, so you’re not really lying. Not really.

He scoffs, but it’s not mean. He just doesn’t believe you.

“Sure. I got us the spot by the door though, so you don’t have to wake up the entire cabin when you leave to piss fifteen times in the middle of the night.”

You groan, finally freeing him from your hug. “I don’t do that.”

“The amount of times I wake up to you trying to wrestle away from me is ridiculous.” He slips your hands together, and you squeeze. You’d been too embarrassed to do this in front of your dad and Aphrodite, but you’d missed him. So, so, so much.

He changes his voice in a bad impression of you as you head for the trees. “Luke, get off me. Luke, let go. Luke, you’re suffocating me. Luke, Luke, Luke—”

You pull his head towards you to rub your knuckles forcefully into his scalp. “I’m going to give Danny your spot instead. Quit it.”

He pushes you away, his laughter loud. “Bet you’d still find some way to sneak over to me though. Luke, I’m cold. Luke, I can’t sleep. Luke, I love you so much, will you ever so kindly hold me in your massive arms and lovingly run your hands through my hair—”

You think your face actually catches on fire. “Now you’re just making stuff up!”

You definitely never go into that much detail.

He’s grinning. “Sounded pretty accurate to me.”

Your sleeping bag is cold and dreary and not at all like your usual uncomfortable twin mattresses at camp.

You miss them. And you miss the way they let you turn your entire face into Luke’s shoulder when it was cold.

Luke’s sleeping bag is a few feet away from yours, and the distance feels weird. Though it’s not like the two of you never sleep without the other, it’s too cold to be by yourself.

Luke looks more than warm in his red sleeping bag, his pillow sandwiched between his arm and his head. His eyes are shut.

You hate to prove him right. But you’d rather humiliate yourself than freeze to death.

“Luke,” you whisper, careful not to disturb any of the other campers. The cabin is probably as long as an apartment complex is tall, but mostly everyone chose to sleep in the same area anyway. Old habits die hard.

After a few seconds, his eyes flutter open. “What is it?”

“I’m cold.”

He’s just woken up, but the smug look on his face is clear as day. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Please move closer.”

“No way. It’s so warm in here, and you’re a clinger.”

“Warm? It’s December, and we’re on a floating island in like, the stratosphere. Come closer.”

The other campers seem to share the same sentiments as you. Everyone’s wearing an extra layer or two of clothing under their blankets.

Luke sits up, and you would cheer if everyone wasn’t sleeping. But he doesn’t move closer. He wads up one of his blankets and hits you in the face with it.

The black fabric is warm where he had been pressed against it. It smells like him, too. You pause before layering it on top of your mountain of blankets.

“Aren’t you gonna be cold?”

He yawns weirdly. “I won’t need it. It’s all yours.”

“Alright,” you say tentatively. You really did wish that he moved over and held you, but don’t want to be too annoying. “Thank you.”

“Course. Go back to sleep.”

—

You dream of glowing green eyes and a slamming screen door and sand sticking to every part of your body. Before you wake up, you dream of a hand on your face and pressure on your forehead.

You don’t sleep through the full night, and instead wake up a few hours after you fell asleep, feeling the opposite of well rested. Everyone else is dead to the world except for you.

And Luke, apparently.

Sometime in your sleep, you’d rolled closer to him, probably seeking his warmth. You’re no longer where you’d fallen asleep, but skewed to your left. His sleeping bag is mere inches from yours, though it’s empty. His other blanket has been added to the ones already piled on top of you.

You fall asleep waiting for him to come back.

—

You hand Luke your backpack and yawn. He shoves his hand into your mouth.

“What’s even the point of waking up this early?” you groan, after you push him away.

He huffs a laugh. He looks funny, carrying both of your bags at the same time. Yours is slung over his front while he has his own on his back. “Our parents probably wanted us gone as fast as possible.”

“What’re you talking about?” You feign a gasp. “I’m sure they’re stoked for the next time they’re forced to see us.”

“Luke?” Danny asks, leaning off the first step of the bus. “Got your kids?”

“All fifteen.”

You follow Luke onto the bus, everyone significantly quieter now that you’re up at the crack of dawn. “I’m so proud you remembered how many kids you were supposed to watch.”

“Thanks. Counted to fifteen all by myself.”

“Wow! That’s five more than last time.”

He nearly trips you.

Luke lets you sit on the inside of the two seater so you can go back to sleep without falling into the aisle. Your bags at your feet make it a tight fit, but you slot your head against his shoulder and look out the window as the bus starts down the road.

You’re happy to leave. The sky is dark and angry above you — no doubt Zeus’ doing. You wonder if he hated seeing you all that bad.

Sitting on the yellow school bus, you let yourself pretend what it would be like if you and Luke weren’t demigods, and just two kids on their way home from school. The mortals starting their days rush around on the streets next to you. They have no idea how much you want to be just like them.

Luke nudges you when the East River comes into view. “You tired?”

You shake your head as best as you can against his shoulder. He’s so stiff you have to readjust every few seconds, but it’s better than the vibrating window to your right.

“I just want to look at the view. It’ll be a while before we’re outside of camp again.”

He’s quiet when he lets his head come to rest against yours. The two of you look out on the water and watch the cars drive alongside you on the bridge.

You fall back asleep before you even reach Queens.

—

Luke studies your face, the sky rumbling furiously overhead.

He’d seen your father last night. He’d fought him. And he would’ve won too, if he hadn’t been so overconfident.

Luke shifts uncomfortably against you, but not without grimacing. The slash running up his side is superficial. Ambrosia will heal it fast, before you’ll even notice he has it. He’s lucky you’d been too tired to notice the way he’d been favoring his left side earlier.

His arms still ache from the weight of his sword in his hands. Your sword skills were something you’d clearly gotten from your father. He’d never struggled in a fight as badly as he had last night.

—

The gash that shreds the skin over his ribcage burns immediately, the adrenaline rushing through his veins not even enough to dull the pain.

Luke loosens his hand on the hilt of his sword for a fraction of a moment. But that's all Ares needs.

His sword clatters to the ground in a matter of seconds, and the cold point of Ares’ blade presses right into Luke’s sternum.

“Not the worst I’ve seen,” the god admits. It’s the closest thing to a compliment anyone will probably ever get from him. “I was skeptical of you at first, punk. But I’d say you’re even worthy of my daughter.”

Luke Castellan stares the god of war in the eyes when he spits at his feet.

Ares is being kind when he plants his foot into his chest and forces him to the floor. There’s a crack when Luke’s head collides with the ground, and he sees stars. He struggles to breathe in air for a few excruciating moments, but tries not to let it show. His vision is dancing with black spots.

When Luke meets Ares’ gaze again, it's like the skin is melting straight off his bones. Ares’ stare is pulverizing — so hot Luke feels like he’s being welded to the floor. He fights back a groan of agony when Zeus’ master bolt crackles with electricity a few feet away.

“You made it all the way to New Jersey with these items of power,” Ares booms, his voice so loud Luke feels like he’s blasting a speaker straight into his ears. Is this a concussion? Or is Ares seriously just this loud? “This is as far as you go.”

Fear seizes Luke’s heart, his hand fumbling for something he knows is too far away.

This is it. This is how it ends. He’s going to die before he could even change anything, before he could make the Olympians even begin to pay for what they’ve done.

Just as Ares lifts his sword, a different kind of terror grips at Luke’s heart. It’s the familiar feeling of ice freezing over his body, starting at his head and working its way down to his feet. He hears the familiar rasp of death echoing in his head, and the words start tumbling out.

Luke watches as Ares falls for it almost immediately, like a fly to honey. He’s smug, his eyes gleaming with glee at the thought of it — a world-ending war between the gods, and all at his hands.

Your father lets Luke go with his life and with nothing but the gash up his side. He makes it back to Olympus before the sun even comes up.

Luke changes out of his bloodied shirt and shoves it to the bottom of his bag, settling back down in his sleeping bag. He doesn’t want to risk you waking up and catching him out of bed, or dressing this now unexplainable wound.

You’d moved closer to him in your sleep earlier, and it had taken everything in him to stop you from holding on too tight. But his mission is complete now. It was a success, so he lets you curl around him in your sleep.

Luke watches the sun paint your face in gold as it rises through the window by the cabin door.

Danny wakes up the rest of the cabin about an hour later. You groan, tired and unwilling to move, but find the strength to sit up when one of the kids tries rolling up your sleeping bag with you still in it.

Your eyes are still half-shut, but you still find it in you to smile tiredly at him. After he pokes at your messy hair, your hand comes up to flatten down the little bits of hair on his head standing up with static. “How’d you sleep?”

Luke looks into your eyes.

They hold the same fire as your father.

Unease washes through his entire body, and he coughs to try and dispel the unsettling feeling in his stomach. His head feels so light that he has to choke back the urge to vomit.

Facing you, Luke cracks a cocky smile. “Like a baby.”

explanation of the ending

the killerverse masterlist

notes: please so kindly let me know if u enjoyed :) it fuels my writing!!!! and this was 8k words i have no idea how or why bc this was supposed to be a shorter chapter omg.

i think the difference between their interactions with the other’s dad is so funny. killer yells at hermes while he tries to be nice and ares and luke have a fight to the death over the master bolt a few hours later theyre just insane

tags in the rbs!

[lebguardians]

dads bsf!ares; semi public sex; fem!reader MDNI

"will you relax?"

ares' words are harsh, squeezed through gritted teeth, and definitely a rhetorical question. you know that whether you let the tension out of your body or not, he'll continue doing what he does best. but maybe he does care just a bit.

his hand meets your jaw. his fingers press into your cheeks with a strong grip that he uses it to turn your head back around to face him.

your view of the hallway that leads to the entrance is replaced with ares' face.

"he's not gonna be back for a while. and when he does come back, he'll come through the garage. we'll hear him."

looking down at him, you see his eyebrows raised, his eyes not nearly as uninterested or as menacing as you would have originally assumed them to have been.

you don't respond, your brain already inching back towards that dumbed state you love so much.

but ares prompts you once more. "okay?" he asks, this time clearly searching for an answer.

you nod politely, letting the stress melt off of your shoulders as you press your hands firmer into ares' bare shoulders.

"'atta girl."

his hand lets go of your face to slide back down to your side, holding your waist in a two-handed grip as he continues to pound into you from below.

"hold that to the side for me, sweetheart. lemme see."

he nods down towards the patterned fabric of your bikini, already pushed a little to the side to allow ares to enter into your cunt time and time again. you're quick to do as told, reaching down and pulling the crotch of your bottoms to the side, giving ares an unobstructed view of the way you two are joined together.

it's insanely risky for you to let ares fuck you in his living room, and not just because of the non discrete location. you've fucked ares in places much worse than this without much care. but the concern weighing on your brain currently is that your father, having stepped out of the house for a little to grab dinner, would return at any moment now with your siblings in tow.

and no matter how calm your dad tended to get on lake days, you knew that he would instantly blow a fuse if he found out about the inappropriate relationship you have with his best friend.

it's best for this secret to remain between you, ares, and these four walls.

... and the hot tub, pool, master bathroom and bedroom, guest bathroom, and boat.