#it's been chaos but not in the way mercy's was chaos

[bhaalsdeepbat]

I'm playing my struggle to resist Durge on tactician and we stormed Moonrise today. Jaheira apparently doesn't heal at all between Last Light Inn falling and storming Moonrise, so Grandma arrived looking like she had the shit beat out of her and had no higher level spell slots.

Jaheira spent the entire time cowering behind some barrels while maintaining Entangle. She single handedly kept a door effectively locked by the ogre being stuck in it, which let Astarion be the best little killer around. His killing spree in Moonrise will be a tale heard across all or Faerûn.

Astarion, equipped with Daddy's Favorite Bhaalspawn's cloak, took out the three cultists in the back room alone. He kept disappearing between hits with single hit shots. He took out four cultists on the main floor, then snuck up to the rafters and took out two of the archers before he finally got caught and the remaining cultists all rolled initiative. It was so funny.

I can't wait to give him a new bow when we reach Baldur's Gate. The Hellrider Longbow is going to decimate. He's going to be even deadlier I am SALIVATING. He's going to creep right up and shoot them in the face. If they have the luck of surviving that, he'll proceed to rip their throat.

Minthara was also there. She spent a majority of it twiddling her thumbs bc grandma had our choke point...choked.

Shadowheart didn't follow the corruption arc script, so she got to keep her radiant armor and learned some cool Selûnite shit (reclassed to light domain). She was a fucking beast with her divine intervention in the room she was defending alone. She had been the mvp of act 2 (after Astarion solo missioned stealing the Blood of Lathander without blowing the creche, and nailed it), and continues to.

Even if she is really mad at Ashe for killing Isobel.

[louderfade]

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,743 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts. 

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light. 

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there. 

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.” 

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you. 

Nightmare. 

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them. 

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you. 

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that. 

Maybe someone was, but not in reality. 

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures? 

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest. 

He’s crying. 

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing. 

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them. 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyle. 

His sweet Kyle. 

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team. 

What a failure he is. 

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing. 

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly. 

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half. 

How he’s missed this. 

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny. 

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds. 

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I full-heartedly agree.” 

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door. 

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.” 

John clears his throat. “How is she?” 

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair. 

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks. 

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks. 

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says. 

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.” 

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own. 

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier. 

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha. 

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can. 

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs. 

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take. 

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage. 

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about. 

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next. 

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can. 

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger. 

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again. 

But what comes next? 

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you? 

Could they leave you alone again? 

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs. 

They have time. 

He has to make sure you’re okay first. 

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay. 

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room. 

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them. 

You hate it. 

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything? 

They left you. 

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do. 

You’re not them. 

You don’t want to be like them. 

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first. 

Fuck them. 

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection. 

Or worse. 

You’d get picked up by someone else. 

Graves. Shepherd. 

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead. 

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass. 

You still haven’t spoken to them, though. 

You can hardly stand to look at them. 

Fuck them. 

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream. 

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything. 

You hate it. 

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them. 

It makes you want to scream. 

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again. 

Fuck them. 

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do. 

Fuck. Them. 

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore. 

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there. 

You were tortured there. 

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you. 

Dr. Keller cares. 

It’s her job to care. 

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive. 

She’s the only one you want to forgive. 

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world. 

You should have been their world. 

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first. 

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change. 

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first? 

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass. 

You thought you were dying the first time. 

You could only be so lucky. 

The bond. 

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t. 

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first. 

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain. 

Fuck yourself. 

Fuck your omega. 

Fuck your pack. 

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more. 

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass. 

Fuck them all. 

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side. 

Fuck. Them. All. 

You don’t want him here. 

He does it now, usually in the mornings. 

You hate it. 

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort. 

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain. 

You don’t want to. 

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it. 

The sea. 

They brought you to the sea. 

John remembered. He did it for you. 

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger. 

You hate it. 

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her. 

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you. 

You don’t want them. 

Fuck, you desperately need them. 

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t. 

You can’t reach out. 

You can’t take his hand. 

How desperately you want to. 

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch. 

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.” 

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie. 

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness. 

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore. 

You don’t feel like anything anymore. 

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever. 

That will certainly make things easier. 

But will it make things better? 

No. Probably not. 

It’ll make things worse. 

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now. 

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted. 

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing? 

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now. 

How badly it would destroy you. 

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close. 

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally. 

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing. 

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it. 

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.” 

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says. 

“She needs her alpha.” He argues. 

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.” 

“I can’t give her that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now. 

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it. 

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.” 

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost. 

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head. 

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight. 

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again. 

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t. 

To the beach and back, then. 

She’s like an angel. 

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is. 

The Garrick beauty is genetic. 

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her. 

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.” 

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever. 

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?” 

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit. 

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do. 

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed. 

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks. 

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books? 

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure. 

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.” 

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you. 

You want to do it. 

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller. 

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe. 

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger. 

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more. 

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.” 

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now? 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time. 

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.” 

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US. 

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.” 

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long. 

She’s funny too. 

Stinky men. 

They are that. 

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement. 

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller. 

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.” 

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile. 

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered. 

Oh. 

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered. 

Oh. 

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller. 

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her. 

That’s not possible. You know it’s not. 

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.” 

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.” 

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say. 

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter. 

Another smile tugs at your lips. 

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to. 

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be. 

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here. 

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable. 

You hate it. 

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.” 

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better. 

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.” 

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology. 

It shocks him to stillness and silence. 

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you? 

He never existed. 

He left you behind. 

He never cared. 

Anger begins to bubble within you. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop. 

They’re all listening. 

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to. 

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!” 

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too. 

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation? 

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump. 

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt. 

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it. 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly. 

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue. 

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels. 

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!” 

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all. 

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.” 

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all. 

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” 

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it. 

The bond. 

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all. 

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary. 

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll. 

It was necessary, but at what cost? 

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress. 

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate. 

But how? 

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer. 

You need someone, and it can’t be her. 

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing. 

You need someone. 

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win. 

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can. 

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.  

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away. 

Just in case. 

One can never be too careful. 

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her. 

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe... 

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.  

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later. 

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[darksvster]

okay i was asked to post this on tumblr since i posted a mini essay about it on twitter so here it is, i added some more examples and elaborated on my points that i couldn't over twitter.

so, when i first watched episode 207 i thought it was weird how religious rhaenyra was, until ryan condal mentioned the cult imagery. now i think instead of the show making her paranoid and neurotic in the final arc, they're going to make her more of a cult leader figure.

i think rather than leaning into her paranoia and the idea of a "hysterical paranoid mother" after she loses her sons, they're going to have her drink her own kool-aid more and more. it's interesting that this is what emma and ryan discuss in this scene with the dragonseeds in the inside the episode.

i think it's interesting that instead of the show positioning her like "a leader amongst the smallfolk," this episode positions her in a darker light, like someone who is manipulating the people there for her own goals. and when vermithor turns on the bastards, she doesn't let them run, the guards keep them barricaded in.

she is literally enraptured by the fire in these scenes. now that she knows it's possible for others to claim the dragons, she has been vindicated and wants more. this is not a merciful queen who is reaching out a hand to the smallfolk, she's throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. after all, these are just smallfolk. bastards with no honor. ryan literally describes the scene as a ritual sacrifice.

and who do you conduct sacrifice for? the gods. but in this case, the gods the seven or the old gods, they aren't even just dragons, but the fact that rhaenyra sees herself in the dragons. she says as much in the literal pilot of the episode when viserys asks her what she sees when she looks at the dragons. she understands the power they wield.

she knows that their power lies in the dragons. but she doesn't reflect viserys' belief that they are a power that man never shouldn't have trifled with. she leans into the chaos and fire and blood of the dragons, we see that in the sowing, clearly.

rhaenyra inherited the worst of both viserys and daemon and that will lead to her madness. she's got viserys' strong belief in prophecy (one now exacerbated by her desperation).

we see that faith in the prophecy falter but never truly fade. rhaenyra has always taken is seriously, to the point that everything she's done this season is in response to the prophecy. her pacifism isn't just due to avoiding bloodshed. she makes it clear to jace that before plunging the realm into war she had to know there was no other option because of the burden of the prophecy.

even though daemon has never believed in prophecy or superstition. she's also got daemon's desire and lust for power and strength (something she confessed wanting specifically because daemon is a man when she was speaking to mysaria).

it's a great deconstruction of the chosen one archetype to have her drink this koolaid and believe herself the chosen one only to have that belief corrupt her. emma d'arcy speaks on this in their interview with gq when discussing rhaenyra's growing fanaticism.

I think something that has been happening for Rhaenyra throughout the series is a growing religious fanaticism. After her father’s death, there is this desire to be connected to him in some way. And losing him happens at the same moment as having her throne usurped. And so that thing that would have been such a direct connection to him is also stolen. So in lieu of that, there’s that searching [through] the histories. I think imagining that at some point her name will feature next to her father’s is in some way comforting, and I find it very moving to see a person who in grief has committed themselves to the history books. As the series goes on, I think we see her more and more invested in her faith. She returns to the old gods. I think all of these actions are in search of her right; the thing that she thought she had received from her father, she is looking for evidence again and again. And part of it, I’m sure, is a choice. I think sometimes in times of loss, we can choose the anchors that we are going to cling to, and her faith becomes one. But I think there’s a narcissism in it. I think her connection with her religion is about wanting to reinforce a divine right. And I think, looking at [episode] seven when this miracle takes place, and this man claims Seasmoke, I think she feels that it’s a gift from the gods. I think it’s what allows her to ride roughshod over Jace’s very legitimate concerns about his own status. I think it’s what allows her to stage a massacre, essentially. She feels that she is riding on the wings of her faith. But her faith, and her belief that she is the ruler that is supposed to sit on that throne, are completely enmeshed.

They continue:

What is going through Rhaenyra’s mind as she watches the Targaryen bastards be devoured and torched alive? I think she feels like a god. I think she feels super proud. I mean, I think it’s uncomfortable. I think there’s something, actually, also that ties into the religiosity — even being back in proximity to dragons, to that fire, is to somehow be living her birthright. To be soaking up the divine, somehow. And do you think that she feels as though the decision to essentially stage a massacre, as you say, is vindicated when the two new bastard dragonriders are found? Totally. Without a shadow of a doubt. I mean, it’s horrendous, but I think she is now this sort of emboldened fanatic, [and] I think she’s experiencing events within a far bigger timeline. She’s imagining the history books. And you know, what’s happening right in front of her is awful. But in 300-400 years, what will be documented is possibly a very short war; a huge civil war that was averted, that this was the first ruling queen, that this ruling Targaryen queen expanded the Targaryen’s ability to have dragons within their armoury.

emma's read on this supports what we see on screen when it comes to rhaenyra's newly found zealousness. the religious aspect could lead her to do things that might have been seen as atrocities by her. it could lead to mysaria abandoning her, her riders turning on her, and we would see more of that targ madness.

gods are mentioned several times in 207. first by addam, who says that the gods are calling him to greater things. rhaenyra has never been the extremely religious sort but, in this scene, she looks like she's had a moment of clarity.

importantly, rhaenyra doesn't know who addam's father is, or hugh's or ulf's. this is simply the first time in history that a non-targaryen (at least in her eyes) has claimed dragons. it's something that she believed impossible. it can feel like destiny to the desperate and she's been extremely desperate after losing daemon, rhaenys, and continuous loss after loss with no hope of recourse.

mysaria says that rhaenyra is lucky addam chose to bend the knee to her rather than himself. and her reply is that it is ordained. this religious vocabulary being used is intentional!

her complaint against the lowborn is that there is an ancient fealty from highborn houses. she essentially implies that bastards do not have honor. mysaria corrects her by pointing out that her legitimate half-brothers aegon and aemond aren't exactly delights, but that doesn't make rhaenyra see the light. instead she recognizes that there's fealty to be had from lowborn people too. the order of things have changed, as mysaria says, so she realizes that she can lift up people who have been historically stepped on and give power to the powerless, calling them her army of bastards.

but when jace calls this out, predicting that someone (perhaps hugh?) could lay claim to her throne if she legitimizes these bastards if not by name then by offering them the power of gods. obviously, jace's concern is real, his entire legitimacy lies on both viserys' past support and also the fact that he has a dragon of his own. if any bastard can claim one, what does that make him? but rhaenyra's response isn't logical. she believes that the throne is part of her and her son's destiny. their right.

for years, on some level, rhaenyra has believed that even though people have insulted her sons, they are full-blooded targaryens. she says herself that if she was a man she could father a dozen bastards, and as heir, she gives birth to three without hesitation. these aren't strongs or velaryons to her, her sons are targaryens.

but even when jace essentially begs his mother not to give commoners dragons, bringing up her past sins and pointing out his own struggle knowing that he's harwin strong's son, her response is somewhat cold. she says now that the gods have laid this in front of her and she has no choice.

the dragonkeepers call what she's doing blasphemy and note that it isn't the gods who brought the dragonseeds to her, but she herself has done that.

Dragonkeeper Elder: This is an abomination. You sent an Andal before a dragon. The judgment was delivered. Now you would send more. Rhaenyra: Ser Steffon Darklyn was the blood of the dragon. Dragonkeeper Elder: It was a blasphemy. He was no dragonlord. Neither are these. Rhaenyra: And yet the gods have set them before us. Dragonkeeper Elder: You have set them before yourself! The dragons are sacred; they are the last magic of Old Valyria in this sad world. They are not pieces on a board for the games of men. Our order will take no part in this.

to the dragonkeepers, she's using these bastards and dragons like chess pieces in her war. but to rhaenyra, who has seen addam claim seasmoke, it seems like this is a divine right — a sign from the gods. and that's proven again when hugh claims vermithor.

addam claiming seasmoke changed everything for her. she talks about claiming a dragon as a transformation, and, in many ways, this claiming has transformed her as well. she tells the dragonseeds that their purpose now is the end the hardships of war.

she paints a lovely image promising them peace at the end, but it is a wholly false image. with vermithor and silverwing now in her arsenal, there will be more suffering, more bloodshed. there are no promises of peace now that the war has been given to the dragons, not until everyone is dead. and if that happens, well, the gods willed it, not her.

in this moment, when she says "may the gods bless you" i have to wonder, is she talking about the seven? or the valyrian gods? or the dragons? i don't think she's fully in deep, but i can see the set up for a much darker storyline for rhaenyra rather than the book plot. every time her beliefs are proven or something impossible happens, that could reinforce her zealousness.

i have always said that rhaenyra is a combination of viserys and daemon, and i think that still. i think that she has both of their madnesses within her. as she loses more, the only thing she'll have to hold onto is that prophecy and the divine right she believes in now.

even this scene from the finale promo has over-the-top messiah, chosen apostles, last supper vibes. her saying "i have entrusted you with a power only few have known" as if she wasn't desperate for them and had no say in who the dragons chose. i love it!

honestly i'm totally here for it, i think it's an exciting direction to take. i don't think rhaenyra was always like this, she might have had the proclivity for it growing up under viserys' wing, but it's the war that's pushed her to this point. desperate people will turn to things like faith in order to guide them when the real world disappoints. i think it's a far more nuanced look at a sort of "madness".

and i'm here for the conflict that will happen with daemon as a result. i think daemon will be in direct opposition to this. he's NOT the type to follow cult leaders. this will be their conflict on top of the existing power struggles. this, to me, is far more interesting of a struggle as opposed to nettles causing romantic tension. this show has a tendency to lean away from harmful stereotypes about women. pitting woman against woman is one of them, as is the hysterical woman.

daemon dying for her could be a form of devotion, or perhaps even a command from a delusional rhaenyra who believes he will survive it. daemon could end up drinking the kool-aid too after the devastations of the war or simply realize that this is the last thing he can offer to someone who is too far gone to be saved.

THIS IS THE FIRE I WANT FOR RHAENYRA. this is the mad queen setup that we could have had! targ exceptionalism and completely going off the deep end as a way of coping with an unwinnable conflict. without viserys, without rhaenys, no one is there to temper the fire within her.

[mangosundae]

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[feyascorner]

before my nails dig

summary. in which one of Astarion's especially vivid nightmares results in him waking up to Tav at the mercy of his own hands...and the shame that comes with it.

warnings. angst, fluff, comfort

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. someone pls get this man therapy that's all i ask,,, also this takes place sometime during act 3 before you confront cazador!! first post too so pls forgive typos

Had breathing always been this hard?

It's not like he had to breathe anyway. The undead have more perks than one would think, and having no need for air was one that became particularly useful in unexpected ways. Yet as he stands in Cazador's dungeon again--a place he longs to rid from the darkest corners of his mind--all he can do is stumble over his own breath, crimson eyes darting around frantically in search of an exit.

And suddenly, his siblings are at the mercy of the ascension, floating helplessly in the chains of a red aura--Cazador's aura. Despite the chaos, Astarion's eyes narrow in on the one pedestal with no occupant, and he realizes it's his own designated place.

It's getting harder to breathe now.

A breath creeps up behind his shoulder, sending pure dread throughout his entire body as he hears Cazador's voice far too close than he ever wanted it to be.

"Wake up, child. This is all you've ever been meant for."

Astarion whips around and lunges at the man, his hands wrapping viciously around the throat he's fantasized about ripping apart for the past two hundred years. His nails dig into the flesh of the vampire lord's neck, leaving indents in the shape of crescent moons, just enough to cause panic but not enough to draw blood. But Cazador only cackles, his eyes staring right into Astarion's as he hollers over and over again.

"Wake up."

"Wake up!"

"--Astarion!"

The spawn's eyes snap open, recognition finally flooding his expression as he finds himself staring down at you. The very face he sees in the softest of dreams, the lips he longs to kiss at every waking moment, and the eyes that gaze at him with the love and adoration he's been missing for most of his wretched eternal life. Though he'd never admit it, you saved him. From the moment he'd threatened your life at the nautiloid crash to the moment he held you close to his chest in the confines of his tent, he would be by your side until you tired of him and threw him away.

All he wanted--all he could wish for--was only a fraction of it in return. And you'd given him that, and so much more.

But now, you're scared. Terrified, even. Of him.

With horror, he realizes his fingers are digging into your throat. Your precious, tender throat that you offer him not for something in return, but simply because you care for him.

All at once as he tears his hands away, he wants to cut them off and bury himself in his own grave again. He doesn't meet your eyes, afraid of what disgust might be held in them, but he knows you're too kind for that. Too kind to see the kind of monster he is.

You're gasping for your breath, and his stomach knots in a way that would have sent him hurling if it weren't for the fact that he's too occupied drinking in what he's done. To you.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, Astarion," you choke out, perching on both your elbows as you struggle to recover. Even now, all you seem to care about is him. He almost hates you for it--hates you for not stabbing a stake through his heart the moment his hands met your neck. "Astarion-"

"Your throat," he croaks, despising the slight crack of his voice as he reaches for your cheek, but stops before he even gets close. He doesn't trust himself to open his mouth again.

"It's okay, really, I can just get Shadowheart to heal me," you shake your head, and he finds himself in disbelief as you crawl toward him, tossing the sheets to the side. He shifts the slightest away and you understand, immediately sitting back down. You look like you want to say something, but you close your mouth and watch him patiently, as if waiting for him to make the first move.

After a suffocating silence, he turns his back to you. "I'll be sleeping elsewhere tonight."

He intends of never sharing a room with you again, in fear of what he could possibly do to you as a result of his selfish desires to keep you close, and you seem to pick up on the tone of his words. You always do. "Astarion, please."

"I do apologize, sincerely. I'll form a better apology tomorrow, but for now, I'll fetch Shadowheart or that damned wizard and-"

He fights the urge to shiver when he feels your hand on his. How you manage to have such an impact on him with a simple touch he does not know, and does not care because all he wants is more. To pull you close, to beg you to keep him, to use him, to punch him, strangle him for all he cared, in hopes you'll even consider ever speaking to him again. Instead, he turns to look at you.

Gods, you're beautiful.

Even with those terrible bruises he'd go to hell and earth to take back, your beauty in unmatched with anything he's ever seen. Even with the bed hair and the anxiousness pursing your lips, he can't bring himself to look away again.

"Please stay. I'm not mad, nor afraid."

The words sound like honey on your tongue.

"Please," You say again, slowly this time. "Stay."

His chest feels tight, threatening to tear itself apart as his voice comes out in a crooked whisper. "I could have killed you."

"You didn't."

"If you died too, I don't know--what would I even do with myself? What would I-" He hates it when he sounds like this. Vulnerable, or as Cazador liked to call it: pathetic. But he can't help the words tumbling out his blasted mouth with the way you're gazing at him with nothing but worry. Somehow, with you, it feels strange.

Refreshing, almost.

Your hand squeezes around his as if to remind him you're still here. He meets your eyes again and it's all it takes to break what little will he has left, as he lets you pull him close in a crushing hug--one that's all too welcomed.

And as the two of you lie awake in each other's embrace, he thanks all the gods he doesn't worship for putting you on his path.

[sluttycelestialgoddess]

If you give Sylus a Hunter...

Synopsis. Sylus has a lot of fun making you beg.

Pairings. Sylus x reader(MC)

Content. MDNI. edging, fem reader, praise, crying, mentions use of evol, pet names (kitten, sweetie, good girl, etc), AFTERCARE.

Word Count. 2.2k (damn... pretty good for my first story)

Author's Note. Thanks for reading my first story! Let me know what you think, and feel free to leave me requests! I wrote this while listening to 'Be Quiet and Drive' by Deftones. (also, did you like the title... I thought of 'when you give a mouse a cookie' and giggled to myself) xo, Z/Chaos

MDNI BEYOND THIS POINT.

Sylus had you right where he wanted you. His bed. Again. He looked down at you with his usual arrogant smirk as you whimpered and squirmed. His crimson eyes seemed to be lit with that internal glow they had sometimes when he was excited or wanted something. “Now, now, kitten. Spread those pretty thighs for me. You don’t want me to use my evol again, do you?” he purred sardonically, his left eye beginning to actually glow.

You were almost at your wits end. It had been an hour since he grabbed you out of the hallway of his hilariously (or should you say outrageously?) huge home you were attempting to get to know your way around and all but threw you onto his bed, using his evol to hold your hands above your head as he stripped you bare. He was insatiable. You’d been staying with him for four days at this point and already you’ve had more sex than you had in the last 2 years combined. Which, in the grand scheme of things, you guessed wasn’t much considering you dedicated all your time to becoming a Hunter for Linkon City after the rise of wanderer attacks, resulting in a gnarly dry spell… but his hunger for you was bordering on absurd. Even so, you had to ask yourself… Does he ever get tired?

In this hour that he’d had you at his mercy, he’d managed to edge you to the pinnacle of ecstasy no less than five times, never letting you reach that sweet release. You were a shaking, sobbing, whimpering mess, and he loved it. You were half in the mind to use one of the safe words he declared you use on the first night if you ever found yourself not being able to handle something. But your pride was like a gag, not letting your tongue form the word. “Feather”. How fitting, the smug bastard. 

“‘Feather’ will be to stop. You say that and everything stops. We do not continue. There will be no “break and then get back to it”. Saying that means you’re done for the night. So just be sure that’s the one you want to use,” he had told you. At the time you had giggled, thinking it was endearing, thinking back on it now, you wanted to kick him in the face. No way in hell were you uttering the word “feather” while a trembling, whimpering mess. If only you could actually move your legs to kick him, but nope. Useless appendages. 

You realized Sylus was still waiting for you to comply with his request. Finally having an ounce of control over your legs after they had become jelly sometime in the last 20 minutes, you shakily opened your legs to him, a whimper leaving your lips as the cool air in the room met your soaked lips. I could kick him now… but then he’d keep me like this all night. Fucker.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well,” he praised, not seeing your thoughts, steadily growing fond of the idea of smashing your foot to his face. You internally smiled at your mental picture, but really you were enjoying yourself all things considered. He leaned over to rub soothing circles over your thigh before running a long finger through your sensitive folds. “You remember your safe words, correct?” he asked with a grin and you nodded, glaring daggers. He chuckled and hummed at how wet you’d gotten, and he hadn’t even put his mouth on you. Looking up to watch your reaction, he slipped his finger in, curling slightly to caress over the spot that always made you gasp. You did, and he smiled at the pretty sound, feeling pride at how well he knew your body. However, he was beginning to think he was being just a tad cruel as he watched your eyebrows knit together and the pitiful whimpers run into each other as they exited your lush lips. 

“Oh baby, I know, I know… I’ll let you come soon. Such a good girl… you look fucking delicious right now,” he cooed as he eased a second finger inside you and coated his thumb in your wetness before rubbing circles over your throbbing clit. Goosebumps covered your skin and you whined, your hips bucking up of their own accord. “Mmm, such a needy kitten. Sweetie, I think you could take a couple more, hm?”

You whimpered out unintelligible curses at the remark and he chuckled. “Sylus… I really don’t know if I can,” you say, finally having found your voice in the string of muttered curses and whines. You clenched your eyes closed as he pressed harder on your clit and curled his fingers deeper. That blossoming warmth entered your tummy again. You fluttered around him and he groaned, wanting so badly to see you come apart, but needing it to be while he was inside you so you could milk him for everything he had. 

“Relax, you can handle it,” he chided with a tsk. “I’ve seen you take more than this, sweet girl. You’re stronger than you think. Tell me how badly you want to cum,” he groaned as you clenched harder around him. You were half scared he would pull back and deny you once again, but also half scared he wouldn’t and it would be over. He rubbed at your thighs, admiring how mouthwatering they were coated in your arousal. “Beg for it. Beg for me to let you cum.”

You felt the tears begin to sting the back of your eyes and you steeled yourself long enough to whisper through your moans, “Please, Sylus. Please let me cum, baby. I’ll do anything, just please…”

“Anything, hm?” he questioned, obvious interest in his tone as he leaned down and sucked lightly on your clit, replacing his thumb. You gasped as he rolled his tongue over the sensitive nub. Your legs shook fiercely and you cried out. Pulling back, fingers and all, he stood over you. The damn tease… His eyes never left yours as he deftly undid the buttons on his shirt, then his pants, rolling them both off and letting them pile on the floor. He leaned down and extended himself over you until your lips met in a passionate kiss. “If you’ll do anything, how about you stay true to your word by cumming around my cock?” he teased as he grabbed it and rubbed it through your slickness. 

“Yes, please,” you sighed against his lips, seeing this as him conceding as long as you came wrapped around him. His lips curved into a dangerous grin at your response, pushing inside with agonizing slowness. He groaned.

“Fuck, you’re so tight and wet, I don’t even need to work it in,” he moaned appreciatively as he drove into you with one powerful thrust, no longer able to torture you with slow pumps. Once he was fully seated, he kissed you tenderly as began to move, rubbing his pelvic bone over your clit with every thrust. You whimpered, feeling the tears fall from your clenched eyes as the warmth began to spread again.

Sylus smiled down at your beautiful face, eyes clenched tight with tears trailing down your cheeks. Perfect… She is so perfect. “So beautiful, baby. You’re trembling. You’re so close, aren’t you, pretty girl?” he rubbed your hair with one hand to soothe you and wiped at your tears with the other. You couldn’t form a coherent sentence, so you only answered him through an eager nod and whimpers. “Hm, I know, baby. Cum for me. Cum on my cock.” Sylus sped up, needing to see you lose yourself in pleasure. Lose yourself while clenched so tightly around him.

This was his favorite part, of course. After repeatedly bringing you to that edge, but pulling back before you could fall, you would always be so wound up that when the orgasm finally came, it would make you delirious with pleasure. He loved watching you as you finally crashed over the edge he kept you from and your face would contort in utter rapture, crying out his name and clenching so tight around him he’d have no choice but to follow you. He shook his head to focus on the present and ground against you to help you to reach what you’ve been begging him for. 

You whimpered as he gave his permission. You let go, no longer holding yourself back. The warmth in your tummy became an inferno as his thrusts became harder, rubbing your clit with his pelvis and the head of his cock jutting against that sweet spot inside you. You were so close. Just a little more pressure… “Please…” you begged on a needy sob. Sylus kissed you harder as he felt his own release building. He wrapped his arms around you to pull you up slightly in his arms, holding you so that you hovered over the bed as he pounded into you, holding you both up with his free hand on the mattress. The new angle had him going impossibly deeper, rubbing your clit against him with an intensity that finally pushed you over the boundary he had carefully pulled you from so many times. Your nails raked over his shoulders as you cried out. “Sylus! Yes!”

“That’s my good girl. Cum all over my cock. Fuck, you feel so good, baby… so tight,” he praised with a loud groan, rutting up into you as his own orgasm crashed over him. His grunts filled your ears, and it was his previous words coupled with them and his unrelenting ministrations that made your toes curl. Your body convulsed as wave after wave of pure bliss spiraled over your entire body. Your back arched into Sylus as his cum filled you, his thrusts not wavering as his body shook, ensuring he extended your pleasure as long as possible. 

Eventually, your cries subsided into soft, shuddering breaths as the tremors in your body slowly dissipated. Sylus sat back on his heels, holding you tightly the entire time you came down from your high, rubbing his hands down your back as you stayed wrapped around him. When your shaking stopped, he stood up from the bed. You stayed clutched to him as he walked to the washroom and started a bath. Sylus being Sylus, he added in his favorite epsom salts and relaxing bubble bath as the water filled up steadily. 

“My love, are you okay? I’ll hold you all night if you need, but I want to clean you up and take care of you. You did so well, but I know that had to be draining. Let me wash you then I’ll hold you so you can rest,” he whispered, rubbing his hands down your exposed ribs from where your arms were clasped like a restraint around his neck. He could feel your grip wavering and knew you were going to be out like a light as soon as your head laid down on his chest. You relented, loosening your grip in your legs around his waist as he wrapped his arm around your back and the other under your knees to lower you into the water. You sighed as you relaxed into it. 

“Just relax, I’ll take care of everything,” he said and kissed the top of your head. Methodically, he washed your body, almost like he was worshiping. He took care to be gentle around the sensitive junction of your thighs, kissing your shoulder when he lightly passed over it. He took a cup and filled it with water to run over your hair and began to wash it with his shampoo. She’s going to smell like me… he smiled to himself as he massaged your scalp. After washing it out, he combed through your hair with his fingers coated in conditioner. 

Sylus made sure to take extra good care of you after long sessions like the one today, diligently washing you, feeding you, massaging sore areas, or simply holding you so you know how much he loves you. After fully washing you and drying you off, he carried you back to the bed and laid you down among the mass of pillows and plushies you had “adopted” (as you put it). So beautiful... He smiled down at you, showing you all the love and tenderness he held in his heart for you. You smiled back sleepily and reached out for him to join you. He climbed in and gently pulled your head to his chest, rubbing his hand over your thigh in invitation for you to put it over his to rest. 

You snuggled into him as he kissed your head. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered as you felt yourself beginning to drift off. Your speech slurred as sleep dragged you under. Sylus tightened his arms around you, his muscled chest hugging your cheek. 

“I will always take care of you, my love. You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine. I love you, sweetie. Rest.”

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Something That I Want

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: prince!lando norris x fem!princess!reader

♥ series synopsis: you are the princess of monaco and your ex, lando, is prince of england. your family has been into f1 for a very long time, turning you quickly into a fan. this prompts lando to buy mclaren after your break up, just to spite you. you weren’t even able watch your favorite sport without seeing him, causing you to match his pettiness and buy a team of your own. 

♥ chapter synopsis: life is short. buy an f1 team.

♥ smau - fc: women on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: fun fact! this was originally going to be a sleeping beauty related fic (hence the pink) but I decided that this plot was a better idea.

-December 18, 2023-

liked by landonorris, mclarenracingf1, f1, and 4,932,753 more BBCNews After a messy breakup with Monegasque Princess Y/n L/n, Prince Lando has rebounded in a way no one would expect: buying an F1 team.

view comments

oscarpiastri oh?

mclarenracingf1 we are absolutely honored to have him as a part of the papaya team 🧡

user7 the difference between Oscars and the McLaren admin's comments 😭

user1 isn't he younger than half the drivers on the grid?

user8 I need him I'm afraid

user5 righttt he looks so fine 😩

user6 his jawline >>>

user12 y/n response when

user22 what an asshole

user19 ?

user10 why would he buy an f1 team that's so random

user7 I'm going to make a thread!!

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You rolled your eyes as you saw all the posts you were tagged in about Lando. You knew he was going to be petty, but you didn’t think he’d take it to this degree. If he was going to act this way, you might as well play along. 

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-December 24, 2023-

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, f1, and 6,924,842 more

scuderiaferrari we are absolutely honored to announce that the Princess of Monaco Y/n L/n will be the new CEO of our team Scuderia Ferrari F1 affective immediately.

view comments

charles_leclerc @/yourusername nous avons la chance de vous avoir - (we’re lucky to have you)

yourusername merci charles ❤️

user2 oh shit 🫣

user7 NO WAY

user1 😨

user4 CHECKMATE @/landonorris

user6 the woman ever

user3 the revenge plan is eating

user5 the CHAOS. the DRAMA. 🤭

user8 silly season is already sillying

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, and 5,832,940 more

yourusername I’ll see you in the paddock 😘

view comments

carlossainz55 es un honor tenerte en el equipo - (it’s an honor to have you on the team)

yourusername gracias carlitos ❤️

lewishamilton it’s been a while. I can’t wait to see you again

yourusername see you soon lewis 🥰

user2 she didn’t even have to tag him 😩🙏

user6 he knows who he is

user12 lately she’s been dressing for revenge

user1 charles casually being here

user7 hes picked his side and I don’t blame him dhsbsidj

user4 he has to support his girl

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: im HYPED to start this series. I have a lot of fun things planned <3 shoutout to anyone who noticed the title of this series is based on the end credits song from tangled. I’ll be posting the masterlist soon!

[coff33andb00ks]

Until You

Part One | Part Two

charles leclerc x female pop singer!reader x oscar piastri f1 smau with intermittent scenes fc: none it's a mix of taylor swift, sabrina carpenter, and random pinterest ladies. {voice claim is adele}

Summary: he drives vroom vrooms, she sings soulful tunes. there's no way in hell this is gonna work, right? Warnings: language Notes: my first foray into smau and holy shit these are a lot of fun (and work omg). special thanks to @driverlando for the encouragement and listening to me whine

ynyln

liked by charles_leclrec, landonorris, pierregasly and 3,689,476 others ynyln: Merci beaucoup, Paris! Je t'aime et à bientôt!! ❤️💋 user1: formula one what are you doing here     user2: she's always been a fan? user3: hope you're ok!! <3 user4: mother showing us all why she's mother pierregasly: magnifique spectacle, rendez-vous à Monaco! user5: did anyone see the fan vides of the f1 boys there?      user6: she's gonna be at Monaco?!?!      user7: were they in vip?      user5: yeah but from what I've seen they didn't go backstage or anything user7: announce split from shitbag bf then perform best show of her tour? queen shit

ynyln

liked by mclaren, charles_leclrec, scuderriaferrari and 2,912,672 others ynyln: For the first time I will be attending a Grand Prix! Vroom vrooms make my heart go brr. Eternally grateful to scuderiaferrari for the invitation. (They don't have to know my favorite driver is on mclaren) 📷: poster of the gp I was supposed to go to 2 years ago scuderriaferrari: 🤨 scuderriaferrari: we're sure you'll be a converted tifosi by Sunday mclaren: yn is our fan 🙏🏻 Oscar and Lando on cloud 9 now f1: Looking forward to (finally) welcoming you! user4: alright y'all is she a Lando or Oscar girlie      ynyln: can't I love them both 🥺 user8: great now I gotta watch all the grand prix stuff this week for a glimpse of mother user7: why didn't you go 2 years ago?     user8: J*stin that's why ynbff: I know this is so beyond huge for you! You're going to have such a great time!! (liked by ynyln) user4: idk but it's weird she's all happy and stuff right after the end of her relationship with IDK      user1: not really? If you look back for the past year they were rarely seen together. He didn't even go to her launch party in London      user5: yeah anyone could see they were over long before they announced it. she probably mourned it already

ynyln

liked by charles_leclrec, ybffn, oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 4,698,981 others

ynyln: Dinner in Monte Carlo. Do I go all in on black or red?

scuderriaferrari: red, obviously landonorris: black charles_leclerc: Red maxverstappen1: Black ynyln: all these blue check marks where are my lil lattes 😩 user2: yn stays forgetting she's the biggest blue check mark user1: not max joining in the mclaren vs ferrari fight for YN mclaren: Papaya 🥺 (but black)      scuderiaferrari: go comment on your own guest's posts      mclaren: you sent the invite after we mentioned doing it      landonorris: do better admin      mclaren: We'll get her next time      redbullracing: not if we get her first      landonorris: if not we're going on strike      oscarpiastri: we what      landonorris: for legal reasons that was a joke 🙄 oscarpiastri: I quite like the red user3: I love that YN asked opinions on her fit but it's just f1 drivers and admins fighting over her 🍿🍿 (liked by author)      ynyln: it's amazing right? no one's fought over me before user3: bffr sabrinacarpenter: love the black but the red slays 🫶🏻 redbullracing: we vote blue      mclaren: that's not an option?      redbullracing: we still vote blue      scuderiaferrari: don't you have an energy drink to go sell user4: came for the pics, stayed for the f1 chaos

ynyln has added to their story

caption: making men wait for selfies before i order food? yes

Y/n and Charles lingered over their wine, and when yn/bff made the signal that they should get going y/n waved her off. Usually she hated social settings, but Charles was so personable and warm that she felt like she was chatting with a longtime friend. "You can go, Pete can get me back to the hotel," she said, glancing to the table in the corner, where Pete and Charles's bodyguards sat. The dining room was private, and she had the feeling that Ferrari had paid to have the restaurant closed to anyone but their small party for the night.

"I will make sure she gets back safely," Charles promised.

Yn/bff relented, excusing herself and leaving. The next several moments YN bid goodnight to the others, smiling sweetly and shaking hands of the Ferrari personnel and members of the team, and finally Carlos, who shared a knowing look with Charles before he left.

"You don't have to stay with me," she said as the waiter came to refill their glasses.

"No, I am having a wonderful time." He smiled, asking the waiter to leave the bottle. "I have wanted to meet you for a long time."

That surprised her. "Really?" she asked, sipping her wine.

He nodded, standing and bringing his glass and the bottle around so he could sit next to her. "I've been a fan of yours since – ah, I'm bad at song titles. The song where it's – I heard that you're settled down. I can't sing, I'm sorry."

She smiled. "Someone Like You?"

"Yes, that one." Charles leaned one arm on the table. "A few of us came to Paris and we were supposed to come backstage after the show, but after what happened…"

"I saw pictures and videos of you and – Lando and Pierre right? I wish I could have met you then – I've been a fan forever, but…" She swallowed hard, glancing down briefly. "I cancelled my post show meetings," she murmured. "It didn't seem right."

"Were you…" He paused, then shook his head. "It is none of my business."

"Was I too upset?" she guessed, taking another sip as the surprised flashed in his eyes. "I suppose I was. You were at the show… Those emotional moments weren't rehearsed."

"I could tell."

"Do you want to know the crazy part?" She didn't know why she was sharing this with him. He was a stranger. Yet she felt so at ease with him. More at ease than she had in a long time, really. "I wasn't crying for him."

"Who were you crying for, chérie?" he asked softly.

"Myself. For the wasted time, the pain I put myself through." Y/n gave her head a little shake. "I'm sorry, you don't want to hear about that."

"I want to hear about anything you wish to say."

"Are you always this charming?" she asked.

"I'm not charming. That makes it sound like I'm trying to make you like me. I am just… Me, y/n."

"You. Charles Leclerc, one of the top drivers in formula one."

"And you are just y/n, queen of music."

"I wasn't always."

"Neither was I."

"Touche," she sighed, lightly clinking her glass to his. "But you are charming."

"Perhaps I am just charmed. I am glad you went with the red." His eyes stayed on her as he finished his wine. Then he glanced to the corner, hesitating before facing her again. "Would you like to go somewhere more private?"

She hesitated. She didn't know him. The last thing she needed was some messy disaster of a fling, or to dive into a new relationship. And yet… "Yes," she whispered.

tbc.

[adimilkys]

Can you please PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do jjk (especially nanami and toji) with s/o in their special time that doesn't want their children to hear them? (I'm 26, not native speaker, new on Tumblr but love Ur acc)

Be quiet, love.

warnings : MDNI 18+, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, biting, not proofread

Contains : Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento

note : I will do a part two 100% with more characters, I just had no idea what to write for Toji for now (sorry anon) my brain is dead from working... also this is hurried because I haven’t posted anything for so longg

part two (soon)

Gojo Satoru

You’re in the kitchen, drinking water after finally putting your kid to sleep. Satoru was still in their bedroom reading a bed time story, even after a full day of chaos you weren’t that tired, which was surprising as your days lately just ended with falling asleep within seconds from exhaustion.

Suddenly, you felt hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you back. Satoru leaving kisses all over your neck and shoulders. “Do you know how hard has it been for me all day? Wearing those shorts that barely cover your ass… tsk, naughty girl~”

He spun you around, picked you up and sat you down on the counter, continuing his assault to your neck. “Toru… not in here-” you whined, trying to pull his head away- which of course doesn’t work.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer… need you so badly.” He whined, his hands sneaking under your shirt, pinching your nipples.

“What if baby wakes u-” He slammed his lips on yours, cutting you off. His tongue slid over your lips, when you didn’t open them one of his hands slid down and cupped your pussy, making you gasp. He didn’t waste any time, immediately entering your mouth.

“I’ll be quick” with that, he grabbed your shorts and pulled them off right with your panties. You knew damn well that was a lie, Satoru is never quick, he loves taking his time while fucking you, making sure to fill you up until his cum is spilling out of you.

He replaced his tongue with two of his fingers, making you slightly gag. “Suck.” You complied, staring up at him with teary eyes, swirling your tongue around his fingers. He cursed under his breath at your face. “You tease… giving me the fuck me eyes, hm?”

His fingers left your mouth, immediately going down and entering your hole, making you gasp. Not wasting any time he scissored you, making sure to loosen you up as fast as possible, feeling if he didn’t, he would burst in his pants just from looking at you.

You hid your face in his neck, trying to muffle your moans. “Just like that wifey, you don’t want to wake baby up, right?”

As you were about to cum he pulled his fingers away, making you whine which was immediately replaced by a gasp- filling you up with a quick thrust.

He groaned into your ear, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist, giving you no time to adjust he started pounding into you at an inhuman pace.

“T-Toru!” You moaned a little too loud, biting his shoulder to contain your moans. “Shh… You’re doing so g-good… fuck.” Satoru bit his lip, trying to be quiet as well.

His pace has not slowed down even a little, going faster and faster, hitting that one spot- giving you no mercy.

“C-Close!” You managed to say before letting out a cry, your feet digging into his back as you came all around his cock.

Fuck, you were gripped him so tight. With a few more deep thrusts he buried himself right against your cervix and shoot out ropes of his cum.

You didn’t even get any time to calm down before you heard little footsteps upstairs. Immediately pushing Satoru away to put on your shorts.

“Mama… Papa?” Your kid yawned, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sweetheart… what are you doing up?” You said trying to stand up but wincing at the sudden pain in your legs. Satoru decided to be the one to take over the situation, walking up to the little kid and taking them in his arms.

“I heard some noises…” Satoru sighed, nodding your way and taking baby up the stairs back to their bedroom.

“Papa?”

“Yes baby?”

“Why do you have a bite mark there?”

Nanami Kento

Lately you and your husband haven’t had time for any activity in bed. Your kid has gotten the flu which was really stressing. Not to mention that they’re extra clingy while sick too, always needing your attention.

Finally it has calmed down, and your baby was out asleep because of the meds. “God I need a long, relaxing bath after this week.” You sighed falling onto the couch.

“Already done, love. Even added all your oils in it.” You looked over to your husband, a grin on your face, opening your arms motioning for him to come and hug you.

“I love you so much, my amazing husband.” You left kisses all over his face while he held you in his arms. “Then I hope you wouldn’t mind if I… joined you?”

You leaned over to his ear, whispering "of course not" which made him immediately pick you up, throw you over his shoulder and carry you to the bathroom while you laughed.

He didn't waste any time in undressing you, knowing your baby could wake up. You got in the bath, Kento right behind you. You sighed leaning your head back on his shoulder, the warm water soothing your muscles.

Suddenly you felt kisses all over you neck, the mouth finding your sweet spot and sucking on it, making you let out a quiet moan. "Just relax, let me take care of you, love."

One of his hand toyed with your nipples, while the other with your folds. "No teasing, Ken..." he chuckled, two of his fingers entering your hole, making you gasp.

He found your spot in no time, abusing it over and over again. You couldn't contain your moans, thank god your bathroom was far away from the babies room.

"S-Shit- I'm-"

"Close? Cum f'me, love" he didn't have to tell you twice, you came hard all around his fingers, a silent scream leaving your lips. "S'good f'me... my pretty wife." He pulled his fingers out, grabbing your face and connecting his lips with yours, the kiss was gentle, full of love.

"I'm going to enter now, alright?" You nod your head, your nails were digging into his thighs. He positioned himself against your entrance before slowly thrusting in.

Even though it's not your first time, with Kento it feels like it is every single time. "S-So big- ugh...!" you moaned, your head threw back, eyes closed.

His thrusts started off slow, but sped up every second, some of the water splashing out of the bath and onto the floor. "You feel so good, love-" He groaned into your ear, his hands gripping your hips.

Suddenly he pulled out, you whining at the lost sensation before he picked you up, left the bath and bent you over the bathroom sink, entering you once again.

"Look at yourself, hm? So beautiful, all mine..." he grabbed your face once again, making sure you're looking in the mirror. You're hair was sticking to your face, water droplets flowing down your body. You could also see the way his dick moved in and out of your pussy, stretching it out.

His hands were wrapped around your waist, his eyes piercing right through yours in the mirror, making you flustered, wanting to look away but he doesn't let you.

His thrusts were speeding up, one of his hands lowered and went over to your clit, rubbing it. "Haah... Kennn-"

"Shit... come with me baby" With a loud moan you came, him not long after you, spilling his cum inside of you.

Both of you were panting, as he pulled out you could feel his cum spilling out of you, making you shudder at the sensation.

"You did so good love, come on let's get you dried up."

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki + lava Quirk!wife (both Pro Heroes)

☆—a.n; i woke up today feeling feisty lol not really xd just wanted some "i'm crazy as you are" type of love today lmao✌🏼🖤

Bakugou Katsuki is obsessed with you.

And he doesn't even try to hide it.

You're his sidekick. You had trained in his Agency since you were a mere brat doing your internship your first year at UA. Of course, there were literally counted the times you had encountered him in person. The other Heroes that joined his Agency were the ones in charge of the kids. They had told you how Dynamight hated when babysitting time came every year, he wouldn't even participate in those actually. So they would advice to not cross his path.

From time to time, Dynamight would watch their sparrings sessions, gave them a bit of advice–more like mean criticism yell at them. But he had better things to do, people to save, villains to get their asses destroyed by him. He was not going to waste his time with annoying brats like you.

He had heard of you, of course. The one brat that could control and handle freaking lava like it was fucking nothing. Of course when he saw you, he thought his sidekick had pulled a prank on him, joking to see if would be excited about the idea of having someone with that type of Quirk in his Agency. You couldn't be the one with the lava quirk. You looked... normal. Quirkless even–if this were other times and if he would judge people about it. He had changed, okay? Thank you very fucking much. But he did think it was impossible that you were that amazing brat the other heroes were talking about. They had even compared you to him, in witty and determination to become the number one Pro Hero on the ranks, in strength and no mercy against villains, or other heroes and classmates.

When he stood right in front of you one day, towering almost three heads over you and almost one more person's size to the side, Dynamight laughed. You looked like a little bunny caught red-handed, terrified by everyone around you–especially by the size of him–and skittish, almost like what Deku had been as a kid.

That should have been a first warning for Bakugou–never judge a book by its cover.

You have trained in his Agency the three years you had been in UA, and he has never once seen you nor your Quirk on display, nevertheless in real action. He had only heard how good you were in trainings from the other heroes. But he didn't care enough to actually sought-after. He was already fighting Deku for the number one spot on the rankings, he didn't have time for brats like you.

Until one day, a dangerous villain, that created enormous monsters of metal almost to the size of a ten flour building, was causing too much disaster appeared. It was more than chaos, it had been a destruction like no other.

Dynamight nor Deku could contain the motherfucker.

He was bruised, his hands beat with agony at the amount of times he had used his blasts and the push to keep going, his body muscles were screaming for him to stop. A quick glance to his side where Deku was, and the guy wasn't better than him, breathing like his lungs couldn’t no more. Every other hero in the scene was in the same shape.

They were fucking losing.

And then, like an angel sent from heaven–or better said, a demon sent from the deepest hell for the way you fucking looked, you appeared in all your majestic glory, lava making you slide in between them, surrounding you like it was nothing, like strings coming from inside your body, and began a new fight with that fucking villain's monsters.

Bakugou saw –an enamored expression on his face– how you your whole demeanor changed, your skin, your eyes, everything in you became so menacingly, so evil looking, so freaking scary, that if you weren't training to be a Hero, he thought you would be one the most terrifying villains of all times –even more than that piece of shit AFO.

The lava was visible in all your body, and you fought, a crazed smile and eyes opened wide, enjoying the damage you were doing to the metal monsters; your joy was shining bright for everyone to see, as you yelled, "DIE, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!" as the monster melted under your hands and body.

He was captivated, fucking spellbound, by the sight in front of him. He fell to his knees, watching you melt every single one of the monster in one more movement of your hand, as lava flowed towards them, capturing and melting them as you stand straight, the expression on your face serious and deadly. You then walked towards the source, the main villain who was creating this chaos, and the guy literally fell to the floor in fear, trying to crawl away from you in tears. When you stood before him, you crouched to his level, and smiled devilishly.

The villain pissed his pants.

And Bakugou's cock twitched.

He then murmured, "I'm gonna marry the shit out that woman."

Deku chuckled, shaking his head and letting his body fall to ground in tiredness. Everything was okay now.

From then on, you were by Dynamight's side all the time. The second you graduated –Bakugou Katsuki of fucking course attended the graduation ceremony– he offered a job on his Agency for you. And you said yes, even though you had options like Deku's Agency, or Hawk's, and even Endeavor had offered you a big place on his, trying to win you by saying that most of his sidekicks were fire-like Quirks and that his mother had a Quirk similar to yours, he could ask her for advice for you. Bakugou's stomach turned thinking he might had won you over that. But before he could finish the sentence, "Would you like a spot on my Ag–", you exclaimed a big YES, smiling warmly and eyes shining in excitement.

He had to clear his throat and look away at your expression, making something tingle in his chest. Was that his heart?

You became his partner then, in missions, in interviews, in meetings with other Agencies when some big villain appeared and they had to join forces. You were always there, not behind him but next to him.

In interviews he would always let you speak about how everything went and thank every body who helped. But Katsuki would look at you. Look as the lava started to dissipate from your skin, slowly turning down the temperature and going back to your normal color. Your hair that became liquid lava slowly became the color of greyish-black rock and then smoothed its way to your normal texture and color. He always felt mesmerized watching the process, and he would look at it any opportunity he got.

It wasn't until one night out with his old friends that Pikachu said, "Dude, tone down your thirst a lil' bit," in between laughs with Raccoon Eyes and Shitty Hair.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Kirishima patted his back, shaking his head, "Your sidekick, man. The lava girl?"

"What?"

"What we are trying to say," Mina smirked, "is that everytime you look at her, its almost palpable the way you want to eat her."

Bakugou gulped. "Shut the fuck up. I don't look at her like that."

Mina winked at him, "If you say so..."

That night he searched on the internet in his phone for interviews, desperately. Fuck, his friends were right. He did look at you with a fascination and hunger he had never saw himself do. He remembered thinking about marrying you back in the days, but that had been the heat of the moment, right? This annoyed the shit out of him. But watching you again in those videos, as you smiled so kindly to the reporters or other Hero friends or to even civilians while looking so freaking scary when your Quirk was activated, made something stir inside his belly.

Fuck, you're gorgeous. You're everything he didn't know he wanted.

And that's when he decided he would not hide his feelings for you anymore.

So now, a few years after, when you are married to number two Pro Hero Dynamight, people always talk about how your husband always looks at you. How he always encourages you in your fights to "kill those fucking piece of shits, baby!!" as he is very close to you fighting his own set of shitty villains and you encourage him saying "show them who is the number two hero, love!" He looses it then, a blast that ends it all.

They talk about how he would always kiss you after a fight, even after all that adrenaline that makes him want to bury himself deep inside your warmth, he only holds your face gently, gloved thumbs caressing your cheeks lovingly, eyes locked onto each other like the world doesn't exist outside that moment, and he kisses you softly, a simple touch, a cute press of lips that lasts a millisecond so he doesn't burn the skin of his face and lips. And then he pulls one of your hands with his up in victory.

He didn't only win the battles, he won you each and every time he got to simply look at you, be next to you, kiss you.

He is obsessed with you, and he doesn't want to fucking hide it from the world.

[lilywastaken]

⇝ refuge .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART FOUR OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: After a mission goes wrong, the 141 seek shelter in Ghost's so-called "safe house".

WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, blood, wounds, stitching of wounds, mentions of abuse, first fluff in a while.

A/N: My fingers hurt I'm actually going to pass out now goodbye <3 (PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED IT HELPS A LOT!!!)

WORD COUNT: 11.2k.

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged in future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account - @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

Ghost’s hands were covered in blood. 

Although this was nothing out of the ordinary for a trained soldier like him, as he’d washed away many gallons of blood off of him in the time where he’d been on the field, this was different. 

It wasn’t the enemy’s blood that covered him, no. It wasn’t even his soldiers’ blood. 

It was civilian's. People that had been going about their day. Casualties in the mess that had erupted with a single missed bullet. 

It was his fault. 

If he hadn’t let himself grow distracted with the banter that erupted from his ear piece, if he had paid more attention to the target Laswell had given him, he would’ve been able to game end them right there and then like he had many before, instead, the bullet lodged right in his chest above the heart, enough time to stun the man but not enough to stop his other hand from clicking the detonator. 

The chaos that had followed was indescribable. He could still feel his ears ringing from the explosion that had occurred, the screams of the people he could have saved, the panicked shouts and roars from Price as he ordered them about. 

Ghost followed the order mindlessly, his body on some type of autopilot that had been turned on after the shock, taking out the other targets that had been lingering around until the bomb had gone off, his emotion-fueled mind taking out it’s anger on them by tearing them apart in the most gruesome ways possible. 

But he knew that covering himself in as much enemy blood as he could wouldn’t wash away the innocent’s. 

It wouldn’t wipe away the countless deaths he’d caused. 

But as he watched his final victim bleed out on the ground, ignoring their screams of pain and the insults that were being hurled at, Soap’s voice came through his earpiece. 

“Bastard’s gone. Cannae find him anywhere.”

Ghost’s blood boiled, combat boot slamming down onto the man’s head to finally shut him up, a last act of mercy and a way to express the anger rushing through his veins.

Even after they’d retreated back to the base they’d made theirs in the outskirts of Berlin during their mission there, Ghost couldn’t shake his disgusting feelings off his shoulders.

He’d never been the one to cause such a massacre like this. It was always some rookie or other, never a seasoned Lieutenant like him. 

Soap and Gaz’s conversation was just static to his ears, his mind spiralling as he thought about all the people around the city who had lost a family member today because of him. 

It wasn’t the first time in a mission where there’d been casualties. But never as many as this. And never had it affected him like this. 

The empathy he’d lacked almost all his life had suddenly made itself known in his mind, the little voice gnawing at the back of his head as it fed him scenarios linked to the mission they’d just failed, impossible if he were to think about them clearly, but right then, he couldn’t stop his heart from beating as fast as it could against his ribcage as he thought about the possibility of you or Tommy being involved in something like that, of having to carry the guilt that would no doubt haunt him all his life if that were to happen. 

He fucking hated it. 

He’d been deep in thought when they finally arrived at the base, the humvie’s doors opening as the other three stepped out, Price the only to take note of Ghost’s dishevelled state. 

“Lieutenant.”

…

“Ghost.”

…

“Simon!” Along with the bellow of his real name, the captain’s hand came down to slam onto one of the leather seats, finally pulling Ghost out of his stupor. “We’re here.”

“Copy.” He grunted, pushing himself out of the car and following his captain and the other two back to base mindlessly, almost like a zombie. 

It didn’t get better from there. Even as Laswell reassured him that it hadn’t been anyone's fault, that they hadn’t planned on the man wearing a gun vest, that even if he had succeeded in shooting him down, he wouldn’t be the only one with a detonator as found in one of the man’s lackey’s front pocket, that the explosion would have happened either way… He couldn’t help but still feel horrible. 

“Any idea where he is, then?” Price asked, looking through some of the files they’d been given on their runaway. 

“Probably went back home.” Gaz suggested, pointing out the address for a flat he had somewhere in the outskirts of Manchester.

“Called the airport, they told us a man with similar build and looks boarded a plane for Liverpool over two hours ago. He’s probably already out of the airport.”

Soap clicked his tongue, looking down at the address Gaz had mentioned before. “That’s his maw’s flat. Reckon he’d put ‘er in danger?”

“Doubt he’d care. He was happy to kill countless people for his cause, including his men and himself, what’s one more?” Ghost grunted, throwing the file down and leaning back in his chair, sharp gaze focused on the digital map Laswell had brought up, looking at the location of the terrorist’s house. 

“It’s not near any major buildings and isn’t close enough to the city to cause a commotion.” Laswell noted as she looked over the hills and lakes that surrounded the small house. “Good hiding place.”

“And if he’s not there?” Gaz asked, handing all the files back to Laswell, who gave him a solemn look. 

“We keep trying. Go get ready, I’ll call for a heli to take you all back to England. Try and get him, preferably alive, but be wary of any more guards or lackeys he might have brought with him. You’re all dismissed.”

Everyone was armed to their teeth by the time they’d made it back to English territory, night vision goggles pulled above their head as they had realised the trip took a bit longer than expected due to the cargo they had been asked to bring back to England in the process, the sky darkening even further with every second they spent on the helicopter. 

“Ghost, how copy?” Price shouted over the sound, elbowing Ghost in the side when he didn’t seem to hear him.

“What?!” Ghost shouted back, forcing out the pressure that clogged up his ears in order to hear properly. 

“How are you?! Never seen you this melancholic!” 

Ghost huffed out a laugh, tightening the straps of the seatbelts around his chest, as if they were the one putting pressure on his lungs. 

“Fine, captain!” He snapped, turning to look out of the small window row behind them. “Just ready to kill this fucking bugger!”

“Copy that!” Price slammed one of his burly hands onto Ghost’s shoulder, an act of encouragement the captain found himself giving to each of his members every time they went on a mission. 

After that, the helicopter went quiet, focusing on the mission ahead of them. 

Which in foresight, was expected to be relatively easy, a copy of many before them where they’d all come out victorious. 

But this one differed. 

The target wasn’t even that dangerous in itself, he was just some bloke who had had the brilliant idea to make an organisation that had somehow ended up planting bombs in almost every major city under the government and army’s radar. It hadn’t been up to now where they had finally learned who was behind it and where their next target was, but even then, they’d failed in protecting the civilians. 

Something they had spent almost a year investigating, fighting, taking down so many factions across the world to get to the top of the pyramid, the man behind it all. 

And fuck, if Ghost wasn’t going to make all the time he’d spent stressed and infuriated out of his mind on a wild goose chase for this fucking guy worth it. If he’d never fucking existed, the task force wouldn’t have gone through all that just to lose him, he wouldn’t have ruined the relationship he’d began with you, he would’ve had a proper go at being Tommy’s dad from the get-go. 

But a group of people that had afforded to build and plant so many bombs across so many countries, were to have enough money to hire bodyguards en par with the skill the 141 had. 

And that’s just what they had. 

Just like them, they were well-equipped with as many guns and weapons that the group’s money could buy, and while normally most men like these were just random guys picked off the street who had had guns shoved into their hands, these weren’t. They were trained, skilled enough to almost knock Soap’s gun out of his hands, and although that wasn’t what had happened, it had given them enough time for one of their bullets to graze his leg, not enough to fully bury itself into the flesh but enough to make him bleed and buckle to the ground. 

Ghost grabbed Soap by the scruff of his jacket, quickly disposing of the man that had shot him and pulling him up, letting the scot lean on him for balance. 

“Captain, Soap’s been hit!” Ghost roared into his radio, letting Soap lean on the wall while he grabbed some bandages they were always advised to bring and helped Soap in stopping the bleeding that the graze had caused. “Can you walk, Johnny?”

“Feckin’ adrenaline’s runnin’ through me, LT., could carry a horse if ye told me to.”

“Atta boy.” He handed him his gun so he could defend himself while they got out of the top floor. “Sir, the first floor’s clear. Taking the sergeant back to the car.”

“Roger. Be careful, fucker’s nowhere to be found down h- Fuck, Gaz!”

The sound of a gun going off and the roar from their captain made both men freeze in place, the dying grunts of someone coming through the radio before Gaz finally spoke, voice wheezy and hurt. 

“‘M fine, just- Fuck, that cunt stabbed me!” 

They made their way to the bottom of the stairs, where unfortunately, one of the men was waiting for them, stabbing their tactile knife right into Ghost’s shoulder thanks to the fact that he’d switched off his night vision goggles moments before, and wouldn't have seen them in the dark.

“Fuck, where do they keep comin’ from!?”

“Captain!”

“I see ya! Ghost, Soap, meet us outside, there’s not enough of us to take these fuckers out!” Price commanded, all of them responding with a “Roger!” before barreling their way out of the house, shooting a few more men in the process until they both shoved themselves into the car, Ghost immediately grabbing at the keys and pushing them in, getting everything ready while they waited for the other two, that quickly retreated into the back and slammed the doors shut, the captain slamming his fist into the back of GHost’s seat and ordering him to drive.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Gaz cried out as he held onto his wound, planting his feet on the floor as he realised who was driving, both him and soap squeezing their eyes shut as the blond slammed onto the accelerator, bringing the car out of the rocky driveway of the house and back out into one of the main roads. 

As the adrenaline started to fade from all of them, Price lazily raised a hand to grab at Soap’s shoulder, looking down at the bullet wound. “Still in one piece?”

“Yeah… Don’ think Lt. can say the same.” He pointed over to the stab wound in Ghost’s shoulder, that luckily had been right over his tactical gear, so it hadn’t caused as much damage as the perpetrator clearly intended. 

“‘M fine, Johnny. Worry about yourself.” He grunted, trying to ignore the pain that came with taking a turn with the steering wheel, every single time he moved his arm striking pain into the wound, the adrenaline from before having done a good job at keeping him from realising the amount of pain he had been currently in. 

“What about you, Gaz?” Soap called out, turning his head to look at the other as Price got his radio out, planning on informing Laswell on the second failure of the day. 

“Not dead.” He joked, tightening the bandage around the cut on his arm. “Gonna need stitches or something.”

Everyone went silent as Laswel’s voice came through the radio, broken and incomplete, but they could slightly understand what she was saying. 

Of course, the terrorists had also managed to hack into their servers while the task force was on their way and had made preparations for when they had inevitably barged into their house to arrest the man. 

The base back in London was almost a four hour drive away, and they doubted that their wounds would be in perfect condition after that long of a time, they needed to be disinfected and treated as soon as possible. 

“Any safe houses ‘round here that we might have access to?” Price called out, listening to what he assumed was Laswell looking through files.

“None that they don’t have access to.”

“Hospital?”

“Too far.”

All of them collectively sweared, Ghost’s grip tightening around the wheel as he took a right into one of the roads leading towards Manchester, the same road he took every time he came back from base to see you. 

You…

“Don’t you live in Manchester?” Gaz called out, kicking Ghost’s seat like a kid asking if they were there yet. 

“Not safe. If they have the locations of our safe houses, they have the locations of our own.” Price called out. “Unless one of you has a secret house off the grid or some James Bond mansion.”

Silence filled the car. 

Now, it had passed through Ghost’s head when they first started talking about safe houses, but it wasn’t really his house, after all. It was yours, Your space, your flat, your building. Not his. He was nothing but some sort of weird tennant. 

And his flat would have been the first place to take them to if it hadn’t been compromised, but now that he knew that that idea was out of the picture, he couldn’t help but continue thinking about your flat. With the safety kit he’d given you once after Tommy had gotten a scratch; with the pullout sofa he used every time he was over; with all the warmth and comfort he wished for every time he finished a mission. 

And he knew it wasn’t fair on you, it was extremely late compared to the times he came back in the night, you were probably fast asleep curled in your bed like you always where when he checked up on you; and it wasn’t fair to suddenly just shove three more men into your personal space, but as he took another turn and his shoulder throbbed, as he heard Gaz hiss whenever the car bumped a little, as he watched Soap try his best to stop the bleeding occurring from his wound, he knew that the worries Simon had couldn’t overcome the panic and danger Ghost was in. This was an emergency. 

“Know somewhere, sir.” Ghost spoke out, his voice hoarse, as if he’d been keeping the secret deep inside of him for longer than a minute. “Safe house, I mean.”

“You’re certain it’s safe?” Price questioned, Laswell going silent on the other side of the radio as well. 

“Positive.”

That’s how he found himself copying the exact route he always took to your place, passing the same pubs, the same shops, the same flats… Up until he parked a few blocks away from yours like he always made sure he did. 

“This it?” Gaz asked concerned as he gazed upon a closed Greggs, Ghost letting out a huff of amusement. 

“No, a bit further up.”

Since Ghost and Price were the only ones who were able to walk without limping, they took it upon themselves to be the ones to help the other two reach the building, Ghost’s hand inexplicably shaky as he stuck the key in like he’d done over a dozen times before, shoving them all into the elevator. 

“Quiet.” He hissed to them as Gaz let out a small pained cry, not wanting to wake up the ever-so irritable neighbours or cause you any alarm if you were still awake. 

He felt bad as he slotted the second key into the door, thinking about how scared you could be if you heard him coming, pushing it open with his healthy arm and letting it creek open. “Don’t open any doors. Find a place to sit. Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t interact with anything.” 

The three nodded at his warning, Gaz and Soap slumping onto the sofa as soon as they could and Price taking a seat at the island as Ghost slowly closed the door and turned on the light, dimming it down so it wouldn’t alert you nor Tommy. 

As Gaz and Soap whispered between themselves, wondering how the hell Ghost kept a house in such a tidy and pretty state (“Reminds me of my maw’s.” Soap had commented, making Gaz nod and laugh.), Simon pushed open Tommy’s door, listening in to the telltale sound of his son’s breaths to make sure that he was okay, turning around to find Price looking at a small stuffed animal sitting on the counter along with a dummy, his eyes wide in realisation as he turned to his lieutenant.

“Simon-” 

“Yeah.” He brushed past, tapping on the back of Soap’s head to catch his attention. “Up, I’ll deal with you first.”

“Oh, I’m honoured!” He said in a faux-british accent, lifting himself off the sofa with his help and leaning against one of the walls Simon had placed him against. 

“You’ve got a really nice gaf, didn’ expect this from ya.” Gaz commented as Ghost looked through some of the drawers around your flat, trying to remember where the hell he’d seen you put the medkit last. 

“Yeah, you're a classy one aren’t ya, Lt.? Place’s better than mine, I mean, have ya seen your sofa?” He chuckled, signalling towards the plush pillows Gaz was leaning against now, the cute crocheted blanket hanging on the back. 

Ghost ignored all of their remarks, slamming one of the drawers shut and pulling himself up, nodding towards your bedroom door. “Shut up. I’m going to check the bathroom. Not a word.”

Soap seemingly assumed that the door Ghost had gestured towards was the direct entrance into the bathroom, so in order to help his lieutenant out a bit, his hand moved towards the doorknob while Ghost started pulling off his combat boots, not wanting to make a sound when he went into your room. 

But, apparently, the small sounds they’d been making should have been his main priority, by the way you were almost waiting at your bedroom door with a gun raised to Soap’s forehead, ready to shoot just like he’d taught you in a situation like this one. 

“Steamin’ fuckin’-”

Ghost couldn’t rid himself of his boots fast enough before Soap’s hand was instinctively around your neck, the adrenaline that was rushing through both of your veins making it easier for him to ignore the pain shooting through his leg to defend himself and for yourself to scratch and pull at the hand around your throat. 

“Soap!” Price shouted as he pushed himself off his seat, noting the panic that had filled Ghost’s normally stoic eyes at the mere sight of you in pain, slowly putting two and two together. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Ghost roared, abandoning his shoes as soon as he saw your eyes roll back into your skull, a telltale sign that you were about to pass out due to the scot’s strong grip on your neck, while normally it would’ve taken way longer for someone to pass out. 

The sight of your legs going limp in Soap's grasp was enough for Ghost to see red, moving like he did on the battlefield to reach Soap, grabbing him by the neck and throwing him onto the ground like a ragdoll, secretly hoping the grip he’d grabbed him with was strong enough to cause him the same pain you were undoubtedly in, arms immediately rushing towards your flailing body and pulling you into his chest, one of his gloved hands holding the back of your head as the other pulled your shaking legs up. 

He didn’t really care that he might’ve seriously hurt Soap, gaze and attention fixed on the tears running down your cheeks and the paleness to your normally warm skin, the wheezing breath leaving you as your body tried its best to regain the breath Soap had just stolen from you, your hands clinging to his tact gear instinctively as you coughed with every attempt to breathe.

Once he made sure you were definitely still awake and breathing, he brought you closer to him, the hold on you similar to some desperate attempt at the bridal style, almost like a mutt protecting its territory.

“What the fuck, were you thinking, Saergant!?” He shouted, glaring down at the man, who was rubbing at his neck looking up at you both in confusion. 

“Well, I’m sorry for protectin’ myself against someone who was armed, Lt.!” He shouted back, being helped back up by his captain, who seemed torn between who was in the right and who was in the wrong. 

“Did you even stop to think-”

“Oh, because you feckin’ warned me about the armed woman who’d be waitin’ for us!” Soap interrupted, coughing out.

Ghost clenched his jaw, turning to make eye contact with Price, who just shook his head at him, imploring him to just let go. 

“We’re all stressed. It slipped Ghost’s mind to tell us about her and you shouldn’t've had reacted like that. You’re both in the wrong.” 

Neither of them spoke, knowing that the Captain, as always, was right. 

“Go take care of her.” 

He didn’t have to tell Ghost twice. He and Soap shared one final glance, one that only they knew what meant, full of words neither of them would dare to share out loud, but they understood. 

The gun luckily hadn’t gone off during the whole kerfuffle, letting Ghost lean down and pick it up carefully, clicking on the safety before sliding it into one the spare holsters, not trusting himself enough to carry a loaded gun while you were still in his arms. 

He pushed the door open, your coughs continuing as your eyes started fluttering open, trying to drive away the flurry of tears that were still streaming down your cheeks and wetting your clothes, a broken croak of his name leaving you. 

“It’s me, don’t worry. Just me, love. Just me.” He reassured you the whole way back to the bed, propping you up onto the soft mattress and letting you fall back, kneeling onto the carpeted floor and letting his head rest against the sweet-smelling covers, lifting his head as one of your hands pawed at his mask. 

He tried ignoring you for a few moments as he took the gun back out and expelled the mag, squeezing his eyes shut as another one of your sobs reached his ears, shoving the gun and mag back into the drawer it had been in before finally turning to look at you properly.

“Simon…” You managed to get out, cringing at the sound of your voice, still slightly delirious from the lack of air in your brain. “What… It- It hurts…”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He whispered, grabbing at your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Just breathe f’me. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point, just reacting to every single thing he usually told himself when he was in the midst of a panic attack ever since he was young.

“Who…”

Your eyes darted over to the door, where both of you could still hear the other talk, flinching as one of them spoke a bit too loud. 

“They’re with me. Soap, he was the one to… I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you before coming, we were in the middle of a mission and-”

“Oh my god, Simon!” You cried out, startling the both of you. You propped yourself up, shaking a bit due to the dizziness but grabbing onto his non-wounded shoulder all the same. “You’re bleeding!”

In the midst of everything that had just happened, he seemed to have forgotten the stab wound, his free hand coming up to touch at the now drying blood with a hiss. 

“It’s fine. Listen, you-”

“No! It’s not fine, oh my god!” You felt a bit queasy as you noticed the blood that also stained his hands and tact vest, hoping to god that it was his even though deep down you knew that it wasn’t. “What- How are you so okay with this!?”

He grabbed both of your hands before they reached to grab at his wounded shoulder, staring deep into your foggy eyes. “Don’t worry about me.”

Don’t worry about him? 

He was fucking freebleeding in the middle of your bedroom like it was a goddamn hobby! How could you not worry about him!?

“I’m fine. How’s your throat?” He let go of one of your hands to bring it up to your neck, fingers softly grazing against a few darkening spots adorning your skin, reminders of what had happened before. 

“It… It still hurts to speak. Kind of.” You closed your eyes as the tough material of his gloves brushed against you so gently, surprised that such items that had been used to rip countless people apart were capable of a touch so sweet, so soft, so caring…

You swallowed, the movement of your throat beneath his hand quickly alerting himself of what he was currently touching, holding, and making him let go, going back to search for your other abandoned hand, making it easier for him by raising it and meeting his halfway.

“I’m sorry. For not telling you we were coming.” The apology seemed to slip from his lips oh so easily, compared to when you’d first let him in to explain himself, when he’d clearly physically struggled to speak those two damned words…

“‘We’?” You repeated, feeling his hands tighten around yours. 

“Soap’s not the only one. Price and Gaz are also here.” He explained, his eyes motioning towards the door. “We were compromised, in a way. Needed somewhere to go, and I just…”

You looked away, already knowing the ending of the short recap of the night, looking down at your linked hands, gaze darting back up to the blood staining his arm. 

“It’s… Fine.”

It really wasn't. You knew you had every right to be angry with him and the three other men he’d brought along, this was your flat! Your home, your building, your living room they had no doubt made their own in the small time you’d been in the bedroom with Simon, and without even thinking about the bruises forming at the base of your neck you already had enough reasons to let your anger boil over. 

But you stayed silent as he waited for you to snap, to scream at him, to add even more salt in the wound that had formed both mentally and physically tonight; silent as he took your hands and helped you climb out of bed and cling onto him for balance as you regained the feeling in your legs (that were being invaded by the stabbing feeling of pins and needles); silent as he pushed the door open and walked out with you concealed behind him like some tactical weapon. 

You were pleasantly surprised to see that unlike your fears the men had seemingly not touched a single thing in your living room, standing next to the kitchen island despite one of them clearly having problems with standing. 

He made eye contact with you, your blood running cold as you realised that he had been the one to cause the soreness that now racked your throat, immediately moving to tear your gaze away from him but stopped as he did it first, looking down at his shoes as if ashamed, and by the way he stayed silent while the other introduced themselves, he was. 

The captain was nice enough, he clasped your hand in a firm handshake, one that you assumed he’d been practising for longer than you were alive, and he had a very kind face despite the work you knew the four men did, but you couldn’t help but feel at ease in his presence, an effect you assumed he had on everyone by the way they seemed so lax instead of freaking out over the wounds littering their bodies like you would. 

Gaz gave you a smile and a nod, not even attempting to outstretch either of his hands to you due to the tear up his arm and the other hand pressing a bloody piece of cloth to the wound in hopes of keeping himself from losing too much blood. 

“Soap.” Ghost’s voice came out low and gruff, a tone of voice you’d never heard from him, and you thanked whatever god was up there that you’d never heard it directed to you, because clearly you weren’t as strong as the Sergeant in front of you and would’ve immediately crumbled into fear.

“I’m sorry.” He immediately spoke out, his accent thick around each word as he outstretched his arm, poised out for a handshake. “I hope I didn’ hurt you t’much.”

Although the burn from his hand was still there, a constant reminder for the rest of the night of what had happened, and though it would take a bit of while for you to let go of it, you still raised your hand up to his, clasping it in a much weaker handshake than his Captain’s, but it was firm nonetheless, confirming your “acceptance” to his apology for now. 

“I would have done the same if I had your strength, don’t worry.” You tried lightening up the mood, despite the anxiety that still tugged at your mind, letting go of his hand and going back to standing next to Simon, your arm pressed right against his, hoping that his massive frame would do something to help hide you. 

A warm hand came up to your waist, the hairs on your body standing on end as Ghost’s breath hit the shell of your ear. “Go check on Tommy.”

Tommy.

Your stomach dropped at the realisation that you hadn’t even thought about your poor son in the whole time you were awake, too focused on yourself to even think about what fear he could be going through after hearing more than the two voices he was used to in the small apartment, your breath hitching as the hand slowly pushed you towards the nursery door, like you were a dog in need of direction.

“Tommy?” Gaz breathed out as Ghost led him to the kitchen sink, letting the man run his arm under the stream of cold water, washing away any of the crusty blood that stuck to the skin, while Ghost continued his search for the medkit.

The man stayed quiet, not even bothering to even think of beginning to explain Tommy, and by association you and whatever relationship you had, already having had struggled enough when deciding to open up to Price about it, not needing to do it two more times. 

“His son.” Price answered for him when he saw that Ghost was making no move to answer, the skull-faced man turning to send a quick glare in his captain’s direction before being shot down with one of the same calibre. “Don’t ask more, though. Bugger still likes keeping his secrets.”

Both Soap and Gaz turned to Ghost with matching expressions, dumbfounded by the information they had just been fed, unbelieving that the man they knew as Ghost, the Ghost that they had watched kill people with a single hand, the Ghost that seemingly felt no emotions towards any of them or anyone, the Ghost they’d worked so hard to even get a sliver of information out of him was indeed a father. An actual father, with a real son who had a mother who lived in a nice and cute-looking flat taking care of said son. 

After the confrontation between you and Soap, they had quickly assumed that Ghost harboured some type of feelings towards you, whether they were romantic or platonic was still yet to be known (though by the way he had held you so protectively against his chest, they assumed that they already knew the answer to that small conundrum), but they would’ve never guessed that you were the fucking mother of his son, a son he’d kept pretty well hidden from everyone, except Price, like many of the details of his oh-so mysterious life.

“That’s… Nice.” Gaz croaked out, throat having gone dry by the absolute shock that had filled the two Sergeants, gulping as Ghost stood back up to his full height, suddenly intimidated by the man more than usual. 

“Yeah. Stay.” Once again, not even bothering to say it in a nicer way, commanding all of them like dogs before entering the room you’d just retreated to and slamming the door closed. 

He immediately regretted it, though, by the way you snapped your head around like the girl from the ring furiously, clutching a fussing Tommy to your chest, reminiscent of the first night he’d spent in your flat.

“Sorry.” He didn’t wait for you to respond, taking a few long strides until he was at your side, gazing down at your sweet boy, who was moving around in your arms like he was actively trying to escape you. “How’s he?”

“Fussy. I mean, he’s been sleeping all day, no surprises there. Probably wants to watch some telly.”

“Can’t really do that lying down now, can he?” A gloved finger came down to tickle his tummy, causing him to move around more as he burst into a fit of giggles, seemingly not caring about his father's sudden change of appearance, hopefully assimilating in his tiny brain that all skull patterns equaled dad. 

At his response, you sucked air through your teeth, causing him to snap his head towards you in fear he’d said something wrong, taking a step back as he watched you place your hands underneath Tommy’s armpits and slowly take him to the ground, his little duck printed socks touching the floor and causing Ghost’s eyes to widen, mind racing with thoughts that your son might actually be some type of prodigy if he was standing up at this age, but let out a humoured breath as his little bum hit the floor, and instead of falling back like he always did, he instead stayed there sitting, moving his arms around in order to shake your grip off. 

“He’s sitting.”

“You don’t sound very impressed.” You said, looking up at him with a bright smile, not being able to help the immense pride you felt as your son ticked off another milestone off the list, sitting down on the carpet behind him and handing him one of the toys littered on the ground, wanting to enjoy this little moment of peace within the confusing and terrifying night you’d had, trying your best to focus simply on Tommy and not with what would come with having four military trained men in your flat. 

“No, it’s… Yeah.” You rolled his eyes at the inexpressive tone his voice took, watching him take a seat in front of you and raise his uninjured arm up to click his fingers in front of Tommy’s chubby face, like you normally did when wanting to catch his attention. “Good job, duck.”

You couldn’t help the way your smile widened as you heard him use the little nickname you’d given him, placing your hands on his chubby tummy and tickling his sides, enticing another few happy giggles. 

But through them, you heard the sharp hiss that came from Simon as he moved to put his weight onto the other arm, eyes going wide as you realised you’d completely neglected the wound you’d fussed about so much earlier, one of your hands moving to grasp his hands. 

“Why haven’t you treated it yet?” You whispered, keeping your distress to a minimum in front of Tommy, but Ghost could still feel the worry that emanated from you, shrugging (as best he could) and looking away. 

“I couldn’t find the medkit.” You raised a brow at his apprehensive words, lifting yourself off the floor along with Tommy and adjusting your hold on him. 

“It’s where it always is.” You started moving, giving him little to no time to react before he had jolted up and started following, almost crashing into you as you stopped in your tracks once you’d opened the door, seemingly forgetting about the company you’d been thinking about mere moments before. “Oh.”

“Is that him?” Soap said with a smile before anyone spoke, gesturing towards the small boy fidgeting in your arms. 

“No. Just some other random kid, Johnny.” Ghost’s hands once again found their rightful place on your hips and pushed you slightly to urge you to continue your walk, a huff leaving your lips at his impatience (although you couldn’t really blame him, you too would be impatient if there were a literal hole in your shoulder), as you made your way back in to the bedroom, feeling Ghost move around behind you as if he were shielding you from the prying eyes of his Sergeants and Captain, who simply wanted to catch a glimpse of the small boy. 

“Here.” You called out as you handed Tommy over to his father, opening up the mirror in the bathroom and pulling out the small yet quite big medkit he’d gifted you. 

Ghost tried his best to ignore the small bottles of pills he spied along the shelves of the little cupboard as you opened up the medkit, looking through all the items. 

“I… I don’t know how to use most of these.” You mumbled, taking it over to him so he could look through it. 

“Don’t worry, we do.” Tommy was handed back off to you, no doubt giving the small boy whiplash from how fast he was being moved from one parent to another like a hot potato. “Might need some help with the stitches.”

Stitches. 

You willed away the look of discomfort that would no doubt try to show on your face at the mere thought of it. 

Now, you weren’t the most horrible person at stitching clothes, you’d fixed a few items for both Tommy and you, and maybe the odd time you’d found a hole in Simon’s hoodie and couldn’t just leave it like that, but the thought of using a needle and string to stitch up a wound instead of the normal cloth made shivers rack your body. 

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” You breathed out, instead of letting out the worries that swirled about your brain. I mean, these men were dealing with blood and gore almost daily, surely you could manage to deal with a little wound, right?

“Hey. We’ve been treated by worse. Won’t be any worse than doin’ it ourselves.” He murmured, opening the door for you. 

And that filled you with some reassurance at first, but as you disinfected your hands and were given the needle and string, you couldn’t help but feel sick, turning your head over to the little playpen you’d purchased a few days ago where Soap was sitting next to looking down at Tommy play. Ghost right at his side glaring down at them, as if Tommy’s personal bodyguard. 

“You don’t have to, really. I can try and do it myself.” Gaz assured you with a smile, starting to move his arm away from you. 

“With one hand?”

“You’d be surprised what I can do with one hand, ma’am.” He grinned, getting a furious look from Ghost. 

You breathed out a laugh, shakily taking his arm into yours and bringing it back to where he had it before, angling the needle to his wound before taking one last look of reassurance up at the man, who only nodded in response. 

It wasn’t as disgusting as you had expected, but the sounds and feelings were still uncomfortable.

You finally finished the final stitch, shakily tying the knot before cutting the thread, disposing yourself of the latex gloves you’d put on. 

“Is- Is that okay?” 

“It’s perfect, love, don’t you worry. Did it better than I ever could.” Gaz encouraged, getting some bandages and helping you to wrap it around his now sanitised wound. “Could easily get a job as a nurse if you ever wanted to, eh? Think Ghost would love to have you on base.”

“That’s enough, Sergeant.” Ghost snapped, pushing himself off the wall and nodding down at Johnny. “Get a move on.”

You shared a smile with Gaz before Soap took his spot, albeit a bit more awkward, and raised his leg up to the sofa (you almost had a heart attack before you realised he’d kindly discarded his shoes before doing so). 

“Oh, do I-.” 

“No need f’stitches. I just need a bit o’help disinfecting it.” He mumbled, always the careful one when it came to cleaning. 

“Yeah, okay.” You did just as he had told you to, carefully pouring the alcohol onto the gauze before wiping away any dirt and dry blood from the graze before sticking a clean one over the wound with the help of a few bandages. 

You couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of your handiwork as you watched him get up, his limp a bit better now that he definitely knew that he hadn’t contracted any types of diseases thanks to the wound, taking back his spot back next to Gaz and Tommy, the other sergeant moving a little toy around in hopes of attracting Tommy’s attention. 

“I’ll help with this one, Lieu-” 

“No need.” Ghost interrupted the captain, sitting down on the sofa and immediately sinking it, the piece of furniture still not used to his weight even after all the time he’d been using it. “I’ll help her.”

You nodded with a smile, although it quickly flipped upside down as you realised what dealing with Ghost’s wound entailed, watching him slowly take off most of his tactical gear before leaving him in one of those damn tight shirts, moving the sleeve off the wounded shoulder and letting you see what you were dealing with in full detail. 

“Clean and stitch it up. Not that hard, lovie.” He mumbled, his words just for your ears, one warm hand landing on one of the thighs you had curled beneath you on the sofa you were kneeling on. “Just going to be a bit more difficult to heal.” 

“Okay.” You swallowed, tugging on another pair of gloves before balancing yourself with one hand on the part of his uninjured shoulder, somehow still feeling the body warmth through the latex. 

This was different from Gaz’s wound. While the other man had been looking away the whole time, you could feel Ghost’s sharp gaze on you even as you thread the needle, your body squirming beneath the uncomfortable stare. 

“C’mon.” He urged, settling himself further into the sofa to make the next part easier for you, letting yourself take a deep breath before starting without a second though, pleasantly surprised as he didn’t even move an inch with every stitch you made, although you could feel his thumb rubbing over the warm skin of your thigh with every second, your hand giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze every time you tightened a stitch, despite knowing he probably didn’t need the same reassurance you did. “It’s okay.”

It almost felt like you were the one getting stitched up, not him. 

You finished with shaky hands, dropping the gloves and needles and patching it up, jolting away when his hand grabbed at the bandages, finishing the job himself. 

“Thank you.” He mumbled, the hairs on your body standing up as you realised finally how close you’d been to him the whole time, slowly letting go of his arm and letting them fall back onto your lap. 

“It’s fine.” You watched him get up, once again not showing a single ounce of pain or discomfort despite the pain you knew a person who wasn’t desensitised to this type of wounds would be in, your eyes following him across the room until he reached the two Sergeants, who were still trying to gain Tommy’s affection.

When you saw them like that, they hardly looked like the type of men whose job consisted on fighting and killing for a living, they just looked like two blokes you’d find at the pub on a random sunday night, despite the tactical gear they still wore, having fun with watching a kid roll around with his toys. 

“Thank you.” Price rumbled from behind you, a hand landing on the headrest of the sofa. “For letting us stay. Feels like no one’s said that yet.”

You shrugged, running your hands up and down your thighs in order to cure the chill that had just run through your body. “It’s okay. I mean… Simon’s done a lot for us, guess I could just repay the favour one way or another.”

Although maybe you would’ve thought of a more traditional way of doing that, one that wasn’t stitching up his men and him in the middle of the night. 

“Hmph. Well, considering what good a job you’ve done, I’d say you’ve paid it back pretty well.”

You smiled up at him, not catching the look Ghost sent to you from the other side of the room, looking down at the small boy he was cradling and then up at the time, not having missed the eyebags that adorned your normally bright eyes. 

He called your name as he came near, his heart missing a beat as you instantly outstretched your arms out at him, stomach sinking as he quickly realised you were gesturing towards Tommy and not him, carefully bringing him down to latch onto your chest. 

“Think we’ll be leavin’ now.” He said, catching both your and Price’s attention. 

“Leaving?”

“Where else are you going to stay?” You prodded for an answer, pressing Tommy further into the jumper you’d pulled on. 

“We’ll find somewhere.” He looked up at Price for reassurance, but got a not so on board look back. 

You looked between the two, who stayed silent enough for you to make a quick inventory check in your head, looking down at the pull out sofa you were currently sitting on and thinking back to the possible inflatable mattress you had stored in your room. 

“Simon.” You said, almost like a child tugging on their parent’s sleeve to ask for something. “You can just stay for the night. I’ve got a few blankets and a small mattress along with the sofa. I don’t mind.”

You always felt like you could drown in his eyes when he looked at you like that, glassy eyes filled with concern and apprehensiveness at your words, as if he was assessing the true nature behind them only to find that you were only speaking the truth.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

And maybe, in the heat of the moment, you’d under planned a bit, since you realised mid unfolding some blankets that both the sofa and the small mattress would not fit four people, even if one decided to sleep on the floor, they’d be far from comfortable curling into some random nook or cranny of the flat. 

You fluffed up some of the pillows, listening to some parts of the conversation Gaz and Soap were having from inside the bathroom, jumping out of your skin as one of Ghost’s hands appeared on your back. 

“I'm going to let Soap and Gaz take the sofa. Price’s alright with taking the mattress.” He explained, hand continuing to rest on the small of your back even as you leaned back up, working on shoving a cushion into its cover. 

“And you?” You asked, almost dreading the answer. 

He looked away, a faraway gaze on the visible part of his face as if he wasn’t really there with you, as if you were just talking to a shell of a man who someone else was controlling. 

“I don’t need to sleep. I’m fine with staying in Tom’s room.” He responded, taking the pillow from your hands and placing it down on the inflatable mattress that lay next to the sofa. 

“What? You’re hurt, Simon, you should be resting!”

Silence. 

“You’re not fucking superhuman, you know that, right?!” You snapped, grabbing at his sleeve and forcing him to look your way. “You need rest like anyone else. Just because you cover your face and act like you don’t care about anything does not mean you’re special.”

God, shut up! Your brain was shouting at you, unbelieving that you were getting so worked up over a man you’d convinced yourself that you wouldn’t let in no matter what, but there you were, horrified that he had such little care for his well-being that he would rather stay awake all night than find somewhere else to sleep. 

“Just take my bed!”

The words were out of your mouth before you even realised it. 

And clearly, you weren’t the only one who was surprised by them. 

Simon was staring down at you with what you could only assume was a dumbfounded look, his eyes swirling with confusion. 

“Your bed?”

“My bed.” You breathed out, horrified with yourself. “It's queen sized, you know that. You’ll fit.”

Silence engulfed the room, a pattern that seemed to follow every single one of your conversations you had in this exact spot of the living room, gazes interlocked together. 

“No-”

“Yes. Get into your pyjamas and come to bed.” You said almost robotically, finishing the final cushion before pushing yourself off, quickly walking back into your room before the man could protest. You placed a hand against the wall in order to balance yourself as soon as you were out of his line of view, a shaky hand coming up to cover your mouth in shock of what you’d just asked, no, insisted him to do.

Soap and Gaz apologised for taking so long in the bathroom, letting you take their place so you could calm down a bit alone and in silence, sitting on the closed toilet with a shaking leg, biting your nails as you stared down at the white tiles. 

You were so fucking stupid. 

What was wrong with you!?

Why couldn’t you just stick to your initial feelings for him!?

Why couldn’t you just have let him do what he wanted!?

Why did you care so much about someone you’d insisted was nothing to you!?

You rested your face against the open palms of your hands, running them up and down until you rid yourself of the urge to want to cry, the opening of your bedroom door immediately catching your attention. 

Ghost knocked at the door, making you jump for what seemed like the nth time tonight, calling out your name. 

“I need to get changed.”

Your heart soared at the implication behind his hushed words. 

Now, you don’t really know what you were expecting for his pyjamas to be, but the black shirt and cargo sweatpants he sported were definitely on brand for a man like Simon.

It’d been a really long time since you’d caught a peak at his arms, since even in the warmest weather possible, Simon always insisted on wearing at least a long sleeved shirt, leaving the rest of his body up to the imagination (which, thanks to that night, you didn’t really need), but thanks to the shirt he was currently wearing, it allowed you to gaze upon his muscular arms and the tattoo that ran the whole way up one of them, remembering faintly the moment he’d let you look at them for a moment before tugging you closer into his chest. 

It also didn’t surprise you that he was still wearing the balaclava, although this one was different to the skulled one he normally wore, silver lines running over his chin, like the bottom set of teeth of the plastic skull he’d now discarded, leaving him almost naked in a way, after having gotten so used to him all covered up. 

“Are you sure?” He asked one final time, standing at the edge of the bed. 

“Yes, Simon.”

His gaze darted away from you as you called out his name, something you’d noticed he’d done the whole night every time you spoke his real name out, despite him never reacting this way when you were both alone. 

“Lie down.” He did as you said, getting into the bed and pulling some of the covers up to cover his lap, turning to watch you as you leaned over to turn off the small lamp on your nightstand, the room instantly being filled with darkness after the click. 

“You know…” Your voice came out hushed, further down than before, letting him assume that you’d just rested your face against your pillow. “Your skull mask looks silly.”

“Silly?” He whispered back, mock offended, like you’d just killed his entire family in front of him (which would be largely upsetting considering you were his family…).

“Silly.” You parroted, thinking back to the hard plastic skull. “You look like a little kid on halloween.” 

“That was the goal.” He lazily joked, moving down so he too was lying on his own pillow, staring up at the darkness that used to be the ceiling, his hair scratchy against his nape and skull due to it being pressed against the material of his balaclava. “...my brother wore a mask like that. Used to scare the shit out of me.”

You let out a huff, impossible of even imagining a little version of your Simon being scared by his brother. “Isn’t he younger than you?”

“...”

“Oh my god, Simon.”

“I was easily frightened.” He said, knowing that if there were any source of light near you, you’d instantly be able to see the blush that no doubt was dusting his pale cheeks. “I was frail as a kid.”

Why was he telling you this?

“Frail?” You mumbled, moving yourself closer to him in order to hear him clearer. 

“My dad wasn’t the nicest person.” 

He should stop. 

“You mean… He hurt you?”

“In more ways than one.”

You shouldn’t know this about him. 

“That’s… Horrible. I’m sorry, Simon…”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. 

“It’s not… You don’t have to act like it is.”

“...”

“Simon.”

Your sweet voice called out to him, your hand brushing against his arm and causing a ripple effect on it, all of his hairs standing on edge at the soft touch. 

“Simon…”

“I’m sorry.” He breathed out, turning around, forcing your hand away from him in doing so, leaving you staring at his back in the dark. 

Silence engulfed the room once again, your hand frozen in place from where it had been pressed against before, clenching it closed and bringing it back, turning around yourself and snuggling into the nice-smelling covers.

You didn’t even bother trying to continue the conversation or bid him a goodnight like you wish you could, instead keeping the silence going until the inevitable grasp of Hypnos would pull you under. 

But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep, even after only having slept two hours that day, even as no sound came through the baby monitor on your bedside table, even if everything was perfectly scripted for you to close your eyes and finally get some rest…

You turned around, feeling around the cold space of the bed that laid between Simon and your sleeping bodies, squeezing your eyes closed before taking a shaking breath. 

It was cold. That was it. It was cold, and you felt bad for him.

There was no other reason for why you wrapped your arms around his chest from behind, curling into the shape of his body and pressing your face right against his warm back, feeling him tense beneath your hands. 

You stayed there, waiting for the unavoidable moment where he’d try and shake you off like you were some kind of leech, but he didn’t. 

Instead, one of his hands came up to rest over the one you had above his heart, squeezing it slightly, his way of telling you that this was okay without openly speaking out. 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and pulling yourself closer into his warmth, feeling his heart beat slowly grow steady beneath your palm as time went past. 

Simon hoped that the tear streaks down his balaclava wouldn’t be noticeable in the morning. 

This time, when you woke up, he wasn’t gone. 

Although a bit dishevelled compared to the normal composure he kept, he was there. 

The mask had ridden up to his cupid’s bow in the middle of the night, exposing the not very well-kept beard he’d started growing under there, along with tufts of blond hair that peaked out from around his nape.  

It was clear you’d both moved a lot across the course of the night, by the way you’d both ended in a completely different position than the one you'd started in, with you on the other side of the bed wrapped up in his arms, your face pressed into his chest instead of his back.

His warm hands were covering your lower back, brushing lightly against the elastic band of your pyjama bottoms, one leg draped over his waist while the other was between his.

You tentatively raised your hand to run your fingers against the hair at the base of his head, curling a slightly long strand around one of your fingers and letting out an amused huff at the curl that formed there. 

“Ow.” Simon rasped, although his voice was as monotonous as could be, pulling his head away from your hand. “Ticklish.”

“You’re ticklish?” You mumbled, watching him open his eyes before craning his head away from you, a pop coming from the bone as he stretched, moving onto his back and pulling you with him, letting you curl into his side. 

Not one word was spoken during the entire morning about what was going on, about your sudden change of heart (although you knew it wasn’t sudden), about what this night would mean for the two of you moving forward. 

Neither of you said a word, afraid that the conversation that would follow would be the one to ruin whatever had happened, 

You wandered out of your bedroom an hour after you’d officially woken up, wanting to indulge in the warmth Simon had provided all throughout the night, surprised and a bit shocked (you’d honestly forgotten what was waiting for you outside), Tommy fidgeting around in Soap’s arms as he held him with surprising care and ability. 

“Are you some type of expert?” You said with a careful smile, not missing the way his eyes darted down to the bruises around your neck, still feeling bad for what he had done. 

“Uh, kinda’? Got four sisters, each of ‘em with their own set of bairns.” He shrugged, the movement making Tommy let out a giggle through his dummy. “Lad was cryin’, couldn’t just leave him there.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.” You felt a bit embarrassed for not having woken up at your baby’s crying, but you were glad that he seemed perfectly happy, clearly enjoying the attention he’d been receiving the past hours. “He’s starting to teeth, that’s probably why he was crying, my poor-”

The slamming down of a mug interrupted you, staring dumbfounded at Gaz, who’d been the one to cause the noise. 

“Fuck! Sorry, sorry, ma’am, just-” He wiped away some of the spilt tea (you were even more confused as to where he’d gotten the cuppa until you noticed the captain standing next to the stove with your kettle), looking up at you with darkening cheeks. “Sorry, my arm’s still a bit fucked-”

“Clean it up.” Ghost ordered gruffly as he walked out of the bedroom, clad in most of the clothing he’d worn yesterday, hiding once again all the skin and muscles you’d ran your hands over that morning. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a prick, man.” Gaz grumbled. 

Ghost leaned down to you, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden closeness, in front of his teammates no less, but ended up pressing a finger to Tommy's nose, your cheeks going warm out of embarrassment. 

“You made tea?” He grunted at his Captain, who shrugged, taking a sip of the warm brew. 

“I’ll pay it back.”

“Y-”

“It’s not necessary, it’s just tea.” You elbowed Ghost before he could say anything rude, placing Tommy down onto his highchair before moving to get some of his food and get yourself a cup in the meantime. 

“Can’t thank her enough.” Price grumbled to Ghost as you and the other two started a conversation, watching the masked man pour himself a cup before swigging it all down quickly like it was some type of liquor. “For letting us stay.”

“Yeah. I’m going to have to make it up for her.” Ghost answered, watching you try to coerce Tommy to open his mouth for a spoonful of baby food with Soap’s help. 

“Seems like you already did, she looks real happy.” Price nudged Ghost, like a father teasing his son for getting his first girlfriend, his moustache twitching as Ghost turned away from him, further pushing the thought that it was just like that type of scenario. 

“We should get going. I can’t risk it further.” Ghost responded instead of continuing the banter, pushing himself off the counter and turning to you, Price immediately dropping the funny act and nodding, moving to get some of their things they’d tried to place neatly in one of the corners. 

“We’re going.” He announced, heart sinking into his stomach at the disappointment that washed over your face, placing down the baby food on the table and leaning back up to your full height. 

“Now?”

“Yes. Soap, go start the car.” Ghost ordered, the scot doing just as his captain had and dropping the smile that had been previously adorning his face, getting up and taking his jacket from Price, not forgetting to say a proper goodbye to you and give you a firm handshake that he hoped transmitted the apology for everything he did, and as you received it with a small smile, he hoped it meant that you forgave him. 

“Where are you going?” You asked, watching Gaz and Price reload some of the guns from the other side of the flat. 

“Base. Hopefully, Laswell will have backup and we’ll be able to finish what we started.” He said, gloved fingers running over Tommy's soft head, messing up some of the curls that had started to form. “I’ll call you once we’ve finished.”

The look you gave him spoke a million words. 

“I promise. I’ll be back, you know that.”

You felt embarrassed at how quickly he’d managed to discern what your look had meant, but nodded nonetheless, saying goodbye to the other two (Gaz giving you a bright smile and Price clasping your hand in his once again, his presence washing away any worry you might have just like last time), leaving the three of you alone in your apartment. 

“Duck, daddy’s going now.” You whispered to your son, the small boy clearly having no idea of what you were saying, but giggling up at you as you pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek. “Say bye-bye, now.”

You moved his little hand in a goodbye motion, Ghost’s mask moving over his lips as he smiled, raising one of his hands to wave goodbye back. 

Despite having done this same song and dance for almost four months now, it still didn’t get rid of the bittersweet feeling that bloomed in Simon’s chest, already knowing the drill as you led him to the front door with a solemn look tugging at your pretty features. 

“We’ll talk once I get back, okay? I promise.” He spoke softly as he stood by the opened door, a gloved hand coming up to cup at your face and tilt you upwards so you were both making eye contact. “‘Bout everything.”

“Okay.” You whispered, fighting the urge to lean further into his touch. “I’ll be here.”

He nodded, but his hand still didn’t move. 

You waited, for what, you didn’t know. You were slowly getting lost in his eyes when his other hand came up to pull his mask up over his lips, leaning down and softly tugging you upwards until they met your forehead, the kiss short and sweet despite all the pain and darkness that you knew followed him, always a surprise when it came to how quickly he could change from the personality he showed to you and Tommy to the personality you’d witnessed him show to his teammates not long ago. 

You blinked up at him owlishly, watching him pull the mask back down and let go of your face (though his touch still lingered) before taking a step back. 

“Stay safe.” You repeated like all the other times. 

“I always do.” He replied, and like always, he disappeared down the hall. 

“No.”

“Oh, come on. He’ll like it!” 

“He won’t.” Ghost snapped, taking one last look at the small toy Gaz was waving around, like Ghost was a child to be entertained and he was just being fussy, which really wasn’t that off track. 

“How’d you know?”

“‘Cause I’m his dad!” He looked away, already regretting having brought his teammates back to your place and therefore letting them meet Tommy. Maybe he should’ve just let them bleed out back then. 

“And you’re honestly telling me that a child will not like this?” Gaz moved it around a bit more, almost tantalising his lieutenant. 

Ghost peaked back at the small teddy bear, its fur fluffy and inviting and its black button eyes adorning its little face. 

“Just take it, mate. It’ll make me really happy!”

“I don’t care about your happiness, Sergeant.” Ghost snapped, snatching the toy from his grasp and shoving it into one of his pockets, ignoring the bright smile Gaz sent him and the punch to his shoulder. 

“God, you’re the best, Ghost. Text me if he likes it, eh?”

He never did text Gaz back, but Gaz had apparently ran his mouth to Soap about Ghost’s reluctant acceptance of the gift, since the next time he saw Soap, the scot had kindly brought a little teddy bear with a tiny Scottish flag in its paw. 

And although Ghost wanted nothing more than to rip it up in front of him, he found himself passing them on to Tommy the day he came back to you, “reluctantly” sending each of the Sergeants a picture of the small boy curled up to the two bears.

[fatkish]

Alpha Erasermic x Mortem Omega Reader: Rehabilitating an Omega

Reader is entered into an Omega facility

These facilities are made and operated by Omegas, for Omegas. These facilities are created to help Omegas find mates as well as give them a safe place to have their heats

These facilities also act as a sort of apartment complex for omegas. As well as a rehabilitation center for any that were abused or rescued

Reader was found by police, living on the streets and had become feral, meaning they were completely lost to and driven by their instincts and would attack any alpha that tried to interact with them

Due to the reader’s aggression and violence, Omegas from the center were called, the reader was tranquilized via a gas canister (it’s the only safe way to successfully deal with someone who’s gone feral without getting anybody hurt of killed)

The reader was admitted to the rehabilitation program that focuses on having reputable alphas come in and work with these omegas and help them by providing and being a positive example of an alpha, healing the mistrust an omega may have

The reader being a Mortem meant that they needed the best for the job

Aizawa didn’t have an omega of his own, he was too busy with all his responsibilities. But when he was younger, he signed up for the program due to his alpha’s natural affinity for being docile and rational. He is one of the top alphas in the rehabilitation program, as he has helped many omegas learn to overcome their trauma and fear towards alphas

But he’s never actually been interested and desired to mate with one of the omegas, until he met the reader

He had brought Hizashi, just in case as a backup.

The way the rehabilitation program works is that each alpha that’s available in the program will give a scent sample (a small cloth covered in their scent) that the omega workers will collect and bring back to the omegas

The omegas will be brought into a room one by one or the cloths will be brought to them and the omega will pick whichever cloth has the most alluring or best scent

Since reader is a Mortem, the staff brought the clothes to them, but the reader thrashed against the door in anger and it seemed as though the reader would reject every single one

Due to a Mortem’s unpredictable and often times violent nature, Mortems that cannot find an alpha are often euthanized (given a lethal injection)

It isn’t right and is a very hard to stomach process, but it was the Omega community that decided that it was a necessary mercy, since a Mortem’s heats are extremely painful without an alpha and they would slowly and painfully die as their body shut down from the stress of enduring too many heats alone and unaided

This is why, when the reader stopped thrashing and silence had taken over the area, only to be disrupted by chuffing and deep clicks, the workers were thrilled

The reader had actually managed to find an alpha’s scent that they didn’t react aggressively towards. This alpha in question was non other than Aizawa Shouta

When Aizawa was brought back to one of the meeting rooms to wait in, the expected the reader to walk straight towards his scent, but they didn’t

Hizashi was in another room with other alphas who were waiting for various omegas. The reader had caught another scent that they liked and began to follow that one. Upon seeing the reader not head straight for the room Aizawa was waiting in, the staff were curious and concerned. The reader ended up following Hizashi’s scent into the waiting room

Chaos erupted. The reader began snarling and trying to attack any alpha that got close, the alpha’s, understanding the situation, all fled the room. When Hizashi tried to leave, the reader got in his way. Staring him down, the reader slowly approached and began sniffing him, chuffing and making deep appreciative clicks

When Aizawa got into the room, he saw the reader nuzzling Hizashi’s neck. After seeing that, the workers allowed Aizawa and Hizashi to take the reader home with them

Once they got home, they showed the reader an empty room where they could build their nest, the reader got to work building their nest right away. Hizashi and Aizawa provided soft blankets, pillows of various sizes and shapes, etc.

When Hizashi and Aizawa are gone and out of the house, the Reader steals Aizawa’s underwear and nuzzles into the crotch part of it, since is has the most concentration of Aizawa’s natural musk

Reader sneaks out to collect the softest fabric materials and takes them back to their nest

Reader will snarl, growl and lunge at them if they try to enter their nest without the reader’s permission

Hizashi will lay on top of the reader, nuzzling their neck and crooning softly to them. He’ll purr and rumble to them, releasing a calming and happy pheromone signifying his alpha is happy

Aizawa is all too happy to simply sleep with the reader on his chest, their face tucked into his neck as one of his arms is wrapped around them

Hizashi will stand outside the reader’s door and whine like a puppy, even when the reader is in heat. When his alpha wants access to his omega, be it simply to dote on and care for the omega or even to f~~~ the living daylights out of them, he’ll whine

Aizawa is a bit more stern. If the reader is being particularly fussy and is ignoring them, he’ll drag the reader out of their room and give them a deep warning growl if they try to resist, he’ll then give the reader a proper dicking down, making sure the poor omega cries and screams in pleasure and ecstasy

Aizawa’s cock is thicker than Hizashi’s, but Hizashi’s is longer than Aizawa’s. When Aizawa knots the reader, Hizashi will let the reader mouth at his cock and balls, nipping at Hizashi’s scent glands in his thighs

Aizawa is rougher than Hizashi is normally and his knot is thicker, but Hizashi’s knot lasts longer. Aizawa will often let Hizashi go first to help stretch the reader’s walls.

Hizashi is whiny and possessive yet passionate and loving during his ruts. He may growl at Aizawa when he enters but quickly realizes that it’s just his other mate and then he’s calm

Aizawa is rough and very possessive but can be gentle and sweet. There are times when Aizawa doesn’t recognize Hizashi when he knots the reader, this leads to him snarling at Hizashi and Hizashi doesn’t take that lightly

Hizashi can be a rough dom and more often than not, Aizawa is on the receiving end of Hizashi’s dominate side. When Aizawa growls at him during his ruts when his knot is locked deep inside the reader, Hizashi will happily take the chance to remind Aizawa that they are equals by f~~~ing him deep

All in all, the Alpha pair love the reader and you are so very happy and in love with your wonderful and strong mates

[nuitfilms]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝓥𝐈𝐄𝐖 ] anatchaya suputhipong

␥ g!p natty x fem!reader ␥ 963 words 🚨 SMUT, praise, unprotected, hair pulling, potential exhibitionism/public, college!au, creampie, squirting ␥ you, the quiet student who minds her own business, gets persuaded to follow one of your problematic peers to the school rooftop.

One thing about being the ‘quiet one’ is that you’re a fly on the wall to people’s conversations. Being the one who barely says a word allows you a peek into everyone else’s business.

Which is how you’re aware of the chaos and drama that happens between a group of two-faced nepo babies or two supposed ‘best friends’ where one is trying to take the other’s boyfriend away.

The drama proves that no one can be trusted, and that it’s best to mind your own business, learn the material, and graduate. But who knew that minding your own business could still lead you to trouble.

Natty, one of the many problematic peers you try to avoid, had approached you at the beginning of the week. As friendly as she was, you internally questioned why she would talk to you now when she has been in at least one class with you every semester. Nonetheless, you were certain that she just wanted to copy your work, and you couldn’t care enough to fight her off on it.

Except she didn’t want to copy off of you.

In fact, she didn’t want anything school-related from you.

A shallow thrust of her cock from behind pries your dripping cunt open and forces your chest up against the hard wall that you’re pinned against. You don’t know how you let her convince you to come up to the rooftop where any student could hear and see you but here you are, wrapped around Natty’s finger with your soiled panties tucked away in her pocket.

You whimper when she tugs at your hair, forcing your head back. Her laughter sends a chill down your spine as you’ve fallen prey to an attractive girl’s advances, but getting tangled up in bad business might—for once—be something you won’t regret. 

Clearly, because you’re no longer trying to escape.

“What a beauty.” Her breathy remarks fan over your neck, goosebumps pricking your sensitive skin. “I’ve always wanted to feel what it’s like being inside you.”

Her grip on your roots tighten, igniting a sense of pain and pleasure that threatens to buckle your knees and fall at her mercy. 

You’ve never thought of such a thing about anyone. You will acknowledge hot and beautiful women but never intended to jump on anyone for a piece of them. You’ve certainly never thought that anyone saw you in the same light. You may not be as observant as you thought you were.

But Natty gives off the vibe of someone who doesn’t stick around and makes moves on multiple women. You fully expect to be one of her many conquests, therefore not caring that this may be your only experience with her. You’re simply here in the moment, reveling in the way her cock makes you feel like there’s not enough room to spare. 

In the midst of the heat, she slides out, filling you with momentary despair as she spins you around to face her. With your back to the wall, she raises your leg over her shoulder. Your flexibility somehow exists and is tested but with lust still burning in the pit of your belly, you don’t feel any discomfort. Your ample wetness grants her cock easy access and you heave a relieved sigh as she resumes fucking you.

“What a pretty girl,” she boasts with a smirk as her pace tests your balance. “So pretty dripping for me like this.”

The mess between your thighs can’t be denied. After coming once on her fingers, you can feel another impending wave in the distance. Natty has acquired enough experience—be it through various women or a lot of alone time—to know how to touch you and make you come. You can sense the rise of her ego as your noises become louder and more frequent. With your cunt threatening to resist her, she’s fucking you harder, knocking your back against the hard wall with each thrust of her hips.

“Na-Natty,” you whine, one hand clawing on the back of your thigh and the other digging into the wall behind you for balance. 

Your legs begin trembling. The earth is taunting you below, ready to cushion a hard descent from the ecstasy that’s rushing through your limbs. Your eyes roll back as her thumb sneaks between both of your hips and flicks over your engorged clit. Just as you’re about to let out a shamelessly loud moan, the door to the rooftop slams open on the other side.

You immediately slap a hand over your mouth, but Natty doesn’t stop. She only grins and drills you harder. Whatever thought that crossed your mind is fucked out of you, and you suffer in the presence of your oblivious peers as you gush around her cock. You’re ready to slide down the wall but she keeps you propped up and uses you to her desire.

Each thrust forces spurts of your cum out, leaving your thighs and the cold hard ground in a messy puddle of your release. Your eyelids flutter open and you spectate Natty’s orgasm. Her hips stutter after she bottoms out inside you, stuffing you with a shallow thrust. Warmth floods your insides and your eyes roll back as she forces you to take it all in.

“God,” she grunts against your chest.

You hope that your peers don’t hear from the other side of the rooftop. That they don’t catch on to the ‘quiet one’ getting her brains fucked out by one of the sociable, troublemaking ones.

If word were to spread, you would have no choice but to transfer schools. But if that bridge needs to be crossed, you’ll do so when you get there. 

For now, you simply accept the white hot release that’s flooding and dripping out of you.

[ma1dita]

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.3k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i held myself hostage in my car outside the gym until i got this right this morning — listened to forwards, beckon, rebound by adrienne lenker while writing this, thank you for your patience and happy september!

edited, doing taglist when i get back from the gym lmao

—

Falling to his death is taking a lot longer than Luke Castellan thought it would.

For a man with a multitude of regrets, he finds that he can count his biggest ones off the four bloodied fingers that stain his peripherals with every bump and tumble down the jagged rocks of Mount Tamalpais.

What a waste of a life.

Everything he’s ever tried to accomplish has come to this final, humiliating moment of being at someone else’s mercy. Life is so unfair, he thinks, to give everything for love and have it kick you off the side of a fucking mountain that reeks of eucalyptus and regret. Sure, it was wrong to steal the master bolt, to turn his back on camp, poison Thalia’s tree, have his little sister hold up the sky, try to kill Percy Jackson every so often, and cause all this chaos… (I mean you know how this goes) but the pros outweigh the cons here! Promise.

Luke was so sure that they would all see reason—that he was doing this all out of love, no matter how convoluted and backwards his way is compared to theirs, even if he’d never admit that. Change is supposed to be uncomfortable and war was never meant to be pretty. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, really. The gods weren’t meant to win.

But at the end of it all, love must be his greatest weakness. It has to be.

The Fates should be slicing through the fibers of his lifespan by now, ripping through the embroidered memories in his mind. Nothing of his is his own anymore—not his life, nor his love.

Love, if he’s learned anything in the two wretched decades that Hermes himself has cursed his existence with— hurts like a motherfucker. That, or Thalia was definitely wearing steel-toed boots when she kicked his ass off the cliff. He’s given his life for love, dedicating himself to the greater good of protecting his loved ones, and no one, not even the gods could stand in the way of that. A method to his madness or his undeniable naivety, he still can’t tell, but it's gotten him falling deep into an abyss at the hands of a bunch of kids who continually undo his plans to change the world.

Maybe love is little deaths then, and maybe Luke Castellan loves too hard.

There has never been a single moment in his life where he hasn’t gone down fighting—he never lets anything go, holding what’s important to him so close to his chest that it suffocates. Luke believes that after everything he’s been through, he was never meant for mediocrity—not even when it comes to love. Maybe his death would mean something then— maybe that is his glory. To love someone to death, even if it was wrong— if this is his end, maybe his death will bring peace he knows his love never could.

Four names run through his mind like most things do, intense and fleeting. His final thoughts as he plunges toward the earth are his last act of prayer. If the gods have never listened before, well, these thoughts are all he has to comfort him; they feel heavy behind his lips the further he falls.

Could the Fates be wrong?

His fatal flaw manifests itself into the names of four women he knows he could never deserve in this lifetime, but he’d die trying. He is, dying. This fall from grace is proof enough that he was never meant to be a hero. Excessive wrath bleeds from his being until all that’s left is love, and he’s ashamed of it.

Gods, he’s such a fucking loser.

Luke’s neck cracks against stone at the bottom of the cliff, white hot pain crawling up his spine with only one remaining thought clanging around in his brain—he should’ve never fucking come back to San Francisco.

And while we’re talking about regrets—Luke recognizes that the one thing he’s never had control of is love.

So he lets go, feeling the weight of his body crumple against the downhill slope of Mount Tamalpais like a puppet cut from its strings without a single cry of pain because Luke Castellan finally comes to accept the loves and losses of his life. His landing feels softer now, rolling to a stop like the waves on Westport Beach. Then he sinks into the earth with a bated sigh and it feels like gentle hands of loves that once believed in him.

Luke closes his eyes before his world spirals into black—because if these few moments are all he has left, he’d like to take this time to remember them.

MAY CASTELLAN [storgē - στοργή]

Luke Castellan was born into this world half-mortal, half-god, but 100% May Castellan’s son. From the moment he came into this world, he was fully her own. Hermes was a factor, yes—but the manifestation of a demigod is wholly that of the mortal parent in every aspect visible to the naked eye. Blood runs alongside ichor in his veins, but Luke is all hers in every way that matters—from the slope of his nose, his dark velvet curls, and the honey-molten warmth of his eyes. And they were happy together, once upon a time, even if it was mostly just the two of them.

The gods make their half-mortal children in the likeness and image of their human love since their own forms are ever changing. There is nothing permanent about being immortal—leaving their partners with babies that look like them but are vulnerable to the Mist. And when you love a god, the only tangible reminder left behind is one that goes where you cannot follow. Things most can’t understand— speedy baby steps padding down the hall, tiny hands unlocking the pantry door, and a motor mouth able to transmit meaning through toddler gibberish.

But before Luke even knew what love was, his mother made sure he knew hers was stuck to his being—like peanut butter and jelly on the roof of his mouth from all the sandwiches she made. His clothes used to smell like chamomile from her morning brew and his fingers were often stained blue from Kool-Aid powder. May would always let him mix, even if she had to pretend to not see him sipping from the big spoon in the pitcher. Loving a trickster meant she knew how to raise one.

His mother’s love was sugar sweet. It was in the cookies she baked, the kisses she’d press against his broken skin, and in the confectionery words she’d whisper to him before bedtime. As the years passed by, May would end up repeating herself and the ‘i love yous’ were more for her instead of him—like a mantra she needed to remind herself of who she was. But Luke always understood. When her voice would fail and tears would replace it, Luke learned to wipe away what his father left behind for him to take care of.

His identical chocolate irises watched hers turn to emerald, and it was then he knew that too much sugar could make everything rot.

THALIA GRACE [eros-ἔρως]

There was always this intensity whenever he was with Thalia Grace, the daughter of Zeus. And she made sure he always knew it—a static spark igniting between the two of them as soon as their eyes met in the streets of Charleston. Like him, Thalia always made sure to get what she wanted, two north poles of a magnet bullheading through life to get what they’re owed. By that same evening, they were elbow-deep in the golden dust of a dragon that had come home to find two bushy-browed little freaks with arrogance quadruple their size.

Luke and Thalia were a match made in hell—one always trying to outdo the other to get the upper hand when it comes to control. And at 12 years old, it was the first time Luke had ever had anyone fight by his side. But they were both short fuses and she always set him alight—a glint of her father rushing through her glare so hot that it burned blue. He would do anything to keep her attention on him since grabbing devotion by force is all he’s ever known. Moving quickly and being in her face was the only way to remind his mother of her affection so he assumed the same would go with her. That, and he couldn’t help being extra fidgety— being a son of Hermes meant he couldn’t sit still for long.

Though with Thalia’s growing annoyance of Luke, it was established that their dependence on each other was one of necessity to survive the odds stacked against them. She was repelled by what made them so similar, hubris that blinded them from wanting to figure out the difference between surviving and living. There was a poison of hate in their love for one another. A shame in wanting a love that understood the attraction that linked them so early on in life, however innocent.

Both were too alike and were burned the same.

They burned each other. A type of selflessness and selfishness that battled each other for balance, so close but so far away.

There was always something about Thalia that blistered at his confidence. A forbidden part of her he couldn’t bear. It’s why he spit words of acid instead of encouragement once he realized the Furies wanted her the most when they were running for their lives, Luke was always the fastest runner anyway—dragging little Annabeth up Half-Blood Hill and by the time he realized he’d left her for dead she became a hero (he admits now that he could’ve run circles and saved her too; he just didn’t want to).

Thalia Grace gave everything for this love. But she sure as hell never trusted him to do the same for her.

The spark they shared was snuffed out that day. And Luke continued to burn without her.

ANNABETH CHASE [philia- ϕιλία]

Luke Castellan had never been chosen for anything before. Growing up in the mortal world, he was used to watching families eat together through restaurant windows and children playing in parks that he would pass by, taking slower turns around the block so he could imagine what it felt like to be wanted. Luke was never once beckoned to take part, but he accepted long ago that he didn’t really belong anywhere.

It was nice to think about though.

The daughter of Athena doesn’t remember it anymore, something so trivial in that big brain of much more important thoughts—but when she reached her hand out to him instead of Thalia (after almost breaking his skull in with a rusty hammer), it meant everything to him. The kid thought he was a monster at first sight, and she still chose him after everything.

Annabeth Chase grew up idolizing him and he thrived because of it.

Like ambrosia, Luke was strengthened by her faith and it made him feel powerful. Having the daughter of Athena in his life was like being awarded a gold medal. He loved Annabeth like she was his biggest prize, gleaming on a shelf for him to admire when he was feeling down about himself. Both him and Thalia raised her with pride; with little to no material possessions, they learned to make something out of nothing—and they made it golden. He chased that feeling and it made him greedy for her affection—she announced his place in this world of cruelty. The harsh hands of fate were gilded by Midas himself as long as he had Annabeth. And she put him on a pedestal too—an unattainable goal in her mind that the highest form of glory was to be like her older brother and best friend.

Luke Castellan was finally good at something, and he had the proof to show for it in the shape of a small girl with inquisitive eyes. With her, all of his answers were right. To choose each other and be reciprocated with equal fervor helped him idealize what it felt like to win in life.

However Annabeth was not just his best student, but a prodigy that learned to outplay the trickster. An intellect like hers was never meant to corrode in a dusty, dark corner.

YOU [agape- ἀγάπη]

Plato wrote that humans were once created whole— with four arms, four legs, and two faces fused back-to-back for the entirety of their mortal existence. They were at peace, and how could you not be?

With your soulmate at your side, you could face anything, even the gods. And eventually Zeus felt threatened by their power, in knowing that humans could be invincible against any pain, suffering, and doubt as long as their soul was physically and intimately tied with their other half. So he separated humans from their soulmates in a snap of a finger. It was just another thing that jealousy would take away from humankind by immortal beings that would never understand what it means to live with an ending.

There’s a misconception that love is being together in our original state until the gods took it away. But in fact, it was written to be that love is the desire to become whole with someone else, in addition to yourself. Love is the choice to spend your life trying to find your other half—as we are destined to roam until we have someone to share the rest of our time. Humans have long accepted that we don’t know when the end will come—but the act of searching for our person to share it with, that is love.

Love is the ultimate sacrifice to meet your partner wherever they’re at, to make a home out of the rubble of your past and still choose it anyway knowing that the both of you will go hand in hand into the future. It isn’t glory like he’d convinced himself in the past; it’s not accomplishing some heroic feat worth the recognition of the gods—he knows by now that he couldn’t give a single shit about them. The answer had always been right in front of him, unwavering against the test of time with fluttering amethyst eyes and laughter that renders him senseless.

Why go through all that trouble? one might ask. But that is also his answer.

Fate had never cut him loose— tumbling down Mount Tamalpais was one of the many proofs of that, and with nothing else to do, Luke comes to the conclusion that loving you is a lifelong commitment he made to make more time with you.

Shitty deal, he thinks, trying to beat Kronos at his own domain without anyone’s help must have been a waste for it all to end so pathetically.

But loving you was a choice he made every day, even in your absence. It’s his reminder and solemn vow that loving you could never be a waste. Luke laments not being able to take you to meet his mother, or giving you the white house with the big bay windows, but by giving up his life, honor, and whatever glory is still attached to the name Luke Castellan— it must be worth it as long as you’re living the life you deserve.

Even if it means he’s not part of it, he hopes you’re still searching for him too.

—

In the end, even as he falls to his death, he finds himself calling out to his father for the last time. His plea reaches deaf ears of course—but he isn’t begging anymore. Luke Castellan thanks his father for the first and last time in his life and embraces his losses if it meant that he mattered. If not to the gods, then to his mother. To Annabeth. Thalia, even for a short moment, and you.

Especially to you.

Unwavering and without question, to live to the fullest is to have been by your side walking through the woods of Camp Half-Blood and hearing the sound of your cackles through the air, sending animals scattering from something he said.

Because to be loved despite everything he has done, everything he will do— Luke thinks he must be the luckiest man to have ever lived.

Death blankets the weary traveler, and time is an unflinching hand pulling him through a rip in reality. He’s gone in the blink of an eye, falling in reverse to where he needs to be next.

Somewhere, Atropos raises her scissors away from the indelible strand of his life force as she takes a breath and sits back, her sisters unable to do anything else but watch. This boy was becoming more trouble than what even the gods knew he was worth.

Luke Castellan must be lucky, indeed.

—-

Ding.

450, 451, 452, 453…

A wet cough from a satyr next to you disrupts the silence in the elevator up to Olympus; you give him a sideways glance that makes him shift closer to the door with what you hope is a blush and not a fever. It’s warm and stuffy in this 3x4 crystalline box that shoots towards the heavens, and a bit crowded for a weeknight—though you suppose it is the Winter Solstice.

You haven’t been back here since your ex-boyfriend stole the master bolt.

There’s a moment where you wonder if the Fates have ever found your predicament funny, but then the satyr sneezes with a boom.

537, 538, 539, 540…

It’s almost dusk now as clouds roll through the night sky and into the distance. Frost lines the metal frame of the elevator shaft and if you’re flying at the speed of light, it doesn’t seem to be a problem. But this trip is taking much longer than you thought it would for a decision you made on a whim.

You still have a final to take in the morning, and Annabeth wasn’t answering your calls—then her location on Find My iPhone sprung from San Francisco to the middle of Manhattan from the span of your trip on the Long Island Railroad.

Something was up. The sense of something important trickled down your spine like second nature. Can’t this thing go any faster?

It was second nature for you by now to know when something was up, especially with the trio. You’d always make the time for them. Besides, your life has been a little too quiet lately. Being an adult demigod does that; there’s no monsters that bump in the night anymore, just the ones in your head and the ones that make you take finals three days before Christmas.

…600.

Ding.

Weaving through what seems to be a celebration fit for the gods, your glove-clad hands push through the sea of minor godlings, heroes, and Olympians. Aphrodite sends you a wink that makes you feel hot to the touch before you realize Hestia’s eyes are also on you, the both of them clearly whispering about your treacherous love life. You shove your gloves and scarf into your jacket pocket. Bowing your head lightly in greeting, you keep walking further into the grand hall.

It seemed you were always a hot topic up here on Olympus. Great.

The music is so loud you can feel it in your chest, thumping away to the accelerated beat of your heart and by the time you grab a glass of ambrosia-spiked champagne to help with the lump in your throat, you hear the sound of your name in the midst of all the chaos.

A gentle hand grasps your shoulder then, and it’s Percy Jackson adorning a cup of punch and brand new wispy white tendrils that hang across his face. There’s a story that should follow, but he gapes at you like a fish out of water. Looking up at him (this boy grows like a weed!), both of your confused faces mirror each other as you sidle out words he’s still able to hear over the music, “What’s the celebration for? And why have none of you been answering my calls?”

The son of Poseidon swallows hard, until the smell of salt and sea foam surrounds you and you find yourself staring at the god of the sea himself, standing alongside him. With a smile soft like rippling water, he gently says, “I’ll leave you two to it. And I’ll call your father and stepmother over. Good to see you,” Poseidon says your name as he takes his exit. You hoped it was a good thing then, that he knew you.

Percy wondered why he was always left to make the difficult decisions.

He almost sounds like his father when he speaks, calling for your attention again as he clears his throat.

“Listen, I need to tell you something, and I think we should…”

Shaking your head, your eyes are scanning across the room, meeting Annabeth’s as she drops the hand of the minor god she’s dancing with and makes her way over to you. From the other side of the room, Poseidon pushes your father in your direction as he juggles two golden goblets in each hand, led by his wife as they almost float towards you.

“Whatever it is, spit it out Perce. Your audience is growing by the minute.”

“Hey princess, whatcha doing here? Don’t you have a test tomorrow?” You dad grins, nudging your shoulder and handing you one of the goblets. Ariadne presses a kiss against your temple and you smile, taking a sip before hearing Annabeth’s converse squeak to a stop next to you.

“Someone better tell me what’s going on right now,” your eye twitches and then you see Annabeth’s new strands of silver that frame her face as she grabs your arm and nestles against it.

“I…um…” the sandy-haired boy begins, and then your dad groans and you elbow him hard, wine spilling from his lips as his wife giggles like the sound of tinkling bells and you’re about to strangle the teenager on the marble tile he’s planted on.

“Luke’s…”

“Dead.”

Percy’s worried voice intermingles with a new one you haven’t heard before, like a crackling sound that leaves a metallic taste in your mouth, and then a girl shows her face—black eyeliner and silver jewelry clinking against each other as she looks into your eyes and blue meets purple.

So you start laughing. Cackling even, as your head nods slightly, and after they’ve given you a moment to compose yourself you take a big gulp of the drink in your right hand to then chase it with the one on your left.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. He’s not dead,” you insist, and everyone looks at you like you’re insane, even your father, the god of insanity himself. Ariadne’s hand caresses the nape of your neck as she whispers, “Maybe we should take a seat outside, darling…”

“No…No! I mean it,” you say almost incredulously, a hiccup slipping past your lips when you take in too much air. “That motherfucker doesn’t have the audacity to die and if he did, I would know.”

“This is how we’re letting you know,” Annie murmurs, before Percy sighs and his shoulders fall heavy with what seems to be the weight of the world, “She’s right. He’s not dead.”

A myriad of responses blur in the space around you, all going hazy as you blink and stay focused on Percy.

“It’d be too easy…” you murmur, nodding again like you’re convincing yourself of the fact. Annabeth rubs circles into your forearm and you realize you haven’t breathed since the daughter of Zeus made her entrance, “I’d know if he was dead.”

Thalia Grace looks you up and down thoughtfully, “So you’re the collateral damage.”

“Thalia!”

Annabeth exclaims, her hand tightening around yours and you know deep down she’s rejoicing at the news of Luke’s survival. But for yourself, you were unsure if you felt the same, almost chuckling at the irony of almost all of Luke’s favorite people in the same room as the gods he swore to overthrow, “That’s me. You were a tree the last time I saw you.”

“That’s me. I kicked him off a cliff, thought it would’ve done the job, but he’s always been too stubborn.”

A smile spreads across both your faces. You think about Luke interrupting your date last month by barging into your apartment and how that was tough enough to explain to your roommate, much less if you tried to tell your parents and best friends in the middle of a Christmas party.

You make the choice to keep Luke’s visits a secret. It doesn’t come as difficult as you thought it would.

Hermes bumps into your little group, eyes focused on his caduceus as it pings with different messages. The rest of you go quiet, mirth dimming despite the smile on the messenger god’s face and the kids take that as their cue to exit.

“What’s happening? A group like this, and with you making an appearance,” he nods in your direction, “Must be something special.” He nudges your dad, and you’ve forgotten that they’ve been best friends for millenia.

“Your kid’s not dead. You’d know that if you were nosy in the right places,” Dionysus says through a gulp of wine, turning and walking away nonchalantly, making you smile. Hermes looks at you with his face a mix of shock and appreciation, though you’ve done nothing to earn it. He follows your father with a gust of wind billowing behind his traveling feet.

Those two are more trouble than you and Luke were.

Biting your cheek, you turn to Ariadne and scoff, “So…. Do you think I should tell my dad that the other campers snuck into the party half an hour ago?”

Your stepmother laughs, her eyes following her love across the ballroom, choosing to let everyone enjoy the Winter Solstice for once.

—

“When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?” - Ocean Vuong

[aixeko]

⋆ “ SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY ” ⋆

| Starring | Cowboy!Arlecchino x Aristocrat!Reader

| Setting | Wild west AU

| Scenario |  [ DRABBLE ] SMUT! Porn no plot. Arle has a cock and tongue piercing. Brat reader and brat tamer Arle. Power dynamic. Semi-public sex + Nearly getting caught. ROUGH sex. Penetration. Degradation. This is just filthy asf. Fully consensual of course. AFAB reader + Usage of feminine pet names and pronouns. OOC Arle? Idk.

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× First time ever writing smut uhhh yeah, I’m so sorry this is so bad.. 2/4 drabble for Arle birthday. × I had to cut it short too due to having a busy schedule, maybe if this get enough attention then I can maybe expand on the ideas I had and have for it 😭

[ Word count: 1730 ] | Art credit: Stumkek_pics / 37396536718l on Twitter

The saloon storeroom erupts in chaos as Arlecchino slams you against its wooden wall, causing barrels to scatter across the floor in place of your body. Sweat rolls down your temple, followed by disorientation and breathlessness at the harsh act. Compared to her usual cool composure, this intense change in mannerism makes the very essence of your soul feel as though it has been ripped apart and exposed just for her predatory gaze to ravish in.

With a single, generously tattooed colossal hand, she grips both of your wrists, immobilizing them completely above your head. Helpless now, you are at her absolute wildest mercy, unable to move or resist the overwhelming force she exhibits.

Despite the large ferocity of power competency between the two of you, every ounce of your muscles can't help but race with oppressive lust behind tinted fears. Your breathing heightens as your eyes come within the proximity of hers; never have you seen eyes so infuriated with lecherousness. Just the mere sight of its savage sexual desire for you is enough to get your undergarments shamefully wet.

"Seducing me openly, then daring to snatch and wear my hat in the public eye, did you expect no repercussions?" Arlecchino leaned in dangerously close, her hot breath brushing against your ear as she continued. "How formalities work with your people is none of my business to pry into, but for a woman of nobility, especially a lady of your standing? Your etiquette is lacking greatly, sweetheart."

Somewhere in your dazedness, you still find enough courage to provoke the cowboy even further.

"For a cowboy hired to protect me, you are facile to prick."

The ghastly remark is pathetically laughable but unfazed; Arlecchino chooses to indulge in this little charade of yours, her confidence unshaken by your feeble act. With a free hand, she maneuvers her hand under your knee, lifting it up and wrapping it around her waist. Now, in between your legs, she presses her growing bulge against you, making sure to roll her hip for you to feel the full extent of it. At the feeling of the enormous monster, you cannot help but whimper.

"Talk about facile; look at yourself, princess. I barely touched you, and you're already this filthy for me. Not as almighty as you ought to be. Pathetic, aren't you, love?"

You turn away, eyes shutting; a hiss of pleasure escapes at the feeling of her against your throbbing, clothed clitoral. Releasing your knee, Arlecchino's hand finds your cheek, redirecting your face to meet hers once more.

"Look at me, darling."

Timidly, your eyelids lift. For a moment, you can see her hardened gaze soften ever so slightly.

"Safeword," Arlecchino commands, brooking no room for arguments.

The edge of your lip twitches upward in a smirk; in spite of her rough exterior, the cowboy's hidden tender nature still slips through in its own ways. You know she's itching to completely fuck you over, and yet the woman still has the attentiveness for your comfort.

"Such a puppy... Let's see—crimson eyes for stop."

An amused scoff releases from Arlecchino's lips; to dare act so cocky as to even insult her by calling her 'puppy' even with the clear disadvantage is praisable.

Arlecchino let go of your hands, which effectively left you in a confused state. You fully expected her to go rough with you again on the spot. You watched her intently, anxious for her next move. She inched away slightly and unbuckled her belt, her eyes trained on you as she did so.

"Hands out, doll."

The moment your hands are bound, the aggressiveness once present in the air returns in full force, leaving no room for adjustment. Her lips crash into yours, her pierced tongue darting between them in frantic motion, as if she has been forced into famishment for centuries. You gasp, unwittingly granting her entry with ease. The coldness of the metal-tipped tongue invading your warm mouth has your eyes rolling back in hungry pleasure. Meanwhile, her hands struggle in a battle against her zipper, showing how hastily she is moving.

"Hugh... wait—urgh," you slurred, struggling to speak with the little amount of room she was giving you. "Let..me help."

Fortunately, she caught your grasp amidst the mess of arousal, easing slightly away from you. You take rapid breaths, inhaling and exhaling the air that has been sucked lifelessly out of you by Arlecchino. Once you deem that your consciousness is stable enough, you slowly lower yourself to your knees. Your eyes gaze up at her, your tongue darting out as your mouth makes its way to her zipper. With your teeth, you pull it down, revealing the wet patch of her boxers. Arlecchino groans when your tongue makes contact with it, licking and sucking the outline. Your skillful navigation is enough to get her cock even harder and throbbing controllably; it is practically begging her to release it from confinement.

Arlecchino prides herself on being composed when faced with any situation, but something about you—something about the way your tongue dances against her rock-hard cock—the image of you sucking it and being filled with it has her imagination going beyond heaven's forgiveness.

She grips a handful of your hair and uses it to shove you down to the cold floor. Any clothing blocking her from your entrance is torn apart, leaving your bottom half completely bare for her to absolutely destroy and consume. Arlecchino pulls out her enormous size of a dick, instantly fisting it with a gratified exhale.

You stare in a brazen manner, drooling at the bulk leaking pre-cum and the mere thought of it trying to fit inside your smaller frame; no more do you care for your virtually nonexistent dignity. Arlecchino groans at your expression, fisting herself faster and making her way in between you. God, why does a rich brat like you have to be such a fucking sight to marvel at?

"What a slut," Arlecchino mumbles, her once-controlled speech, and movement losing to the affray of lust.

Her patience runs thin and evaporates into nothingness. In one swift motion, she bends your legs beside your head, folding you into a piledriver position as her arousal peaks at its fullness. Without warning, she thrusts forcefully, penetrating you with a single, ravenous stroke.

Your teeth sink into the flesh of your hand, stifling a loud moan. Tears well up and cascade as Arlecchino's relentless pounding intensifies without a sign of stopping. She bends you further, her pulsating member probing ever deeper. Your body shakes violently, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. Your eyes find home at the back of your head in the intertwining of pleasure and pain, every thrust overstimulating your senses and sending shockwaves through the very core of your soul.

Arlecchino grumbled out incoherent words of satisfaction: The tightness of your gummy wall feels so goddamn good. How can she not lose herself in it?

Footsteps echo throughout the hallway of the saloon storeroom, shattering your erotic, fervent trance. Without delay, Arlecchino swiftly lifts you up, her member still heavily gaping at you all the while, as she hides both of you behind stacked barrels.

Your hearts race at the prospect of getting caught with her ball deep in you, in an aroused or frightened way you couldn't place your finger on it.

"Say, have you seen Father at all today?" A familiar young adult male voice comes through, one that you remember goes by the name of 'Lyney,' and decrypting from his questioning tone, he isn't alone.

"Mn... no, but... I think I saw her with that aristocrat earlier," another young, softer male voice answered the previous one's question.

Your breath hitches as you feel Arlecchino begin steadily dicking you again, building up the lost momentum without care. Arching upward, you clutch the back of Arlecchino's shirt, all the while biting into her neck to muffle the sound of your moans.

If at any given moment the boys decided to turn their backs, this little affair of yours would be easily exposed to their unfortunate sighting.

But you can't; you're so close—so, so close. You feel heaven in your eyes and your body as your head clouds with nothing more than blank whiteness.

Between gasps of inaudible, long, low sounds of sexual pleasure, you babble on about the closeness of your ecstasy. "I'm almost there," you breathe, her name half-forming: "Arle—"

Arlecchino suddenly withdraws, leaving only her tip to linger within you, tantalizing you by prolonging your climax. Then a formidable thrust from her hip surges forward. She plunges deep, her cock once more ball-deep, filling you completely. Her aim is precise and calculated because it strikes exactly at your g-spot, inflaming your core. With that perfect amount of force, your pent-up frustration unleashes in a paradisiacal orgasm.

"Huh, what is that sound?" Lyney's voice once again vibrated through the room.

Arlecchino seems indifferent to the fact that she could be caught fucking a noblewoman by her children. You share none of her collectiveness, cursing in panic after you calmed down slightly from your climax.

A young adult woman's call sounds through the corridor. "Lyney, Freminet? Where are you guys?" The boys' ears perk up, drawn to her searching voice. Their focus shifts from the strange sound that they heard to her distant one.

"In the storeroom! We're coming, Lynette!"

Hearing the sound of their retreating footsteps, you let out a breath of relief, the tension in your body loosing, or at least the most it can, before remembering that Arlecchino is still yet to finish her business with you.

Arlecchino forces you to stand upright; you may have reached your peak, but she has yet to have her ejaculation, and she is clearly frustrated, as evidenced by the way her eyebrows are furrowed, her darkened eyes, and the way her member is still pulsing with unsatisfied urgency. You brace yourself, knowing her restraint won't last long against the mounting pressure of her impending release.

"Lift your hip for me, sugar."

How you will cover up your messy appearance and the bruises and love marks she is going to leave on you is a problem for your future self to suffer through because right now the world is nothing more than a soundless void, and the only thing that matters right now is the way she feels around you.