#v. ashes to ashes; dust to dust

[mutatedangels-a]

@thewolfruns // eli x ??

It was the best sleep he'd gotten in days. And shit like that seldom came.

Eli's eyes flickered open. His body and mind recalibrated as he took in his surroundings. He never really knows what takes them so long to click together; it's not like he ever wakes up anywhere different. Anywhere besides the crow's nest. Maybe in different spots each time but always within the same four-walled sanctuary.

If you could even call it that anymore.

Well, the good thing about hiding out from this whole world-ending thing in the lookout is that it's high above ground. (It's a detriment, too, but Eli holds on to the few pleasures he has in life.) Lookout towers are anywhere between 60 to 120 feet across the U.S. and he happens to work at one of the taller ones. Deadwood Peak. They call it Deadwood because it's full of redwood trees that should be dead by now, taken down by forest fires or maybe cut down by some poachers or by some other force of nature.

It's a lame story, but it's the only one he's heard from the locals, and the chances of anybody telling him anything different is slim-to-none. So he sticks with it.

During this whole world-end, Deadwood Peak Lookout A8 has only been broken into once. It's so far down the trail of lookouts that only a few hikers, real serious ones, have ever reached it throughout its lifespan. From up top Eli's only seen maybe one or two groups pass by; for some odd reason, they never tried to ransack the tower. Maybe they didn't notice him.

So when he wakes up from a long slumber, he doesn't rush to get up. He never has a reason to.

Until he hears the rattling of a doorknob. His mind stiffens but his body springs into action, as agile as one could after waking up. Bumbling limbs are activated and refined once more as he reaches for his rifle and points it straight at the door. He doesn't say anything, not yet. For a second he takes his eyes off the door to look at the sun outside the lookout, through the window. It's bright. Who the hell has got the guts to break into someplace in broad daylight?

Somebody who didn't care whether they lived or died, he bets. He takes a deep breath in and doesn't let it go until. Until.

[aq2003]

rosamund !! </3

[made for the @d20exchange for @moonpleaser]

[vampyresonata]

Bury me in burgundy, I just don't care! Nothing's left-- I looked everywhere! Is this how I die? Was there ever any other way my life could be?

andrew means a lot to me and the arc that he is on will stab me so hard into the chest. i just know it. epitaph makes me think. a lot.

[what-the-stark]

@indimensions​  ||  Light the Spark

There was a quality of grief, of guilt, that made them infinite.

No matter how much you carried, no matter what mistakes you made, you could always pile a few more regrets on top. Tony had learned this early in life, and he also knew, too well, that that any coping mechanisms he’d tried were zero-sum games, pain from one source finding another, but leaving him just as wrecked in the end.

This new guilt was more personal than most of the others he bore, but it tasted the same, like ashes and fear in the back of his throat. Rhodey’s condition was expressly his fault. He knew it. Rhodey knew it too, though he loved Tony too much to ever speak the words aloud.

Problem solving, compensating, it was Tony's MO. He fixed things, he could fix this. He would fix this, even though he didn't have the tools for his own hands, this time. He'd tried to find Bruce to consult at least, but it was as if he had stepped off the planet. None of Tony's resources had panned out, and he had finally been desperate enough to reach out to a man he hadn't even met for help.

Dr. Stephen Strange had quite a reputation, and not all of it was positive. But none of his sources had argued against his brilliance, or the efficacy of his new technique for spinal cord injuries, and so Tony was here, at Metro-General Hospital, cooling his heels. It was almost a novelty at this point...the last person to make him wait had been Fury, and if this guy came in with an eyepatch he was leaving.

[inkykeiji]

NATSU-KUN

[kamaluhkhan]

GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you wanted revenge on luke castellan)

read part one — THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis!reader (afab, she/her pronouns)

summary: you were very angry and possibly still in love with luke castellan. kill him or kiss him — you still weren't sure what he deserved.

warnings/disclaimers: spoilers for season 1 of pjo + lots of book references. reader + luke are around 21 for most of this. rough? smut (p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, etc...) 18 + MDNI ! injuries + blood + violence. reader and others drink alcohol + smoke. lots of angst!!! luke + reader have matching tattoos. twilight + other pop culture references. reader kinda gives 'hell is a teenage girl in her 20s' vibes. maybe slightly toxic dynamic between reader + luke but we love complicated relationships ♡

author's note: thank u so much for all the love on part one!! i got a bit carried away with this one oops, but i hope y'all enjoy it :)

♪: "get him back" by olivia rodrigo

(i. he had a savior complex) 

if you were less consumed by anger, you might have noticed the sound of his footsteps following closely behind you. 

no one was supposed to go into the forest alone, but you were 17 and reckless and not at all concerned about breaking the rules, especially if it meant proving clarisse larue wrong.  

you ventured into the woods, farther than you'd ever been before, with nothing except your knife and a chest full of determination to prove that you were strong and brave just like any other demigod, regardless of if you had a cabin or not. 

you were younger then, less disillusioned, and more willing to buy into those fantasies of power and glory, spoon-fed to demigods as truth. one that you hoped to cross off that afternoon: being worthy of attention if you could sink your blade into the next monster that dared to cross your path.

everyone would see that you’re not just some little, powerless girl with no reason to be at camp. 

and, sure, there was a small but not insignificant part of you that hoped your mother was watching, that she’d finally notice how much of a hero you could be.

you could have died that afternoon. you put up a decent fight, but soon enough you found yourself fallen to the forest floor: blade down, broken arm, bleeding out. a manticore inches away from sending you to the underworld. 

you weren’t angry anymore, the adrenaline had left your body. you just were a scared child, silently praying to deities you hoped wouldn’t look away like they always do. 

i’m sorry, mom. i couldn’t do it. 

you closed your eyes, waited for your fate, and just when you thought all hope was lost — 

the sound of a sword ripping through flesh, an injured growl, and then nothing but your ragged breathing. 

your eyelids fluttered open.

it wasn't your mother, or any of the other gods, who jumped in to save your life.

standing in the middle of the clearing, gripping his sword, was luke castellan. 

he tucked annabeth’s invisibility cap into his back pocket and brought you to the infirmary.

"she's okay, though?" luke asked. he was watching you carefully, ashes from the manticore dusting his orange camp shirt. his arms were crossed, and it seemed that he managed to defeat the monster relatively unscathed.

lee fletcher, son of apollo, nodded as he set your injury. 

"nothing more than a broken arm and minor concussion. make sure your girl gets lots of rest, okay? no more monster hunting. probably has to sit out capture the flag tomorrow, too.”

you ignored the churning in your stomach when lee assumed you were luke’s girl. luke didn’t bother correcting him. 

lee left to get you some ambrosia to speed the healing process, leaving you and luke alone in the room. 

“you know, i’m not a damsel in distress you have to follow around, waiting to save. i’m not your girl.” 

��seriously?” he raised an eyebrow, but his cheeks became slightly flushed. “you would be dead if it wasn’t for me. i heard what happened with clarisse, but gods — you didn’t have to go and get yourself killed to prove something.” 

he was right, of course. part of you wanted to argue with him for always having to be the hero, but the fight lingering in your throat wasn’t enough to act on. you just sighed and looked away, feeling too impulsive and powerless and exhausted down to your bones. 

you felt the bed dip beside you, and then a hand on your shoulder. it was warmer than usual, but the calloused skin still felt familiar on yours.

“they’re not worth it, okay? that’s what you’re always telling me.”

luke’s voice was lower than before, a touch of bitterness laced through.

“yeah, well you never believe it,” you replied, voice hollow. “so why should i?” 

clarisse entered the infirmary before he could answer. luke was instantly on his feet, blocking you from her view, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“what are you doing here?” he practically growled. 

“i heard what happened,” clarisse explained, looking past luke to catch your eye. you waved at her with your newly applied cast. “i’m sorry about what i said earlier, if that had anything to do with it.”

at that point, you were still trying to figure out where you stood with clarisse. she had arrived at camp just before the new year. you’d been so used to new campers being younger than you, and it was nice to have someone the same age to be friends with. 

it wasn’t until the start of march, around two weeks ago, that ares had claimed her. ever since, there had been a newfound animosity between you, leading up to your explosive argument earlier that day. part of you had a feeling she was just trying to fit in with her siblings. it was a subtle thread woven throughout the camp, especially with the ares kids: this hierarchy of power according to the gods, with you on the lower end because your mother was only a minor goddess. 

needless to say, it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before; it was just that the words pierced through your thick skin when coming from a friend. 

but the very fact that she came to visit you, that she apologized and seemed to regret that you’d gotten hurt, healed you more than the ambrosia lee was just coming back to give you. 

“thanks, clarisse,” you said after a mouthful of ambrosia. 

even with an established truce, luke didn’t move away from you. in fact, he puffed his chest out a bit more. 

“if you say anything like that to her again, i swear to all the gods —”

“i just said sorry, castellan,” clarisse scoffed. “now get out of the way so i can sign her cast.” 

clarisse attempted to move closer, but luke stayed planted where he was.

“you are not getting anywhere close to her,” luke warned. 

“easy, tiger.” you got up to put your hand on his arm, but luke jerked away from your touch. your fingers brushed against his skin however, and even that brief moment was enough to shock you with its temperature. you tried again, this time bringing a hand to his neck, and he let out a hiss upon contact. his pulse seemed quicker than normal.

“are you feeling okay?”

“i’m just fine,” he huffed, and stormed out of the infirmary.

a few days later, you were training with clarisse, when silena beauregard ran into the arena and interrupted you.

“it’s luke,” she coughed, out of breath. “he’s in the infirmary—”

you sprinted towards the big house before silena could finish her sentence. 

when you reached the infirmary, luke was being held back by lee and a few others, screaming that he needed to go find you or you’d die. he was holding his sword, and campers wrestled to remove it from his grip. the sleeve of his shirt lifted up slightly, and that was when you noticed it: a gash across his bicep, shallow, but turning a sickly green. the rest of his skin was flushed, his eyes frantically searching for someone — you — and he was breathing heavily between sentences.

it turned out that he’d gone the entire week with the wound festering. one of the manticore’s spikes must have grazed luke, and he hadn’t thought much of it because he was so focused on making sure you were okay. 

manticore poison could fuck with someone’s mind if not treated right away. worse: it could be fatal. 

despite your heart beating out of your chest and the chaos you walked into, you kept your voice gentle, but firm.

“luke.”

for a moment, everything stood still. luke froze, and the campers took the opportunity to get a better hold on him.

he blinked at you and shook his head. “no. no. you’re not her. i heard her screaming from the forest and - and she’s in trouble. i need to —”

“it’s me, tiger,” you assured him. 

you approached him carefully and, despite some whispers of warning, you gestured at everyone to let go of him completely. they might have had a point, because as soon as they did, the tip of his sword was dangerously close to your chin. 

“you’re not her,” he insisted. “you’re just some monster trying to trick me.”

you stood in front of him then, and slowly raised your arm to show him your cast. a few people had signed it — beckendorf, chris, clarisse, silena. luke had signed his name too, of course, along with a poor attempt at a cartoon tiger that made you all laugh. 

“see? it’s me. i’m okay.”

there were a few moments when you held your breath, feeling the celestial bronze dig into your skin a bit more. and then:

“it’s…you. you’re….okay?” 

luke’s speech was slightly slurred. he dropped his sword like it suddenly weighed a thousand pounds; it nicked you on its way down. you didn’t care though, because luke almost fell to the ground, too. 

you gripped his wrist to steady him. 

“you’re probably not okay, though,” you explained, well aware of the urgency of the situation. his pulse felt weaker by the second, his skin burning against yours. 

“i’m….i’m fine. i just need to — she’s gonna die if i don’t —”

“i’m right here. i’m here because you already saved me, remember? you saved me, but you got hurt.”

 he shook his head slowly, and his eyes started to flutter close. 

“no, i’m okay,” he breathed, his voice smaller than you’d ever heard it. “i need to make sure y/n is okay. she needs me….” 

you swallowed the lump in your throat, seeing him start to fade away right in front of you. 

you refused to lose hope. 

no — you wouldn’t watch luke castellan die.

“i’m here, luke.” you gripped his wrist even tighter to remind him.

“but —” 

“just rest for a minute, ” you insisted, guiding him towards a bed. “for me, okay?” 

as soon as you managed to get luke onto the bed and, more importantly, calm, everyone else sprung back into action. 

chiron was away for the week, so will solace — one of the younger apollo campers, but probably the best healer at camp — used some healing magic, while lee misted luke with cold water to cool him down and another kid dripped some nectar onto his wound.

luke hissed when the liquid seeped into his skin and reached out for you. you felt like the flesh might melt right off your bones, but you let him squeeze your hand for as long as he needed. somebody came around to put a bandage on your chin, too.

you'd always resented the gods, but that was the first time you'd really lost your faith in them. watching luke fight for his life even after saving yours, other demigods joining the battle, and you thinking: this is the life you cursed us with. you imagined the gods, with power to twist fate in their favor, simply enjoying a feast on mount olympus, hermes sipping nectar and not even aware that another one of his children is dying. you supposed your mother wasn’t any better either. her neglect felt like revenge for something you didn’t even know you had done.

after a while, the skin around luke’s wound lost its greenish hue. you released a deep breath when both lee and will declared that luke seemed to be on the mend — he just needed to get some rest, and, best case scenario, the poison should have run its course by morning.

you didn’t ask about the worst case scenario.

you estimated it was around 2 am when you heard luke’s voice again.

“cold,” was all he said through shivering teeth. 

you wordlessly grabbed as many blankets as you could, and tucked them around luke. you waited a few minutes to see if it helped.

“so - so cold,” he shivered again. you reached out to check luke’s pulse, and all you could find was the faintest heartbeat. his skin looked pale in the moonlight and now felt ice cold despite his high fever earlier. 

no one else was in the infirmary then. you were wracking your brain to remember what you had learned in demigod survival class about hypothermia. something about warm drinks? you ran to the kitchen and made him a cup of hot chocolate — with cinnamon, just how he liked it. 

you whispered his name once you were back at his bedside. his eyelids fluttered open. you tried coaxing him to take the drink, but he wouldn’t even hold the mug. you didn’t think twice about climbing into bed next to him, gently sitting him upright against the headboard so that you could offer him tiny sips. you noticed then that he was still only wearing a tank top, so you took off your sweatshirt — which happened to be one of luke’s — and slid it on him. 

when the hot chocolate was done, luke sighed. some of the color returned to his face, and his teeth stopped chattering. 

“thanks, karma.”

you just hummed in response, setting the mug down on the nightstand beside you and twisting underneath the blankets. luke settled back down next to you. he brushed his thumb over the band-aid on your chin. 

“what happened? did clarisse —”

“easy, tiger. it’s nothing — just a little scratch,” you replied. 

you spared him from the whole truth. sure, there was a moment earlier when you didn’t know whether or not luke would hurt you. it was only a split second, because that wasn’t your luke. he shouldn’t have had to live with the guilt of something he did by accident, as a result of a poisoned mind.

“anyways, i should be thanking you. you’re the one who almost died saving my life. you were hanging by a thread just a few seconds ago. it seems like you’re not completely out of the woods yet.”

“well, i guess the fates are still deciding what to do with me.” he cracked a smile. 

it was a bit morbid, given what you’d been through the past 12 hours, and the fact that the manticore venom clearly hadn’t left his body completely. the possibility of his death had not completely disappeared, though you supposed that, as demigods, the risk always remained higher. 

fuck the gods. they weren’t your protectors. they weren’t your family. 

the campers who put their whole heart into healing you and luke, the boy who risked his life for you — they were your family. 

you took luke’s humor as a good sign. the luke castellan you knew — confident banter, radiant grin, heart of gold — was coming back to you. 

the luke castellan you would not allow die, even if you could still feel the cool bronze of his blade linger on your chin. 

(ii. he had an ego)

according to annabeth chase, it was statistically improbable for a demigod to reach drinking age. something always kills them first - a monster, a blade, a fatal flaw. the likelihood of survival only gets exponentially lower with each passing year.

she repeated that information to luke on the morning of his 21st birthday.

“thanks for the cheerful birthday wishes, sis.” 

annabeth shrugged and hugged him before walking back to the athena table to finish breakfast. 

"you hear that, tiger?” you pointed a syrupy fork at luke. “you are literally saying fuck you to fate, just by being alive." 

"that’s the way i like it," luke quipped, and stole a blueberry from your plate. 

"hey man, happy birthday." chris patted luke’s shoulder on his way to sit across from you and luke. "so, i just talked to chiron and he agreed to let us go out tonight." 

you smiled between bites of your pancakes, reaching over to offer chris a triumphant fist bump.

“nice work, rodriguez.” 

"we're going out tonight?"

you pressed your knee to luke's under the table. 

"of course we are," you hummed. "we have a lot to celebrate." 

so, you, luke, chris, and a few of your friends — beckendorf, silena, and clarisse — went into the city to celebrate. one of luke's favorite bands was playing, and you had managed to snag a few tickets. you'd all entered a bar confidently that night, the fake ids you were at once so giddy and paranoid about no longer needed. 

there were few times when you could all just kick back and have fun, without having to worry about the responsibilities of being senior counselors. that night, you were all itching for a taste of freedom. or, at least, some alcohol. 

"happy birthday to the one and only luke castellan: a hero by any other name!" 

everyone raised their shot glasses, echoed beckendorf's words, and threw back their drinks. 

the night became louder, more vibrant. yet, even as you laughed and drank and danced with your friends, there was a heaviness lingering in your chest.

for most demigods, birthdays were bittersweet. each one served as a reminder of time running out because of exactly what annabeth said that morning. most half-bloods don’t even live past their teens, let alone the age of 20. you had the blood of gods flowing in your veins, and your lives were influenced by sinister, divine forces from ancient times. you were the new generation of heroes, protagonists of those greek tragedies that made mortals weep.

there was no guarantee that this would last forever, but all of your friends —  the people you loved — had beat the odds. 

so, who would blame you for getting a little sentimental? 

beckendorf and chris had wandered off to play pool, in hopes of winning some bets and free drinks. clarisse was flirting with some girl who caught her eye, and silena went to grab some water after having danced for a bit. you and luke were still in the crowd, swaying to the music. for one glorious moment, you were just a group of twenty-one year olds enjoying a carefree night out. 

under the flashing lights, you stole a glimpse at luke. he wore a simple white tank top and ripped jeans, paired with a leather jacket and some rings he borrowed from you so he could, in his words, look more punk-rock. his curls were messy, his skin glittering with a thin sheen of sweat. the chain he layered with his usual camp necklace caught the multicolored light and highlighted the sharp angles of his collarbones. 

whatever aesthetic he was going for, luke looked good. based on various eyes following him throughout the room, you assumed others thought the same as well. it made you just a little bit furious, feeling that he wasn't only yours to admire. 

“you good?” luke’s voice cut through the noise, but he had to lean in close.  

his fingers brushed against the section of waist exposed by your cropped top. you’d gotten so warm that you had to tie your flannel around your waist, but luke’s touch sent a shiver through your body. it made you somewhat dizzy, feeling the cold metal of those rings on your skin. even moreso, when you realized how much you wanted to kiss your best friend, sink your teeth into his smirk and taste the mint chapstick and tequila on his lips. 

to be fair, you and luke had crossed that line before, and you were in the fields of asphodel ever since. 

not quite friendship, not quite romance. something deeper, more volatile and electric. 

you didn’t want to make things blurrier than they already were, though. whatever you acted on that night could have just been dismissed the next morning as a drunken mistake.

so, you just nodded at him and turned back towards the band as though you were never thinking about anything more than the music. 

after a few more songs, luke commanded your attention once more.

“hey, didn’t you once say you wanted to start a band?”

“what do i look like, a child of apollo?” you joked, but luke raised an eyebrow at you, clearly wanting a serious answer.

it was slightly alarming, how well he knew you; through your childhood dreams and down to your core. 

“in another life,” you conceded. “maybe.”

“in another life,” luke echoed. he leaned in close again. “you’d be a pretty hot drummer, and i’d be front row at every show.”

your lips could have touched if you moved your head just an inch, but he pulled away before you did. he was giving you that classic son-of-hermes smirk, the one that made everyone swoon. 

the thing was, you were sure that luke knew the effect he had on people. you had seen him continuously bask in the praise of chiron and other campers, always preening for the crowd's attention, as if he had to do anything more than smile. everyone loved luke — he was handsome, charismatic, strong.

and, yeah, you weren’t immune. your fatal flaw: not loyalty, or anger, or recklessness, but luke castellan’s charm.

you had to keep yourself grounded. it would be a bad idea to cross that line again on his birthday, right? 

luke licked his lips as you kept staring at him. you could tell he was waiting for you to do something. 

maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the rhythm of the music vibrating through your bones, but you started thinking — fuck it. 

before you could act on that impulse, some person with bright red hair stepped between you and luke. she introduced herself, telling luke she saw him from across the room, and she'd been watching him all night, and would he by any chance want to dance with her?

luke seemed flattered, interested even. he flashed her the very same smile he had just given you, which left a bitter taste in your mouth. you excused yourself before you had to hear them flirt even more. 

you walked over to silena at the bar. she had a half-empty glass of ice water melting in front of her, her attention somewhere else. you sat down beside her and followed her gaze to what — who — she was looking at. 

“if confessing feelings to someone is hard for aphrodite’s daughter, then there’s really no hope for the rest of us,” you tell her.

silena whipped her head towards you. her cheeks were flushed a light pink. 

“i - i don’t have feelings for clarisse.”

“lena, please. we all know. well, except maybe clarisse.”

“what?” she blinked at you, eyeshadow shimmering in the light.

“yeah,” you said with a small laugh. the irony of it all: the head counselor of cabin 10  denying that she was in love with someone. “we talk about it all the time.”

“well,” silena huffed, cheeks now a bright red. “i guess i should tell you that the rest of us talk about you and luke.” 

you reached over to grab her water, your throat suddenly dry. 

“what about us?” you asked after finishing the drink in one long sip. 

“about how you obviously both have feelings for each other. half the camp already thinks you’re dating.”

you started to crunch on whatever ice was still frozen. 

“well, we aren’t.” 

that reality hurt more than the sharp pain piercing your brain from ingesting too much cold, too fast. you couldn’t even spot luke in the crowd — he and the redhead had probably gone off to some private corner. 

“people think love’s a joke,” silena sighed. “but they don’t realize how much power it can have over a person. it can make people —”

“cowards?” you suggested.

silena nodded solemnly. “cowards.”

neither of you said anything for a while, two love-sick half-bloods slumped over a sticky bar counter.

suddenly, silena sat up straight. she tied her black hair up into a ponytail. perfect, of course, along with her makeup. you were sure you had sweat off the glitter she had applied to your cheeks earlier. 

“i am not a coward.” 

without another word, silena got up and glided towards clarisse, and you were left with an empty stool next to you. 

part of you was proud of her for following her heart. the other part couldn’t stop picturing someone else’s tongue down luke’s throat. 

“can i get a ginger-ale, please?” you asked no one in particular, hoping that the bartender heard your request for something to ease your nausea. 

“you sure you don’t want anything stronger?” 

someone slid onto the barstool next to you. he looked around your age, wearing a navy and red rugby shirt. he had what looked like a pretty expensive watch on his wrist, and he was already leaning in way too close for a stranger. 

“i’m fine,” you deadpanned.

“oh, come sweetheart, it’s on me.” 

you scoffed at the nickname and shook your head.

the guy next to you didn’t care. he snapped to get the bartender’s attention. “two vodka tonics, please. that’s your drink, right? i’m usually pretty good at guessing.”

“dude, i said i’m fine,” you repeated through clenched teeth.

the bartender set two drinks in front of you and rugby shirt pointed towards them.

“well, i already got you a drink, so you at least owe me a conversation.” he slid the drink closer to you.

"i don't owe you anything." 

"oh, come on," rugby shirt cooed. "i don't bite." he slipped his hand underneath your skirt, nails scratching along the skin of your upper thigh, through your fishnets.

you growled at the contact and stood up abruptly, more than a little coincidentally knocked the glass over. the liquid splashed onto him. his flirtatious grin melted right off his face.

“jesus christ —you bitch,” he spat. “this is what i get for trying to be nice?”

“that’s what you get for trying to grope me,” you snapped. “but i could do a lot worse if you’re in the mood.”

his face was a pissed-off shade of red, his mouth formulating a response when —

you felt luke’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him. you side-eyed him, and ignored the hickey blooming at the base of his neck.

“is there a problem here?” luke’s voice was firm, steady. 

it seemed like all the fight left rugby shirt’s body, and he put his hands up in surrender. 

“oh, sorry dude. i didn’t realize she was taken.”

you rolled your eyes. figured that this guy would only back off if there was a jealous boyfriend in the mix. 

“it’s fine, i’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“that’s for sure,” the guy continued. “your girl practically bit my head off for being nice and buying her a drink.”

your fingers tightened into a fist.

“that is not —”

“look, i gotta apologize on her behalf.”

“luke, what are you —”

“let me handle this, baby,” he hummed. “trust me, she’s normally a good girl. she just gets….harder to control after one too many drinks.” 

“i am this close to throwing my next drink at you,” you insisted. 

you weren't naive. you knew luke was putting on an act, but you weren't sure why he felt the need to appease this jerk and put you down in the process. 

you hated the way he was acting now — arrogant, condescending, borderline sexist. you wanted to storm off, you really did, but that would mean having to tear yourself away from luke, and.... you didn't hate the firm hold he had on you. 

he chuckled and raised an eyebrow at the guy knowingly, like they were the closest friends. 

“see what i mean?”

“that’s quite the firecracker you got there,” the guy complimented, as though you were a prize luke had won. “those are the ones you gotta keep on a tight leash, though.”

oh, your patience was wearing thin. if luke didn't take care of this guy soon….

“don’t i know it.” luke laughed when you barred your teeth at him. “look, we all came here to have a good time. why don’t you go join your friends again, and i’ll send over some drinks.”

rugby shirt looked at luke, then nodded. 

“alright. thanks, man. and sorry again for the….confusion.” 

luke extended a hand, and the guy shook it.

"no hard feelings. i'll be sure to keep her on a tighter leash, though."

rugby shirt walked away, laughing. you were just about ready to bite luke's head off.

you shoved luke away from you. your whole body felt like it was on fire. 

“luke castellan, i don’t care if it’s your birthday, if you ever talk to me like that again, i swear to all the gods —” you faltered when luke’s lips curled into a smirk. 

that smug, gorgeous, self-important smirk.

“what?” 

“i’m just waiting until you’re done chewing me out,” he said, clearly a bit amused. “you done?”

you hesitated, narrowing your eyes at him. “for now, i guess.”

“good, because we have about 2 minutes before our misogynistic frat buddy over there notices that something’s missing.”

he lifted his hand to show off the real prize of the night. 

“you did all of that….. to steal the guy’s watch?”

“well, duh. he was being a jerk and i’m the prince of thieves, karma. gotta use my powers for good.” 

luke winked at you as you stared at him in awe. 

“we really should go though. the others are waiting for us outside.” 

you jutted your chin towards the bruise on his neck.

"what about the redhead?"

luke flushed, adjusted his collar to hide the hickey. "i kinda lost interest when she said i was hot for an asian guy."

"oh." you ignored the triumph in your gut. "sounds like a jerk, too." 

"whatever." luke shrugged. "hard to find the good ones, right?" 

luke turned towards the exit.

"wait.” you tugged him back, and luke looked confused for a split second. “you're one of the good ones, luke castellan. did i ever tell you how incredibly happy i am that you were born?" 

luke grinned. "you could stand to say it more often."

his smile was infectious. you liked this side of luke: protective, mischievous, a bit of a trouble-maker. 

it made you want to kiss him all over again.

(iii. he lied without flinching)

you couldn’t find luke anywhere. 

he wasn’t at the climbing wall, or the arena, or the forge. luke seemed to have a knack at vanishing when you needed him most.

when you finally found him, he was outside the big house, in what seemed to be a somewhat heated conversation with chris and a new camper, ethan nakamura. 

ethan nakamura, son of nemesis. you were shocked when your mother’s symbol — swords crossed underneath a set of scales — appeared over his head after two weeks of staying at the hermes cabin. 

you were still getting used to having a younger half-brother. 

“hey,” you greeted the trio, slightly out of breath from running all over camp. as soon as you joined them, a silence fell over the group. “i was looking for you everywhere, tiger. what’s going on here?”

“actually, we were just —”

“nakamura,” luke spoke ethan’s name like a warning. 

“i’m just saying, maybe we should consider —”

luke cut ethan off this time with a sharp glance. 

“i already said no. end of discussion.”

“whatever you say, boss,” ethan grumbled.

the trio was silent again, and you eyed each of them suspiciously.

“okay, seriously. what’s —”

“we’ll talk more about this later, guys,” luke interrupted. his tone was commanding. ethan and chris dispersed. 

once they were gone, you furrowed your brows at luke, not sure what they would be talking about that could make him speak so harshly. 

“what was that about?” you asked for the third time.

“nothing important.” luke gave you a smile that seemed to stretch a bit thin. “you said you were looking for me everywhere. wanna go makeout in the hermes cabin? i’m pretty sure it’ll be empty this time of day.”

you shook your head, no matter how tempting the offer. the scene you walked into made you so uneasy that you completely forgot there was something important you needed to tell luke.

“percy and annabeth just iris-messaged me,” you explained. 

“oh,” he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is their quest going alright?”

you repeated everything the kids had told you: medusa, the chimera, ares. clarisse maybe being the lightning thief. luke had to sit down on the stairs leading to the big house when you spoke that last part. you understood why — clarisse was your friend. 

sitting down next to him, you sighed.

“you don’t think….you don’t think it could be true, do you?” 

clarisse was hot-headed, sure, maybe a bit impulsive, but a war between the gods? that didn’t seem her style. 

you hoped luke would assure you, but instead he said:

luke ran a hand through his hair. “it would make sense.”

“what?”

he leaned in close, voice low.

“clarisse was there with us during our field trip to olympus in december. the gods are arrogant enough to leave their stuff in the throne room, and there’s not really any security. she could have easily snuck in when everyone was sleeping. clarisse….” luke let out a heavy breath. “clarisse is the lightning thief.”

“no. no. she wouldn’t —”

“it makes sense, karma,” luke insisted. he placed a hand on your knee. “clarisse is angry at the gods.”

“we all are,” you pointed out.

“well, sure, but her dad is ares. how else do you get the god of war’s attention if not starting a war?”

you took a second to process luke’s reasoning. maybe he did have a point. it was just that sharp pain in your chest keeping you from believing it. 

“we don’t know anything for sure,” you decided. “and until we do….we don’t tell anyone. especially chiron.”

luke squeezed your knee, gave you a reassuring smile. 

“sounds like a plan.” he moved in closer and whispered: “now, how about we sneak away, and i do that thing with my tongue that makes you squirm?” 

you felt something tighten in your lower abdomen. you and luke were still in the sneaking-around-camp stage of your relationship; you both got a thrill from it.

at the time, you figured luke was just offering you a much needed distraction.

he kissed just below your ear to sweeten the deal — and how were you supposed to resist?

you didn’t even question how luke knew when the bolt was stolen, let alone how he seemed to have the theft already planned out perfectly.

(iv. he hid behind a pretty face and perfect teeth)

 it had been a little over a week since people around camp — including percy, annabeth, and grover, who had gotten back from their quest — found out about you and luke, together. apparently your friends had a bet going, meaning that everyone other than silena was less than thrilled about your announcement. they warmed up to the idea since then.

it still felt a little bit surreal calling luke castellan your boyfriend. 

luke often played the role of the perfect demigod, the one everyone should strive to be. he paid extra attention to new campers and made them feel welcomed. he did his chores on time, stepped in if more hands were needed for kitchen patrol, and spent hours going through reports for chiron. he taught sword-fighting and encouraged younger campers to keep practicing. he did participate in the occasional prank, that mischievous child of hermes streak impossible not to indulge in, but it only made everyone adore him even more. because luke was responsible, but not boring. he was incredibly skilled and driven, but also gracious. he was sensible and charismatic. 

you watched that luke — camp half-blood’s golden boy, the hero everyone either wanted to be, befriend, or date — and you were in awe. mostly, you wondered how he managed to bury the anger and resentment you knew was churning inside him, the same anger and resentment you sometimes let slip through. 

no, you were not as careful as golden boy luke, who showed no malice towards the olympians. to chiron, to everyone else, luke castellan respected the gods, honored them in everything he did, and taught others to do the same. 

that was not the luke who sucked a bruise onto your neck while suggesting something even you might consider blasphemous. 

“we can’t just - uh,” you had to catch your breath when luke slipped his thumb underneath the band of your sports bra. “we’d get in trouble, tiger.”

you felt him chuckle against your skin.

“since when do you care about that?” 

“since the king of the gods would probably strike us with lightning, or turn us into some horrible monsters, or curse us if we were caught fucking in his cabin." 

"that’s only if we get caught." 

luke gave you that flirtatious smile, the one he now reserved only for you.

it was that smile that led to luke settling between your legs, fucking you with his tongue and fingers, his other hand digging into your thigh to keep you from writhing too much. 

zeus’ cabin was, of course, empty, since his only known child was turned into a pine tree. you and luke had tucked yourselves into the one corner where the giant statue of the god couldn’t see you, setting a sleeping bag down on the cold marble floor and your discarded clothes scattered throughout. the dome-shaped ceiling was decorated with an enchanted mosaic sky that seemed to move. the only sounds that echoed throughout the room were moans as your orgasm washed over you.

"you're so, so pretty," he mumbled, wet lips brushing the skin of your inner thigh. he stayed where he was, awfully concerned with lapping up everything.

you whined his name when you found him taking too long, already a bit sensitive and wanting him inside you.

it might have been your conscious, but you swore you could hear a storm brewing, the threat of thunder and lightning looming.  the mosaic sprouted some clouds, growing darker by the second as if a countdown to your doom.

luke, on the other hand, was acting like you had all the time in the world, and then some.

he paused after his name tumbled from your lips again, and you tugged his hair. he propped his chin on your stomach to get a better look of you. luke was gorgeous, with his mess of black curls, deep brown eyes a little more dangerous than usual, smirk shining with your come.

"yes, sweetheart?"

“get up here and kiss me,” you groaned. 

once again, luke took his sweet time. his mouth left a trail along your thighs and your hips, your stomach and ribs. it felt like he was worshiping every inch of your skin, scarred and uneven and tattooed as it was. luke took extra care in appreciating the sword engraved on your sternum, the tattoo that matched the one he had on his collarbone.

“hi,” luke whispered once he was face to face with you. 

“hey, tiger,” you matched the softness of his voice, contrasting the harshness that followed when luke crashed his lips into yours. you could taste yourself on his tongue, and once he sucked all the air from your lungs, you had to pull away. 

you informed him: “there’s a condom in my back pocket.”

“always prepared,” he noted with a smile, reaching over to get it.

you kissed luke again as he entered you, your nails scraping down his back. when he pulled away to look at you, you couldn’t meet his gaze. instead, you were mesmerized by the sharp contours of his body and the healed wounds that lingered, every scar that you knew by heart like they were your own. it might have been strange, but you had a favorite — the faint cut on his hip from when he, thalia, and annabeth were on the run and they had to jump a fence.

if luke hadn’t been thrusting into you, you would have bent down to kiss it. 

“eyes up here, beautiful.” 

when you complied, luke smiled and ran his thumb along your jaw.

“good girl,” he praised. “you okay if i go harder?”

you settled for kissing the scar on his cheekbone.

“yes,” you finally answered.  "please."

luke brought his hand down to wrap your leg around his hip before he started moving faster. your head fell back against the marble floor, but you didn’t care about the impact. you just focused on how good it felt to have luke inside you, his strong hand on your hip, his warm breath on your skin. 

after feeling you tighten around him, luke let go a bit more. he dropped his head between your neck and shoulder, his curls brushing against you. as he reached his peak, luke bit your shoulder, hard,  to keep himself from groaning too loudly. you could have sworn that you heard thunder at that exact moment. in fact, it seemed to shake the entire cabin.

luke seemed to catch the threat that time, too. 

there was no room for pillow talk as the two of you rushed to get dressed and get out of there before the king of the gods lost his patience and struck you with lightning, turned you into some horrible monsters, or cursed you. maybe all three, maybe something worse.

you slipped on your underwear and pants, but couldn’t find the top half of your outfit. 

“do you see my shirt there?”

luke had just pulled on his boxers when he turned and passed the item to you. you weren’t sure why he paused for a second while doing it. then, he whispered:

“shit.” luke’s eyes were glued to your shoulder, where his teeth had broken skin. his cheeks flushed a bright red. whether it was shame or embarrassment, you didn’t know; but you were slightly taken aback. “i’m, i’m sorry, i — i didn’t mean to hurt you. i never want to —”

you placed your hands on his cheeks. 

“hey.” you whispered at him softly, and it was enough for him to stop rambling. you could tell he felt guilty, though, since he refused to meet your gaze.

“luke, baby, look at me.”

when he finally did, your heart ached. 

it wasn’t like you hadn’t done similar to luke. you’d never broken skin, sure, but luke seemed to enjoy — really enjoy — whenever you used your teeth in the heat of the moment. you just assumed he knew you wouldn’t mind the same.

but, one bite, and luke was almost reduced to tears, all because he was afraid of hurting you. 

“it’s fine, okay? i’m fine.”

luke didn’t seem convinced, his brows furrowed with concern. you kissed the crease on his forehead and reassured him once more that you were fine. 

 “if anything, consider it payback for the hickey i left that took a week to fade away.”

luke smiled softly at that, and you knew he was coming back to you. 

“you know, annabeth suggested that i go to the infirmary because of how it looked. i had to tell her i got it during sparring practice.”

“it wasn’t that bad,” you laughed, and so did luke. 

thunder rumbled throughout the cabin once more, and you swore the clouds were growing darker by the second. 

you were about to finish getting dressed when he grabbed your waist.

“look, if i’m ever too rough whenever we’re —”

“sparring?” 

“sure,” he smiled, thumbs rubbing circles on your bare skin. “whenever we’re sparring, just promise that you’ll let me know.”

“of course,” you hummed. “only if you do the same.”

“of course,” he echoed, and he pecked your lips. “i think it’s hot, you know? when you feel like you can let go. when you mark me. i like everyone knowing that i’m yours.”

you bit back a smile, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

“well, i think it’s hot when you mark me, too. especially when you bite me,” you admitted. 

“don’t tell me you’re still into the whole vampire thing,” he teased.

“oh, please. you were as obsessed with it as the rest of us. don’t you remember?”

as if either of you could forget marathoning the entire twilight saga with your friends, the six of you squeezing onto the small couch in the big house, sharing one bowl of popcorn and endless cups of coffee to stay awake.

you shivered out of the memory when he brought his fingers up to trace the bite mark he had left on you.

zeus could have sent more thunder. he could have created a whole godsdamned storm, but you wouldn’t have cared.

luke was so close that you had nothing better to do than to close the distance between you.

luke got bolder as the kiss became more heated — he sank his teeth into your bottom lip, his tongue sweeping over the crimson liquid that emerged, the tang of copper invading your mouth.

“easy there, edward,” you joked, and felt him smirk against your lips before moving to nip at your neck. 

you trailed your hand down the front of his exposed stomach, outlining the contours and curves. with the moonlight reflecting in, accompanied by the crackle of lightning, it almost looked like luke’s skin was glittering.

“you’re so beautiful," you cooed, nails scraping against the tight muscles of his lower abdomen.

“this is the skin of a killer, bella!” he mimicked.

you laughed at the reference, but when luke seemed to realize what he said, you swore you felt his grip tightening on your hips, though you didn't know why.

“i never want to hurt you,” he finished the sentence you had interrupted earlier.

“you won’t.” 

at the time, you didn’t think he was even capable of such a thing. 

for better or for worse, that was the night you realized something.

you liked golden boy luke. or, at the very least, you tolerated him.

the rule-breaking, sin-committing, blood-sucking luke?

in the words of bella swan: he was the one you were unconditionally and irrevocably in love with. 

except your life wasn't some cliché yet endearing love story about fictional vampires and werewolves. 

it had monsters, too. you just didn't realize who they were until it was too late. 

(v. he made you look so naive)  

there was blood on your hands, but you weren’t sure who it belonged to.

yours or luke’s — it was a toss-up that made you more than a little nauseous. 

luke had stolen the lightning bolt. luke had tried to frame percy and start a war between the gods. luke had begged you to join kronos’ army with him. you almost killed him because of it until you realized that he left percy to die. 

you summarized everything to chiron and mr. d once you had made sure that percy was getting help in the infirmary. the scorpion poison was still putting up a fight, but percy was strong. annabeth was there with him.

dread simmered in the pit of your stomach just thinking about having to tell her everything, too — to see the look in her eyes when she hears just how much her big brother betrayed her.

“and you have no idea where mr. castellan could have gone?” chiron’s voice was stern, as usual. 

you shook your head, not particularly paying attention. you could still feel blood seeping from the blademark luke had left. 

“that’s awfully convenient,” mr.d scoffed.

you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“i’ve heard around camp that you and this luke were quite…. close,” mr. d said, pointing his can of diet coke at you accusingly. 

a wave of anger surged through you. it had been building in your gut ever since luke revealed his betrayal, and you didn’t care if it was a god who was on the receiving end of your wrath. 

“seriously? i saved percy and told you everything, and you’re here suggesting what? that i’m somehow a traitor, too?”  

“seems like the plot of a pretty twisted love story.”

your lips curled into a snarl, and you were about to pounce until chiron dismissed you.

you were in a trance for the rest of the day. chris was gone, too. ethan didn’t seem surprised. silena sobbed, clarisse comforted her, beckendorf cursed luke’s name. other campers kept asking about where their favorite counselor had gone, until they started growing weary of you.

because if golden boy luke was evil, what were the odds that his hot-headed, impertinent girlfriend was, too?

luke left you there, looking like an absolute fool for believing in him, trusting him, loving him.

you couldn’t unsee his blood on your hands. you might as well have been lady macbeth, desperately scrubbing out stains that would never leave.

vi. he was a vice you could never shake

calling all riot grrrls and punk rockers — this show is for YOU!!! come see the SIRENS OF NEW YORK perform THIS friday at joan’s bar ;)

the flyer was an obnoxiously vibrant shade of red and plastered throughout the neighborhood, and it did a good job. one of queens’ best dive bars was packed with people waiting to see the band perform: stella yamada on guitar, mohini banjaree on bass, sally mcknight on vocals — and you on drums. 

it was nice and still a bit new, this relatively normal existence with relatively normal people.

you couldn’t cut off the demigod side of your life completely. there was still a war brewing, and you were in regular enough contact with camp. 

but, you’d been away for a few years, trying to live the life of a non-halfblood in their early 20s. you had an apartment, a cat and a nice enough roommate. you were in school and working as a bartender to pay for rent and tuition. you had friends who, for lack of a better term, were normal. people who worried about paying off student loans and finding their passion in life, whether it be law school or feminist prose or angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion. people who spent their time in classrooms or tattoo parlors or their friends’ bathrooms at 2am while bleaching their hair after a bad breakup. 

sometimes though, usually late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your old life. 

you missed home. you missed playing capture the flag and training in the arena and having breakfast in the dining pavilion. you missed your friends, the ones you’d grown up with. 

you missed —

no. you tried not to let your mind wander towards him, or the consequences of what he did. you both drew blood the afternoon he confessed his sins to you, but he was the one who twisted the knife. he was the reason you couldn’t stand your life as a half-blood anymore. 

you just tried to focus on the mortal, mundane things that now composed your everyday life, like the stage you would be performing on in 30 seconds. 

before every show, your bandmates went through different degrees of anxiety. you didn’t get stage fright like them. they called you fearless, but the reality was that you had just gone up against much worse. 

and yet, that night, you almost froze mid-set, just as you started a cover of the joan jett’s “you don’t know what you’ve got.”

ironically, luke had gotten you a cd of this album for your 15th birthday. 

i was caught so unaware, when you made other plans.

think of the devil, and he shall appear.

it couldn’t have been him there, though. last time you heard of him, luke was growing kronos' army somewhere on the west coast.  

you pushed through, even though your concentration was shaken. 

i can’t stand to hear your name

you had to shake off the feeling of him watching you. 

it was just that — a bad feeling, right?

 you missed another beat, and mo turned around to give a concerned yet frustrated frown. joan had hinted that there might have been an agent in the audience, and you couldn’t afford to mess up. 

oh baby, you really blew it.

the song ended, and your blood ran cold.

it had to be a trick of the light, seeing luke in the crowd, but just the thought of being in the same space again made it impossible to be up on that stage, so exposed. 

as the band was getting ready for the next song, you slipped away, out the back door and into the alley for some fresh air. with shaky hands, you brought a cigarette between your lips and pulled out your lighter. it was a terrible habit, you knew.

those were always the ones hardest to quit and you needed a vice to keep you grounded. 

so there you found yourself, shivering in your black tank top, just cropped enough that the fishnets you wore underneath red leather pants were slightly visible. the bricks were cool against your back and you exhaled into the soft evening twilight when you realized it hadn’t been a trick of the light. 

“you look like buffy the vampire slayer.”

you rolled your eyes, because of course luke would do that. you were on opposite sides of an impending war between gods and titans, a world-ending conflict that luke directly enabled, and he led with a light-hearted comment like you were still the best of friends. 

as if you hadn’t been on the receiving ends of each other’s blades ever since luke revealed himself to be a traitor. 

“give me one reason why i shouldn’t kill you right now. ”

“because i’m alone.”

“you could still be here to kill me,” you reasoned. “or at least try.”  

after everything, you wouldn’t put it past him. you known him to do a lot worse, all to people he claimed to, in a past life, care about. 

luke tried again. 

“because you always liked a fair fight. i came alone and unarmed.” 

you scoffed, dropped your half-finished cigarette to the ground, and snuffed it out with the toe of your chunky patent boot before walking over to stand in front of luke. he put his hands up in surrender as you approached him. 

“if you’re not here to fight, then why are you here?” you demanded, fingers brushing against the switchblade in your pocket. you always kept a celestial bronze weapon on you in case you came across any monsters in the city. you looked at the one in front of you, and wished you had brought a bigger knife.

“i just….i wanted — needed to see you.”

your eyes grazed luke carefully.

he looked rough. deep shadows under his eyes, hair disheveled and partially matted down, shirt wrinkled like he’d been on the run for days. his hands caked with blood and dirt, his face, too. a nasty bruise on his elbow, and what looked like another one disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. 

you bit down the urge to care. you had to remind yourself that luke was dangerous, cruel, and heartless. you couldn’t stand to look at him for one more second, at least not without biting his head off, or at the very least the cut on his lip. 

“no. you don’t get to just —”

the door slammed open, echoed throughout the alley. stella poked her head out, guitar still strapped to her shoulder. from inside, you could hear the crowd cheering.

“jesus christ, y/n! where have you been?” 

“sorry, stel. i needed a smoke break and then i ran into a — ” your voice caught on the word friend. “luke.”

his name left a poisonous taste in your mouth, and you swallowed its bitterness. 

she saw luke then, who gave her that charming smile of his you hadn’t seen in forever. he extended a hand towards her, but stella just scowled at him and turned back to you.

“are you coming to finish the show?” stella demanded. 

“i need to deal with this,” you told her. “i’m sor—”

stella huffed and slithered back inside before you could finish apologizing. 

 “great,” you laughed cynically. “now one of my best friends is pissed at me, and i might get kicked out of the band. my luck just gets worse every time you force yourself back into my life, castellan.”

you weren’t quite sure how to make of the way he looked at you — maybe apologetic, possibly desperately, definitely some sort of disguise. 

“i know….i fucked up, karma.”

you glared at the use of his old nickname for you, feeling a shudder run down your spine.

“yeah, you fucked up. and now everyone, the whole world, is suffering the consequences. me, annabeth, your mom —”

“please,” luke begged once more, voice shaking now. “if you ever loved me —”

“don’t.” you barked. “if you ever loved me, you’d accept that the next time we see each other, it’ll be fighting on a battlefield. until one of us is on the ground, bleeding out, or never again.”

luke stared at you. you glared back at him. 

“sorry i’m late, lukey. did i miss much?” a sickly sweet voice cut through the tension. 

you turned and saw a cheerleader. she looked relatively normal, but the mismatched legs — one bronze, another furry — along with the red eyes and fangs gave her away. 

“you said you were alone,” you pointed out, tilting your head towards the monster. “looks like you brought company.”

“i didn’t,” luke insisted. “kelli’s been hunting me down.”

kelli pouted. “i thought we were playing hide and seek. but it’s over now — i win. please don’t be mad, baby.”

baby. you could have laughed. 

“i guess you moved on, castellan.” you meant your words to come across as mocking, so you hoped luke couldn’t sense the resentment behind them.

kelli giggled, and you thought your ears might bleed. 

“he sure did,” she cooed and moved closer to luke, running a long red fingernail down his chest. he pushed her away abruptly, and kelli pouted once more. “we miss you, luke. i miss you. please come back home with me.”

“that’s not my home.”

out of everything luke had said, those were the words that got through to you. you glanced at him once more — his hands curled into fists, jaw clenched, and eyes locked on yours, panicking and pleading at the same time. 

you had to give in to those pleading, panicked brown eyes. 

luke didn’t have any weapons on him. all you had was a tiny pocket knife and some combat skills you’d been maintaining through kickboxing classes with your roommate, but you were willing to put them to good use.

you stepped in front of luke. 

“listen — kelli, was it?” the empousa growled at you. “call me sentimental, but i can’t let you take him.”

kelli gave you a snarl, and you whipped out your switchblade. admittedly, it looked a little pathetic compared to her deadly fangs and sharp claws. 

“aw, cute!” she mocked, and then pushed you backwards. 

you expected to tumble into luke, but he had disappeared. seemed like you did make the wrong choice, to trust luke again. 

again — the worst, most sinister habits were the hardest ones to break. 

it briefly crossed your mind to chase him down after this for leading you into a trap. for now, you had a shapeshifting cheerleader to take care of. 

you managed to side-step kelli’s next attack, and sliced across her arm in the process. she shrieked. her hair bursted into flames, as if your day could get any worse. you tried to get another jab in, but kelli managed to be quicker this time. she punched you in the jaw, then kicked you, hard, with a hoofed foot, causing a dull crack to your ribcage upon impact. the kick sent you spinning towards the brick wall; it stopped you from falling, but knocked the air out of your lungs. you spat, your mouth thick with the taste of blood. your ears were ringing, and you couldn’t locate your knife. 

you were definitely out of practice. 

“kelli!” 

you both turned your attention towards luke, standing at the entrance of the alley with his sword in hand.

“luke!” kelli said like he was her long lost lover. she batted her eyelashes at him, the murderous grin she had given you melting away to something more enticing. “you came to help me finish her off.”

luke tilted his head. “not exactly.”

luke threw the sword towards you. despite a split second of surprise, you caught it; made a sharp diagonal cut. before kelli knew it, she was reduced to nothing but dust.

you dropped luke’s sword and fell to the pavement, adrenaline coursed through your veins from the first near-death experience you’d had in months. even with your body bruised and broken, fighting was a thrill like no other. 

luke came to kneel in front of you, sneakers crunching over the ashes of his ex-girlfriend.

“you said you were unarmed.” your voice sounded muffled. you spat out another mouthful of blood.

“half-bloods are walking monster bait. i’d be an idiot if i didn’t have any celestial bronze on me.” 

to emphasize his point, luke tucked your switchblade carefully back into your pocket. he moved his hand to the hem of your shirt. it was your instinct to keep him from lifting it up, and he stopped when he noticed your hesitation.

“i’m just trying to see how bad it is,” he informed. his lips then formed a bemused grin. “besides, i’ve already seen everything.”

“shut up,” but you smiled weakly even if it made your cheek hurt.

the skin where kelli had kicked you was turning an alarming shade of purple. luke tried to touch it, but you let out a sharp breath when pain emanated across your ribcage, and he recoiled. 

“okay, we need to get you —”

“i’m fine,” you groaned. you struggled to stand up, but you urged yourself to walk away. in your mind, the scales were already balanced. 

the moral, logical side of you was in danger of yielding to the wicked desire you always tried to suppress — to be with luke, even once more, just like old times. your quest for vengeance could only be stopped by your hunger for something more, and you needed distance from him before you gave in too much.

“i don’t need your help,” you insisted. “i protected you from kelli, and you gave me the sword that saved my life. we’re even.”

you started to limp away, but luke grabbed your side before you could get too far. you yelped at the contact.

“sorry,” he winced. “just — let me at least get you to a hospital.”

“what do i look like, a rockefeller?” you scoffed, and then grimaced when it felt like a giant was crushing you from the inside out. “i can’t afford that. i have some emergency nectar and ambrosia at my place, anyways.”

“let me at least get you back there, then. please.” he grabbed your hand. “i owe you.”

looking into those deep brown eyes, something in your stomach snapped. 

bad habits were always the hardest to break.

“fine,” you coughed. “but one wrong move, and i swear: i’ll go full vampire slayer and pierce a wooden stake through your heart.”

luke nodded once, lips curling into a smile. “seems fair.”

you groaned as luke wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you steady, his hold terribly familiar as he carried you back home. 

(vii. he loved you — and you weren’t sure if that was a fact or a weapon)

your apartment was only a few blocks away. luke must have gotten stronger, because he was able to carry you up the fire escape to avoid too much attention.

“i’m not sure if my roommate is home,” you whispered as luke set you down on the carpet by your bed. “so we should try and be quiet.”

you told him where you kept the supplies. he snuck away and emerged from the bathroom a minute later with clean hands and a first-aid  kit.

luke knelt down in front of you. 

“can i take your shirt off?” 

you nodded, trying to keep your eyes from fluttering closed. you were so bloodied up, more so than you initially let on, so you let luke do whatever he needed to do. he took off your shirt, assessed your injury and apologized when the pressure from his fingers made you wince. he wiped the blood off your lips and coaxed your mouth open to feed you some ambrosia, offer you a sip of nectar. 

there was no doubt about it: luke was taking care of you.

at first, you imagined your bones stitching themselves back together, and maybe some pieces of your heart, too. 

what were the odds that he was manipulating you, though? certainly not zero.

and then you noticed something when he reached over to place the canteen of nectar back with the kit. he was moving slowly, his breathing shallow and fresh blood seeping through his shirt.

“wait. what happened?”

“nothing,” he winced. luke was always good at hiding his pain.

“luke.”

“it was a few days ago. a hellhound bit me when i was trying to escape from….”

kronos’ army. he didn’t need to say it for either of you to remember. 

wordlessly, you switched your positions, led him to prop himself up on the bed frame while you crouched in front of him. 

“can i take this off?”

luke nodded. 

the first thing you noticed was that his muscles were more defined, yet his body was more beat-up than you'd ever seen it. there was a pretty nasty bruise on his shoulder. your eyes traveled down to the bitemark at his hip, and the haphazard stitching job luke must have done to himself. it looked like it could be infected, and with the activity from today, it was no wonder the wound reopened.

like he had done to you just seconds before, you took care of him.

“so…how are our friends?” he exhaled as you ran a cloth over his skin to clean off some of the blood.

our friends. it didn’t feel right that luke could still call them that. 

“i’m guessing you know what happened to chris….” luke grimaced, and you hoped he felt a little guilty at sending one of his best friends into a madness-inducing labyrinth. “clarisse and lena broke up, and neither of them will tell me why. beck is doing fine, always coming up with stuff in the forges. i guess that’s as good as anyone can be now, inventing new weapons for a war none of us wanted.”

you couldn’t help but add that last part. 

“and the kids?” luke asked as though you were divorce parents and he lost the custody battle. 

you looked up at the gray streak in luke’s own hair, remembering that he had manipulated annabeth and percy to hold the weight of the world, a burden that they couldn’t seem to shake.

it made you more than a little uneasy, luke showing any sense of caring for the people he seemed to leave behind and hurt so easily. you wished he hadn’t been so tender and attentive, like all the fighting and animosity had been a bad dream. 

luke just had to make everything so complicated.

“they’re fine, all things considered.”

you didn’t offer anything more, anything less. 

he was quiet for a moment.

“you seem to be doing alright, though?”

you ignored the question completely that time, focusing on getting the job done. you gave luke some ambrosia and nectar, watched as the infection magically disappeared. the wound didn’t completely heal, and there were many bruises that lingered. you were about to give luke some more when he shook his head. 

"you should save the rest for emergencies," he suggested, chin jutting towards your diminishing supplies. "in case something happens."

"is that a threat, castellan?" you asked, only half-joking. 

"no." luke reached out to touch your face, perhaps a move to reassure you, but then he redirected himself. "besides, i'll be fine. just need to cover it with some gauze." 

"you should take a shower before, then. i'll see what we have to eat." 

you helped him up, and sent luke into the bathroom. you changed into clean clothes before going to look for some food.

the ambrosia and nectar made your body feel more powerful than it had in days, even before getting kicked around by a demon cheerleader. no wonder the gods felt invincible, if that was their diet. meanwhile, all you had in your kitchen was a half-empty box of cinnamon poptarts and packets of instant coffee. 

you could hear your roommate singing from behind her closed door. you were quiet in toasting the breakfast pastries, and then slithered back into your room to look for something that would fit luke.

luke didn't hear you knock, so you just entered and closed the door behind you gently. on the bathroom counter, you set a pair of sweatpants that an ex had left behind, along with an oversized shirt of yours. before you could leave, there was a knock on the door. luke heard this one, and poked his head from behind the shower curtain. you gestured at him that you’d take care of it. he nodded, and closed the curtain again.

"yeah?"

"do you have any tampons in there?" your roommate's voice was muffled through the door.

"yeah," you replied. "i'll be out in a minute."

"do you mind if i just come in now? i'm bleeding out, out here." 

you were about to protest, but the doorknob started to turn, and you panicked. you slipped behind the shower curtain with luke, who looked at you wide-eyed. you placed your hand over his mouth before he could say anything. 

you were lucky earlier, that stella's mind was so preoccupied she didn't notice how beat-up luke was. you didn't want to take another chance. you didn't need your roommate asking questions. 

once the sounds of shuffling through cupboards stopped, and you heard a small thank you followed by the door closing, luke bit your palm.

"ow!" you hissed, pulling away from him.

"she's gone,” luke shrugged. “you don't need to muzzle me anymore.”

you rolled your eyes. “i put some clothes out for you, and a clean towel.”

luke caught your wrist before you could leave. 

“wait. my shoulder is killing me. do you mind…would you maybe help me….” 

his question trailed off, and you furrowed your brow when he pointed the shampoo bottle in your direction.

“you practically carried me down 3 blocks and up 4 flights of stairs, but you’re too hurt to wash your own hair?”

“i guess the pain just caught up with me.” his cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat. “sorry, i shouldn’t have —”

something pinched in your chest, hearing him stumble for forgiveness, even if it was so mundane. you caught yourself saying:

“i’ll do it.” 

before you could decide if it was a bad idea or not. you got rid of your shorts and tied your shirt up around your waist to prevent the clothes from getting too wet. luke blushed even more at your panties and exposed stomach, as if he wasn’t fully naked — which you were, of course, trying to ignore.

neither of you said anything as you focused on the task at hand, massaging shampoo and then conditioner into luke’s curls until they were rid of the grime trapped within. all you heard were luke’s soft sighs as your fingers scraped across his scalp and steady stream of water hitting the bathroom tiles. luke seemed so relaxed that his eyelids fluttered closed, and he almost toppled over. with your own sudsy hands, you brought his hands to sit at your waist, steadying him. 

the space was a little foggy, slightly too warm. you and luke had been intimate before, but never like this. it was almost enough to make you forget.

once all the soap was washed away, you brushed your fingers over the scar on his face, down to the sword tattooed along his collarbone, before you realized what you were doing.

“sorry,” you whispered, pulling your hand away.

“it’s okay,” he hummed, and he moved his hand up to brush against the very same tattoo you had on your sternum, touch burning through a layer of cotton.

you wanted his hands elsewhere — around your neck, between your legs.

the water was running cold by then, and it jolted you back to reality.

you had to keep your desires in check. luke was manipulative and cruel and ruthless — you were enemies, not friends or lovers. you weren’t supposed to want him carnally.

you reached behind him to turn the shower off without another word, and left the bathroom so he could get dressed. 

neither of you were armed, but the situation was dangerous. you were barely healing from the claw marks luke left on your life and yet…. 

part of you wanted him to dig his fingers back into those wounds — to feel him again, even if it bled you dry in the end. 

luke’s sword, backbiter, leaned against your windowsill, a menacing reminder of who he had aligned himself with. luke was essentially kronos’ right hand man. he was your enemy.

what were you doing, bringing him into your home, taking care of him and letting him do the same to you?

leaving yourself vulnerable to him, letting your guard down?

now that you thought of it, if his guard was down, you could probably grab your own knife and just —

you heard luke clear his throat and you turned to see him standing in your doorway, shirtless and sweatpants hanging low. it was embarrassing how much you wanted to lap up the drop of water traveling down his chest.

luke must have noticed, so cleared his throat again. your body felt warm all over when you met his gaze, and he gave you an annoyingly confident smirk.

“so, here’s the thing. i’m pretty sure you’re either thinking about wanting to kill me, or wanting to fuck me.” 

you rolled your eyes at his arrogance, but couldn’t help but play along. 

“sounds like you’ve accepted your fate either way.”

“well, i do have a preference,” he quipped. “i just don’t particularly care as long as it's in your hands.”

it didn’t get past you that luke was checking you out, too, eye trailing over the exposed skin of your legs and lingering on where the t-shirt hugged your chest. 

how bad would it be to, for one night, indulge? no concern about what was right or wrong, about titans or gods; no worries about what a prophecy foretold or which side of a war you’re on. 

just you and luke: giving into your own twisted desires, and dealing with the consequences later.

another droplet trickled down luke’s torso. it disappeared underneath the band of his sweatpants, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

you strode over to him, about to crash your lips into his when —

luke stopped you with a hand wrapped around your neck.

“no kissing,” he warned. 

“what’s the matter?” you smirked. “i thought you liked it when i bite. worried that you’ll turn away from the dark side if i do?”

luke swallowed thickly.

you were taunting him, relishing in how his breath caught in his throat and gaze seemed fixed on your lips.

it was cute, how luke tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but couldn’t hide the slight tremble in his voice. 

“no kissing. that’s my only condition.”

“okay.” you took off your shirt, positioned yourself on the bed to punctuate your point. “as long as you’re fine sleeping with the enemy, castellan.”

luke stared for a few seconds before accepting his fate. 

he caged you in with his arms, settling his hips between your legs. his lips traveled down your tattooed sternum, nipping and sucking and re-bruising your skin until he reached the waistband of your panties. luke pulled it up with his teeth, the elastic snapping back when he let go. you whined his name and he looked up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” his breath fanned over your navel, his nails digging into your hips as he waited for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel luke smirk against your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into it. you whimpered, and luke salved his tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. he positioned your legs over his shoulder for better access to where you needed him most.

luke manipulated his tongue and fingers in all the ways he knew ruined you. in return, you gripped his black curls, tightly, and uttered praise in all the ways you knew ruined him. 

“just like that, pretty boy,” you encouraged, practically melting into the mattress. it felt so good — dangerously good — to be devoured by luke. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

luke’s moan vibrated throughout your body and he became harsher, bringing you over the edge. he left a few more bites on your body on his way up to meet you and when he did, luke’s lips and chin were still shining with your release.

you leaned forward slightly to lick it up. you ghosted your mouth over his, and luke groaned when you pulled away.

“no kissing,” you mocked and ran your thumb over his tattooed collarbone. 

luke tightened his grip on your hips, surely leaving bruises for later. his eyes feral, his curls a terrible mess, when he grumbled:

“you’re such a —”

you twisted your calf around luke’s leg and you flipped your positions before he could finish his sentence. he grunted as his back hit the mattress. 

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll still take care of you,” you drawled, starting to trail your tongue down luke’s body, occasionally incorporating your teeth or sucking brutally, imprinting a constellation of bites and bruises. his skin smelled like your pomegranate mango body wash, and it was more than a little intoxicating.

you weren’t soft or gentle, because you knew how luke liked you — rough, raw, a little ruthless. luke once told you that the wounds you left on his body weren’t the type that left him bitter; they were the type of wounds he wished would never heal.   

in a moment of weakness, you left a kiss — just one — on the semi-healed wound on his hip. luke sighed at the gesture and reached a hand down to gently brush his fingers against your cheek. 

“i missed you so much, karma,” luke almost sobbed. 

slightly shaken out of your lust, you weren’t sure whether to smirk at the hold you had on him, or sob at the reality that you missed him too. 

sensing your hesitation, luke removed his hand and told you to continue.  

you made quick work of luke’s sweatpants. luke, already hard and throbbing, didn’t last long with your lips wrapped around him. you swallowed him whole, and then some. 

“always such a good girl for me,” luke praised when you were face to face with him once more. his thumb swiped over your wet lips to gather what you missed. you granted him access to push into your mouth, and luke groaned when you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked his thumb clean. your teeth scraped the skin on his way out. 

what followed was a brief squabble over who should be on top. you won out. 

there you were, luke sitting up against the headboard, you on his lap with his length nestled in your cunt. you scraped your nails down luke’s chest, and then curled your hands around the base of his neck. he gripped either side of your waist, thumbs pressing circles into your back encouragingly. luke looked up at you in awe, desperate sighs leaving his mouth as you rutted your hips against his. it felt sinful and wonderful, feeling luke buried deep inside you again, stretching you deliciously. the two of you exchanging animalistic grunts as you used the other's body, chased your high.

when you rolled your hips into his at just the right angle, luke’s moans turned into whines. 

“fuck it. please — kiss me.”

you stilled your hips, and luke whined some more. “are you sure?” you asked, breathing heavily.

luke nodded and gently moved you to lay on your back with him hovering over you. he leaned close, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. 

“please,” luke pleaded once more.

his brown eyes looked down at you with such hunger and passion, something deep within you ached. 

you kissed each other harshly, then. you still tasted him on your tongue and yourself on his. his sharp nose cut into your cheek, mouth attacking yours and vice versa. your nails pierced the skin of his shoulder as he resumed thrusting into you at a vicious pace. luke kept gnawing on your bottom lip until he made you bleed. you groaned, and he slipped his tongue back into your mouth to savor your coppery taste.

yes, luke could also be rough and raw and a little ruthless — which you always loved. but you knew, regardless, you were safe with him in that moment. all he wanted was for you to feel good.

you yanked his curls to force luke to look at you. he whimpered at having to detach himself from your lips.

“i missed you too, tiger,” you finally admitted, calling him that old affectionate nickname you promised yourself you would never use again.  “i missed you so fucking much.” 

luke gave you that troublesome smile of his. you connected your lips once more. you wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer, and luke wrapped an arm around your back to do the same. 

it wasn’t long until you both reached your peak, collapsing back onto the soft mattress, chests heaving. you each lied down on your side, facing each other. you admired luke’s mess of curls, his swollen-kiss-bitten lips, the rose-petal bruises you had left.

you wished the post-sex haze lasted longer, but then luke had to disturb it by saying:

“what you said earlier — i never think of you as my enemy, you know.”

you sighed and covered your face with your hand. “luke —”

“never,” luke insisted. he inched closer, took your hand in his and held it to his chest. 

you were overwhelmed by his heartbeat, strong and fast, so you pulled yourself away.

“we’re fighting on different sides,” you pointed out.

you could’ve said more, but all the things that have been said and done already hung heavy in the air, reoccupying the space between you and bursting your brief moment of peace.

“but we’ve always been fighting for the same thing.”

maybe that was true.

in theory, you weren’t against overthrowing the gods. but you couldn't reconcile with everything luke had done, what he was willing to do. you couldn't let your friends and thousands of innocent people die in the name of divine beings who valued power and control over all else. you couldn't hurt or betray people you loved for the sake of revenge. you couldn't turn that love against them, the way luke had, in search of justice. 

deep down, you knew it wasn’t right to have him there in bed with you. if it was so wicked, sinful, treacherous — then why did you want him to stay?

“i’m not sure they have a word for what we are,” you concede, returning to the conversation moments ago. 

"i guess not."

you let luke bring you into his arms that time. you rested your head against his chest. his heartbeat still steady, but a little slower. you idly traced your fingers across the marks you left on him, and you avoided the ones you didn't.

"how's your shoulder?" 

"it's okay," luke sighed. he lifted your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "whatever we are: i love you." 

those weren’t the words that were meant to make you sick, but your stomach churned — with nausea or desire, you weren’t sure.

you moved to straddle his hips. your eyes glanced over a scar you didn't register until now. the cut you had sliced across his cheek that afternoon he tried to kill percy, and then ran away from camp. you had a similar one that he had given you during that same struggle. 

matching tattoos, matching scars. there really was no word for what you and luke were to each other. 

"i love you too.”

at some point throughout the night, with luke’s strong arms wrapped around you and your legs intertwined beneath tangled sheets, it occurred to you that luke must have tracked you down for a particular reason.

maybe he was here to convince you to join kronos' army, to help him overthrow the gods and burn the world as you knew it; maybe he was here to break your heart all over again, just for the sick thrill of it; maybe he did just want to have one more night together, enemies or otherwise. maybe, maybe, maybe.

luke’s soft snores lulled you to sleep, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the scales of justice.

you'd figure it out in the morning. then you'd decide whether or not he deserved a blade to the heart.

[targaryen-dynasty]

TO STOKE A FLAME.

Aemond Targaryen x servant!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; p in v, oral (m receiving), power imbalance (prince and maid), mutual pining, female Reader

WORDS: 4K

NOTES: this is written for the writing challenge hosted by @targaryenvampireslayer I got the prompt "Just relax for me, I'll make it feel good" and the trope mutual pining. This was my first time writing mutual pining, and I hope it's at least slightly fitting lol.

When you’re first assigned to cleaning the chambers of the King’s second son, your heart leaps for it means you are able to escape the tortures of being a scullery maid for a position that is at least a bit higher ranked, and not as ungrateful and strainful. 

Prince Aemond is an early riser, already up long before first light, and whenever he sets off to train with the sword in the morning, it’s time for you to take care of his quarters. 

There’s another maid that has been offered the same opportunity, only that she is in charge of making the chambers Prince Aegon presentable, and from what you have gathered, you wouldn’t want to trade places with her. 

Aemond’s chambers are always immaculate when you step into them. Everything is in its place, and the air is always filled with the cool morning breeze from the windows he’s kept open. Quite different to the quarters of his older brother. 

But what they do have in common are their questionable reputations. 

While Aegon is promiscuous, known to pinch and fondle at any serving girl who strays within his reach, Aemond is somewhat feared, at least among the staff. Most servant girls keep well away from the prince, and a part of you is certain it is solely because of the black eyepatch he dons after losing his eye, and the grim expression he usually holds on his face. 

The other maid that tends to his chambers with you is overly cautious when dusting or putting fresh linens on his bed, something that even makes you swallow thickly. However, you can’t seem to bring yourself to share their sentiment. 

How could you?

Despite only meeting the prince very briefly, you feel like every day that you sweep through his chambers, you get to know him more and more. If there’s bedlam following in Aemond’s wake when he leaves in the morning, it merely consists of several books scattered all over his desk, his armchairs and sometimes even his bed. 

Most of them deal with dragon lore, history, and a variety of other subjects which you wouldn’t expect to be read by any other lord, making clear that the prince is very well educated, and always strives to learn more. 

And though he keeps his chambers mostly spotless, there’s very much of his personality in them – if you read between the lines. 

More oft than not, the armchairs close to the fireplace don’t stand in their usual positions, turned to the side to face each other with one of them being piled by books or scrolls. And you know from the servants that he’s often found sitting beside the fireplace either in deep thought or engrossed in a book with the flames of the fire dancing in the corner of his eye. 

You’re cleaning his quarters all by yourself today for Darla, the other maid assigned, has been called to take care of something else, which means you’re granted slightly more time for Aemond’s chambers. 

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, you’re knocking off as much ash and debris as possible back into it, before some of it is swept up and emptied into the pail standing next to you. 

You’ve been a bit too engrossed in your task when the doors behind you burst open, catching you by surprise and startling you. There’s only one person that could and would enter the prince’s quarters at this hour of the day – the prince himself. 

As you hurry to get back on your feet, already straightening and dusting off the skirt of your maid attire, you’re a bit too quick and hit your head on the ledge of the fireplace, your mob cap falling to the ground in the process. 

It’s a stinging pain that shoots right through your whole body, and a throbbing that settles at the crown of your head. You bring a hand up to soothe the pain at least a bit, before you’re reminded of the reason why you got up in the first place. 

Gritting your teeth, you take in a sharp breath and lower your hand, bobbing a small curtsy with a strained ‘Prince Aemond’ leaving your lips to the man that stands still in the room, clearly regarding you.

“My apologies, I–” you say, trying to make excuses and wanting to state that you’re just about to leave, but he cuts you off. 

“Are you well?” he asks, though there is a lilt of amusement in his voice. “I apologize for startling you, that was not my intent.”

What’s even more unusual than him apologizing to you, a servant, for barging into his own chambers is that he's inquiring about your well-being. You’ve never before been acknowledged by any of the Targaryen’s, not that you expected it, and feeling his gaze on you kind of makes you nervous. 

He raises his brow when there doesn’t come an answer from you, and you take it as your cue to speak. “I–Yes, Prince Aemond,” you stutter, bowing your head. Raising it again, your hand brushes the crown of it briefly, the spot still throbbing despite it happening a few moments ago. “I am well. It’s–It’s nothing, my prince.” 

Gathering your things, you’re caught off guard for a second time since he’s entered his chambers as he slowly approaches you. He has a sympathetic smile on his lips now, and you’re not sure if it’s the embarrassment or him coming close enough to tower above you, but your body feels like it’s been put on fire. 

“Are you certain you’re well?” he asks, eye flitting from your head to meet your eyes. “You’ve struck your head rather hard.”

He reaches to inspect the spot on your head, yet he hesitates and pulls back right before his fingers could brush your hair. You’re slightly disappointed, but your pounding heart is grateful. Just the mere proximity brings a blush to your cheeks and has you shifting your weight from one leg to the other, and you’re certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle him touching you. 

There’s a moment of silence between you, and your hands clutch the handle of the pail tight enough for your knuckles to blanch from the force. It’s unnerving, and you’re torn between wanting to stay and wanting to leave. You’re afraid he’s not the man you’ve made up in your mind, that there’s just a hint of truth in the rumors that make their way around staff and court. 

His voice cuts through the silence like a sharp blade, smooth and somewhat calming. “What’s your name?”

Taking in a deep breath, you tell him your name, but not without your eyes darting to the ground. His gaze is heavy, too heavy for you to meet it, and you feel as though there’s something else than curiosity woven within it.

“You’re quite flustered over nothing,” he hums, and the way your name slips past his lips with so much ease almost makes you melt right then and there; at least it’s enough to make you forget that he’s clearly noticed the effect he has on you. 

Aemond takes note of you being nervous around him, his attention causing your blood to rush through your veins. It seems as though it’s a rather strong reaction that you have to him, something not many women feel when he comes near them. It’s endearing.

Your eyes flicker upwards to meet his good one again, and you straighten your back for another curtsy. 

“M-my apologies, Prince Aemond.”

You can spot the exact moment the corners of his lips curl into a teasing smirk, your timid demeanor and your nervousness the trigger for it. And being as cocky as he is, he thinks he could have a bit of fun with you. 

“It seems you’re rather out of sorts for something so trivial,” he notes, his tone teasing and playful, matching the flicker of mischief in his eye. “Perhaps I should inspect you myself to see if you have in fact sustained any injuries.”

His words make you feel as if the world around you is slowing down, making everything feel almost unbearable. You’re finding it incredibly hard to look him in the eye without blushing or your breath becoming heavy, and therefore fix them on the ground again. Noticing his large feet in comparison to your much smaller ones, your thoughts briefly stray to what else of him might be large. 

But before you can answer him, or your thoughts can dive deeper, Aemond places a hand beneath your chin and gently tilts your face back up for you to meet his gaze. You’ve only seen one other in passing, and even then you’re certain he’s paid no mind to you at all, so his touch comes unexpected. But you don’t tense, and you certainly don’t pull away. However, you’re unsure if you should give in and lean into it. 

His finger brushes along your jawline, trailing down the curve of your neck, and coming close to your collarbone, a heat following in its wake. He stops for a second, as if he’s debating whether or not he should move his touch any further. 

Aemond’s surprised by your reaction, yet he also realizes that you’re much more interesting than any of the other maids for they were all alike – all not daring to look at him or stay in his presence for longer than a few minutes. But you’re different. 

He could already tell by the way you so neatly clean and store his books when he’s spent his night reading by the fire, or how you seem to pay extra attention when you’re putting fresh linens on his bed, fluffing his pillows without the hurry the previous chambermaid has had. 

And seeing his touch having such a significant impact on you, the little maid he’s spent so much time dreaming and fantasizing about, feeds a desire he didn’t have before – the desire to bed you, to claim you. 

“Get on your knees,” he orders, hooded eye looking down at you. 

Swallowing thickly, your mind struggles to comprehend what he asked of you. “I-what?” you stammer in disbelief. 

“You heard me. On your knees.” He’s a bit firmer now, and uses the slight grip he has on your shoulder to give you a little help sinking down. You follow his lead, the pail rattling onto the ground. 

Your hands are folded in your lap when you gaze up at him, eyes wide and curiously studying his next move. With your thumbs brushing over each other, you try to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, grazing your skin to distract yourself from the throbbing that blossoms between your legs. 

Aemond looms over you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s something in the position you’re in, and the combination of his gentle touch and stern orders that gets to your head, and lures you in to lean into his hand. It also makes you a bit bolder as you place a hand on his thigh in return.

It piques his interest, obvious in the way he raises a brow, and his eye flickers to where your hand rests on his body. But he doesn’t shy away from the touch. 

“Do you know what I require of you?” Aemond asks, sterner than before. 

You bow your head, batting your eyelashes at him in an innocent manner. “I do, my Prince.”

That’s all he has to hear before he swiftly unlaces the front of his breeches and tugs them down barely enough to free his cock and stones, the sight alone making your breath hitch in your throat. He’s well endowed, and far bigger than the cock of the one man you’ve slept with before.

You release a shaky breath, replaying all the knowledge you’ve gathered about pleasuring a man with your mouth, and catch a whiff of musk mixed with the salty smell of sweat – he’s definitely trained with the sword this morning. 

Squeezing his thigh, your eyes flicker between his and his hard cock as the slight nod of his head encourages you to curl your hand around it, your thumb and index finger barely touching. 

He throbs in your palm already, and the tip is covered in a red that makes it clear he’s desperate to be buried inside of something; probably not caring whether it’s your mouth or your cunt.

Even though you cower beneath his dominating presence, a jolt of boldness strikes you that makes you lean in and lick a flat stripe from the base of his cock up to the bulbous tip. A salty taste lingers on your tongue as you drag it over the slit, making you hum appreciatively, seemingly pleased to witness the effect your touch and presence have on the prince’s body. 

Aemond buries his hands in your hair, loosening the bun you’ve put it into this morning, and grabs a fistful of it. It’s a sharp tug of him that catches your attention, and your wide eyes flit up to meet his demanding gaze. 

Spurred on by the heavy breaths moving his chest, you swallow, and eventually part your lips to slowly ease him inside, and even though he holds you by your hair, he’s generous enough to not force himself inside, allowing you to move as you please. 

“Fuck,” he growls as he gets accustomed to the warmth and tightness of your mouth, head tipping back to release a bawdy groan. 

You hollow your cheeks around him, and, after a few moments that allow you to adjust to him, start to bob your head back and forth his thick length, flattening your tongue against him for added stimulation. 

Growing bolder and bolder with each passing moment, you squeeze your thighs together every time the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat, robbing you of the ability to breathe until you pull off of him again. 

With his hand in your hair, Aemond senses you getting more comfortable, and starts to guide your head along his member, encouraging you to set up a quicker pace to which you eagerly comply. 

“That’s it,” he groans, not able to tear his eye from the sight of your lips wrapped around him as his cock repeatedly disappears inside of your mouth.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your lips down your chin with how fast you sink down on him, and the lewd sounds of his soaked cock sliding back and forth past your lips fill the prince’s chambers, hardly drowned out by his grunts and groans. 

At this point, you’re drenched in your arousal, the linen of your small clothes clinging to your swollen mound in a way that’s almost uncomfortable. 

While you bring one hand up to clasp around the rest of his cock that doesn’t fit into your mouth, the other grips his thigh a bit harder than before, holding onto him for dear life as he uses your face however he pleases. 

You feel the muscles of his thigh tense and contract under your palm and his cock throb inside of you, indicating that he’s close to reaching his peak. It’s the first time you pleasure a man with your mouth, and you’re not quite sure what to expect. But before you can brace yourself for whatever might come, Aemond pulls you off of him by your hair, prompting you to topple back to sit on your haunches. 

You lock your teary eyes with his good one, lips smacking as his musky and salty taste spreads on them and your tongue. “My Prince, I–”

“Remove your clothes,” he interrupts you, his voice less friendly and more a command. 

There are so many thoughts rattling your mind right now, and you don’t know where to start and what to process. 

“I wasn’t asking,” he growls, his impatience showing as you don’t comply quickly enough. 

With a bow of your head, you rise to your feet and peel the beige-ish apron off of your body, the red dress and smallclothes following suit. You waste no thought on your modesty, on the fact that you’re standing bare in front of a prince of the mighty House Targaryen. The longing for him that has built with all the days you’ve cleaned his pristine chambers, and the undeniable aching between your legs don’t allow you to. 

You’re undressed when he stalks around you, regarding you like he’s the hunter and you’re his prey. You see that your obedience arouses him, his hard cock throbbing and bouncing with each step he takes around you. It’s thrilling in the best way possible, and the feeling of being desired by him feeds your confidence.

“Are you just watching, or will the prince undress as well?” 

His eye narrows and flickers up to yours at your question, and there’s the hint of a smile adorning his features. “Would you like that?” 

Biting your bottom lip, a blush creeps on your cheeks. “Very much.”

As you size him up, you notice a flush blossoming from his cheeks down his neck, the same warmth you feel obviously spreading through his body, too. 

“Then I suppose that I’ll oblige.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes as he removes his clothing, slipping out of layer after layer, starting with the black leather robe, and ending with his smallclothes.  

You all but drag your eyes over his lithe frame, taking in every muscle that ripples beneath his pale skin, and every silver, coarse hair that trails from below his navel to his cock and the sac of his stones. 

It seems like he basks in your attention, in the way you stare at him in awe as you lick your lips, and he’s certainly not afraid of showing himself in his full glory. 

“Get on the bed,” he says, smugly. “On your hands and knees.”

This time you know better than to take a few seconds to comply, bowing your head before climbing his bed right away, getting in the desired position. You suddenly feel vulnerable and exposed, completely at his mercy in a way you’ve never experienced before. However, your curiosity and desire overshadow any reservations you could have. 

“Pray tell, have you lain with a man before?” You feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he slowly settles behind you. His hands find your hips, and you shiver with anticipation. 

Looking at him from over your shoulder, you nod. “Just once, my prince.”

A soft hm rubles in his chest at your words, and he raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your words. You certainly seem to take him very seriously, which isn’t unusual given his station, but it’s your honesty that’s a whole different matter to him. “You enjoyed it, I presume?”

Still meeting his gaze, you swallow thickly. You’re hesitant to answer, not sure why it’s of importance, but he doesn’t seem willing to let you off the hook just yet. “Yes, I did.”

Aemond gives your flesh an appreciative squeeze at that, and shuffles close enough for you to feel his cock press against your arse. “Would you be willing to again?”

You press your lips into a thin line to stop them from pulling into a grin, but fail miserably. The prince behind you takes that as his cue to continue, and you’re most grateful when you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your soaked folds. 

“Just relax for me,” he purrs, his eye fixed on the motions of his hand, watching as his cock disappears inside of you. “I’ll make it feel good.”

The moment you stretch around him, you take in a sharp breath, his cock breaching your cunt at a teasingly slow pace that makes sure you feel every vein and ridge of him drag along your walls.

With his hands coming back to rest on your hips, he pulls you onto his cock until his hips press against your arse, taking his time to adjust to your tightness. The ‘shit’ he mumbles doesn’t go unnoticed by you, a renewed wave of your arousal drenching his cock and the sac of his stones. 

If his impatience hasn’t been running thin before, it certainly does now, because the first gentle, sensual thrusts are quickly replaced by merciless pounding. You don’t mind it for you’ve been thoroughly soaked, and enjoy the feeling of his cock repeatedly brushing the spot inside of you that makes your vision go blurry. 

Aemond brings a hand between your shoulders, applying a good bit of pressure to press your chest down and your face into the pillows. Your head turns to the side, but you’re not able to look at him.

His breathing is heavy, strained pants leaving him, and his hand trails back to grope your arse. 

“Fuck, what an obedient girl they’ve ordered to take care of my chambers–of me,” Aemond rambles behind you, bowing forwards to put a bit more of his weight on your small frame. “Taking me so well. Giving me exactly what I want.” 

The praise goes straight to your head, and you want to answer, but the words die on your tongue, replaced by quiet whimpers and whines that grow wanton as he splits you open with a hard, percussive thrust. Then another follows, and another, keening at the sweet sounds you make only for him. 

Not able to focus on anything else than the pressure building inside of your belly, you push your hips back against him, and he counters by pulling you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfways which results in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin to echo off the walls. 

He’s making you feel so good, so wanted, that you’re certain you would keep going even if someone is to barge into his chambers, interrupting you.

As his hand snakes beneath your body to make contact with your pearl, you’re overcome with the true knowledge of how experienced Aemond actually is. He strums your body like the most talented lutenist, bringing you closer towards your sweet release. 

“Gods, I–” you whine into the pillows. 

The taut string inside of you snaps, and the pleasure within you soares through your veins. White, hot pleasure clouds your vision, his arm around you the only thing keeping you up right now. 

“That’s it,” Aemond grunts, and the snaps of his hips increase to the point your whines become hiccuped, catching in your throat with little to no time to fill your lungs with air. 

And then, his hips stutter, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your quivering walls. He twitches and trembles so much that he’s forced to still his hips, and you take it as your cue to roll yours against him, helping him through his peak. 

The throbbing only stills once you’ve milked him for every drop of his seed and the last bit of the euphoric high subsides, making him come back to his senses. 

But there’s not much basking in the proximity for you, not when Aemond pulls out almost immediately after, climbing off the bed to get dressed again. The red dress is crudely thrown into your direction, silently making clear that it’s time for you to leave. 

It seems as though he’s embarrassed, because he has a hard time meeting your eyes, and doesn’t look at you when you get back in your clothes. But perhaps you’re just not catching the subtle glances he throws into your direction as your maid attire comes back to hug your curves. 

Tying the apron and fixing your hair, you reach for the pail. It’s then, with you bowing forwards, that you finally feel his seed trickling out of your cunt, and the sensation alone makes you shiver in an uncomfortable way. You certainly have to look for a quiet spot in the keep where you can clean yourself, since you’re not done working. 

You head for the door, but before you open it, his smooth voice catches your attention again. 

“You may leave now, but I expect you to come back and finish your task at the Hour of the Ghosts, for you have not cleaned the fireplace thoroughly enough.”

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[moondirti]

cigarettes out the window

A colossal, behemoth of a man, trapped in such a cramped room – he fills the space with brawn and the scent of wet firewood. Fresh rain on camp, sizzling coal that dies with a touch. It trumps the mould that functions as insulation, the dust that gathers on brittle rations – you’re a girl again, roasting honeyed marshmallows.

You run your tongue along your teeth, but all that clings is the bitter taste of smoke.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 9.5k summary: stakeouts and cigarettes warnings: cunnilingus, masturbation, tummy bulge, size kink, unprotected p-in-v, nicotine/smoking addiction, reader has a backstory, mentioned alcoholism and illness, self-loathing, anxiety, canon typical violence, light gore, squirting notes: absolute fucking beast of a fic that took me way longer than precedented. no plot, just vibes - listened to the tv girl song of the same name throughout this.

Tendrils of silver-blue smoke dissipate into sour air – a slow, creeping stench. You’d tried opening a window; it hadn’t been enough. Testosterone and mildew clings to this room like a second skin, crusty stubbornness, impossible to scrape even as the sickly yellow wallpaper peels off thin adhesive.

The stakeout wasn’t supposed to last this long.

Laswell had given you two, three days tops. But the sun drowns behind the horizon line, and a dull navy sky blankets over failed reconnaissance once more. Night seven – your gloves are just as much ash as they are cotton. 

A cigarette lays tucked between your forefinger and thumb. An ashtray, one you’d set, packed, glares up at you. Blown glass infracts a kaleidoscope of harsh fluorescents from the signage outside. Motel – warped on a divets edge. It’s empty.

You blink and draw another deep inhale. Your nose ignites with the acridity, tarnished herbs that rage as chemical warfare – a fog that clings to you.

Tar-coated throat, sticky with disappointment. You’d hoped for a blood red eventide, doused in merigold, full-saturation. You should have known better – Sudbury is stuck in perpetual insipidity. The season is verging on spring, yet pewter tones and lurid lighting are all that bloom. 

You’re beginning to rot alongside it; skin wilting, bruised. You never were a peach, but you think you must have held something – some ripeness, plush, primed to sink into. You feel it shrinking now, draining out to feed some ignoble cause. 

Or, perhaps, the tobacco carved it out of you years ago. 

The thought does little to temper your efforts. The stick has burnt to its end, wrinkled, blackened with dying embers. You should stop – throw your lighter out the window and wake Johnny up. It’s his turn for watch.

Instead, you light another.

The buzz is instantaneous, intoxicating. Clean water poured over a blistering wound, relief for a tender moment before the sting boils over to become unbearable. Cyanide; you rely on poison in sheep’s clothing. 

The door creaks open, rusty hinges a non negligible constant in discretion. You don’t have to peer over your shoulder to know; that manufactured energy, of which you pull from a box, triples, snapping bones to contort into something pulsing – genuine. His walks away from this decaying dollhouse are frequent; we all have our cravings. 

You wish he’d hang around more. 

The dank carpet blunts his heavy footfalls. Even then, you can’t miss his size. A colossal, behemoth of a man trapped in such a cramped room – he fills the space with brawn and the scent of wet firewood. Fresh rain on camp, sizzling coal that dies with a touch. It trumps the mould that functions as insulation, the dust that gathers on brittle rations – you’re a girl again, roasting honeyed marshmallows. 

You run your tongue along your teeth, but all that clings is the bitter taste of smoke. 

“He still asleep?” Simon – Ghost, with the hard-shell mask still fit to his face – asks. You take a puff and force your eye to train on the wet concrete outside. Softened cement, muddy puddles pool in potholes to mirror their miserable surroundings. It’s not hard to believe that the sidewalk could collapse in the weight of his presence. A distinct vacuum, all consuming yet contained. 

You wonder if he wears those layers for varied causes. Forked paths; keep out, stay in. 

In the time it takes for his laden stare to leave your back, you’ve blazed through your piece ten times quicker than the last. Crackling nerves brush across your most vulnerable parts, you’re skinned, but you manage to screw the loose bolts in your confidence. 

“Did nothing all day but act like he took a whole squadron on his own.” 

Your chuckle lacks the humour you wish it held. Bone-dry, forced – it doesn’t tend to be that way with him; with his morbid jokes, shared between gunshots and close fatalities. 

Alrigh’. I’ve got another for you, Scout. Husked in your ear, over the channel only used by the two of you.

Hm? You’re crouched on a rooftop, sniper fixed on a potential target talking to a member of the 141. It was snowing in Holland that day, powdered-ice a blanket for your moored elbows. 

What kind of streets do Ghosts haunt? 

Go on then. Spit it out.

The target had pulled a knife out on your operative. 

A dead end. 

His chuckle warmed you enough to pull the trigger with little shake.

Dead ends, dead ends. 

He provides you with a noncommittal grunt that’s lost amidst rustling fabric. Your spine is stiff, reinforced titanium, ice-cold with frigid winds that pull in from the north. You can’t look back if you tried. 

There’s little to discern from his reflection in the grimey window – where Simon starts, where Ghost ends. Deft shapes move between shadows, dressed in all black. There’s the metallic glint of a zipper, dragging down. The white smear of his mask. His shoulder catches dim light; he’s in his combat shirt, long sleeves, fit to tree-trunk arms. That familiar hum in your core returns, singing its pleas. 

You swallow back the urge to continue the conversation, to extend the joke at Johnny’s expense. Instead, you prop your foot up on your seat to rest your chin on the curve of your knee. A boot remains anchored to the ground, keeping you balanced on the broken stool. One leg shorter than the others; it hadn’t been that way when you’d gotten here, but someone had insisted the wooden piece could hold his weight. 

You slide your gaze to the man in question. He’s spread across the small cot in the corner, an arm thrown over his face. He’s rigged, gun in holster, pinky curled in its direction. In a slow wave state, but a soldier still. 

You take turns resting, you and Soap. He says you snore. 

He’s jus’ taking the piss. 

And how wad ye know that, Lt? Ye're never around.

You hid your smile, then. It was a half truth. Ghost doesn’t rest, not here, but he makes a point to take his eight hour shift when you do. 

Ever-present, as fleeting as twilight. You’ll wake every now and then to find him standing by the window (never on the seat.) In your transitional consciousness, you think his body might be slightly angled to you. But chalky stibnite smears over his eyes, and your quiet nightmares flicker like worn film – you can’t tell whether he’s looking at you; whether he stays to have your back or so he can leave when you wake.

“Anything new?” He’s crept up behind you now. A full-bodied voice, it’s muffled canon fire, sliced with that cockney inflection. Does he know his query is command? 

“Feral cats got into a fight.” You settle on something to lessen the blow of his dissatisfaction – syrup, a flavouring agent. Additives to a sharp-pill mission. “Calico attacked that ginger kitten, over there. Mother was furious.” 

If he notices your frantic dodge, he doesn’t comment on it. 

He huffs instead, and places a white plastic bag on the table next to you. In it, styrofoam cartons stacked atop one another, pressed for space. You reel a string of focus to the street outside, still on the job, then scoot a little towards it. In spite of the lack of logo, the contents are unambiguous. A heady aroma, poignantly familiar; shallots, ginger, garlic, chilli. 

Chinese. Your favourite. Yet–

You’re enraptured by sycamore; heavenly ascension into the woody musk of the overbearing body next to yours. He’s close, still standing, hips at eye level. You credit your sudden heat to his permeating warmth, and not the flush that crawls to your cheeks.

No, certainly not heaven. Purgatory – an intermediate condition. You’re waiting on some higher power to tell you what to do; move closer, hold back.

Dead ends. You itch for a third cigarette; should you offer one? You picture pink lips puckered around white paper, a sight for sore eyes. You’d suck the cancer from between his teeth, perched on one thick thigh. 

Atta’ girl. Nice shot, Scout. Hit that one right on the mark. Kandahar, Afghanistan – the mark being a general’s eye.

You’d bathe in the blood of a thousand more men to rehear the feathered praise. It sits, ingrained in the gummy lining of your skull, there to stay until you’re cleft open to the world. It’ll happen one day. 

Atta’ girl, whispered crackle into your ear.

Your heart lurches, beating on the hollow bars of your ribcage. It takes every bit of willpower to combat the reckless abandon that floods through you at the feeling. 

With trembling hands, you take out the top box and ignore the way your elbow brushes the fabric at his crotch. SZC is scribbled on its cover with dried-out ink. Szechuan chicken. 

You refuse to face him when you ask: “How’d you know?” 

He moves to hand you a bottle of flavoured water, wrapped in a large palm. Clementine.

Right.

Jaunty cheers, claps on the back. You’re squeezed between Gaz and Price on one side of a booth, still equipped in full gear. The aftermath of your first assignment with Al Bravo, minimal damage. Your cheek is cut up, but you hardly feel it in the hazy satisfaction. Dim, golden lights. The tabletop is sticky with spilled booze. 

Outlined eyes linger on the site longer than the pain does. You squirm and tell yourself it’s for lack of wiggle room. 

“--and your plans?” Laswell nods, curving attentions to you. She’d been talking about her wife, about returning to a house someone has kept alive. Watered plants, betta fish too. You search for an answer that’ll hold as much significance and come up empty. Your lone fern is long dead by now.

“Order take out. Chinese probably, something spicy. Sick of the protein bars.” 

“Mobile cooks are rare to find.” She chuckles. “but hey, I’ll drink to that.”

You don’t reciprocate, though; she turns to talk to Price in lieu of your frown. Simon’s still on you; hawk-like, scrutiny framed by the dark fabric of another mask. Bulky arms cross over his chest, his shirt folded to his elbows. You’d been surprised to find tattoos, ink shading the entirety of an exposed forearm, folded to the contours of rippling muscle. Missiles, dog tags, barbed wire.

You hope your droopy lashes are enough to hide the way you study him in turn.

Soap, ears tinged pink, beckons the barmaid. “Round o’ beers for the table, lass.” It pulls you from your stupor. 

You wave at her – “Just a LaCroix for me, thanks.” – and bite your lip through the onslaught of objecting groans. It’s your second one, she knows to get you the orange kind.

Gaz: “How d’you ever let loose?” 

Price: “You deserve as much of a break as the rest of us, Scout.” 

You grimace and shake your head until they temper down to bemused grunts. 

Then –

“You don' drink?” 

It’d been a while since he’d spoken. His voice seeps like molasses onto snow. You think of the backyard maple popsicles from girlhood, your mom on the porch, drunk as she watches, uninterested. 

“No,” You chortle. “Dangerous when I’m loose lipped.”

He’s spread across the ratty couch you’ve never bothered using – diagonal to you – legs parted with both feet on the ground. You look anywhere but the space between his knees. 

“Don’t understand why we’re still here.” Capsaicin blazes up your tongue, vengeful in the fresh bout of air as you speak. Your stomach weighs heavier, cushioned in the swell of your gut, twinging uncomfortably – not for lack of space. Uncertainty; it looms like a mushroom cloud, the devastating fallouts of nuclear strife. You can’t imagine the Lieutenant a perverse man. Yet, to be eating alone like this–

“Chicken?” You offer, tipping your box with the prods of your chopsticks.

He cocks his head to the side, pupils trained on your conciliatory expression.

“More of a sesame guy, myself.” 

Of course. Sesame; honeyed, cloying.

Las Almas – Graves’ betrayal too deep a wound to do anything but smoke as you wait for Soap to find his way back to you. Rendezvous at the church. 

I’d murder for a whiskey. 

You mean scotch? 

I drink bourbon.

You’d giggled into the collar of your coat. Ghost’s tense leg tips towards yours, bumping knees. 

Got a sweet tooth, Lt? Hummed for only him to hear.

Problem, Scout? 

Negative, sir. 

He’d taken your cigarette and extinguished it on a decorative cross, half-moon stare fixed on you as he did. 

Simon’s one for caramelised spice, smooth sugar on the senses. Johnny had been shocked – like a good ol’ boy – but you thought it fit, oddly. This life means constant calamity, precipitous wrecking balls to unsteady foundations you try to rebuild. Bones, flesh – they shatter and rip and leave you with nothing but sand-grain memories that slip like water. 

It’s hard to indulge in something so fragile. Heedless, stupid. 

There are constants assured to never waver; you all have your vices.

“They’re in there. Jus’ a matter of waiting for ‘em to show their hand.” He adds to your initial inquiry. Sighing, you push your food away.

“Can’t we send in an extraction team?” 

His silence is telling. Bottomless pits pin you down, an anvil in influence alone. Your lips thin to a pursed line. 

It makes sense why Laswell won’t act on it – the compound across the street, said to be packed with chemists in cahoots with foreign extremists. If they’re truly a threat to national security, their circumspection is indicative of the havoc they could wreak. A treacherous threat is a quiet one. 

Your pocket droops with evidence to the fact, your shoulders alongside it. 

Bowed posture, loaded brow – exhaustion slowly inches up on you. You hadn’t noticed your arid state, sandpaper eyes, stooping lower with every blink. You foolishly wonder if he did, though; if Simon reads you like you do him. Does he know you trace your palm when you’re tired, marking the creases an old fortune teller read long ago? Your life line is vague, hun, so too is the sun. But would you look at that, oh! Your mother should be so proud – as thick and long as a tree root, that’s your heart line, right there. Sweet girl.

Your mother couldn’t have cared less. 

You roll your neck to loosen knotted kinks and reach for the paperboard container in your hoodie’s side. 

The cigarette doesn’t fit right in your hands this time; a paper-thin thing you draw life from,  too easily collapsible. There are more substantial materials in this world. Rocks, erosive seasalt – a hobby or two. Muscle, timbre, blue-black eyes. A skull that meant death to most, but not to you. 

You hold out on lighting it. Partially for current company. (More so than you’d like to admit.) 

Simon’s arms rest on the back of the couch. He looks sinful like this, tempting. Freshly ripe apple at the centre of Eden; you don’t think he’d lead you to damnation, but his cold study tells you otherwise. 

The hush isn’t awkward, not really. You can continue; you know he’d prefer it. 

But something in him is blinding. Not a sun – red-hot, sweltering – he doesn’t make you sick after too long in his presence. No – more akin to an interrogative light; harsh, illuminating the sweat that beads at your temple. He urges you to spill, spill, spill, until what squeezes your chest releases its iron clutch and you’re panting with the release of a secret you never wanted to keep.  

So–

“Where do you go all day, anyway?” You tease, cheeks rounded with a soft – or what you hope to be soft, and not an unsure grimace – smile. 

“Out.” Simon responds, a scratch in his words. His chest squares, broadening into a behemoth that should intimidate. That’s why no one talks ta ye, Lt. Soap broached once. Ye’re too big.

All for weeding out pointless chatter, he’d said.

This is pointless. But he’s still here, drawn to bite back at your ludic jabs, tuned in to the miniscule breaths that escape you as you scramble for a response. You think you know him, think he knows you. You lick your lips. “Mmm. That’s news to me.” 

And if you hadn’t been you – if you hadn’t been talked through a bullet to the thigh by his brute reassurance and dry humour alone – you might’ve missed the amusement that laces through his next syllables. “And where do you think I go?” 

The reciprocation licks at the base of your spine. Yearning. 

You suppress a shiver; seven trumpets to the apocalypse. His deep tone calls for devastation, Armageddon. 

You spit the first thing that comes to mind. 

“To shag it up with the girl in apartment eight.” 

And still with the revelation of what you just said. 

Your hands bury into your lap, embarrassment rising like a high tide in the pit of your bowels. If you were Soap, you’d have gotten away with it. Banter; she's aye asking about ya, Simon. Y’should give ‘er a chance. 

But you’re a schoolgirl again; fresh-faced, wide-eyed. Pencil shavings, question erasers – flip it and ask about the boy you like. You’re naive enough to try it until ‘yes’ faces upwards. 

“Afraid she’s not my type.” 

And that’s all he gives you. 

A silly hope bubbles, absent of all logic. You want to push it; to tear at delicate petals, chanting. He loves me, he loves me not. Silly recess games, dancing around each other on the playground: what is your type, Lt? Girls in sheer dresses to welcome you at the door? God forbid – the sergeant? John Mactavish with his stupid little mohawk and sunshine grin? 

Probably far away from women who have their inhibitions compromised – who run on nicotine and not much else. Vacant husk.

But if it were him. If he was the force between your fingers – blood-filled, thickset, shooting into your willing mouth – you’d abandon it all in a heartbeat. Cheek on his shoulder, cunt speared on his knuckles. Pumping, slick. Licking the salt up off his forehead. 

Fuck. 

You tut and flip your cigarette – unlit – to put back in amongst the others. The exposed end, stuffed with grey cinders, sticks out like a sore thumb. 

You’ll come back to it when you’re over this, when your dependency singles down to material things. Thirteen bucks, that’s all a pack costs – your wager on Ghost veers dangerously close to bankruptcy. 

“Go to bed, Scout. I’ll take next watch.” 

You don’t tell him Soap called dibs. They can hash it out between themselves.  You dream of kissing covered lips. Dead ends.

You: Ran out of shampoo. 

read at 3:25 am 

He brings you 2-in-1, head and shoulders. Sandalwood. 

“Didn’ know what you liked.” 

You’re beside yourself – barely contained, beaming ear to ear. Your lungs push for space against the pitter-patter rhythm of your heart. 

“Is this the one you use?” It comes out softer than precedented. Warbled, almost a purr; your chin is mere centimetres away from his chest as you look up at him. They bump when he mutters an affirmative. It’s convenient. 

In your proximity, he fills the entire expanse of your vision. Simon’s massive on his worst days, titanic as he bursts through a sea of soldiers – but here, now, he’s larger than life. Impossible. Enigmatic. Either shadow or brick wall if you reach out, press yourself into him. A crook of the elbow and your hand would be at his groin. 

You can smell it on him. The thin barrier of his balaclava doesn’t prevent it from reaching you; santalol. Mixed into his firewood, earth. He has fresh paint on his eyes. 

It reminds you of scorched newspaper, doused in stimulants and the bite of tobacco. You crave it, even when your last still clouds bitter at the back of your throat. It’s more muscle memory than anything; a nervous tic. To flick a lighter and chase that short headrush. 

He’s enough to hold you over for now, a drug in his own right, but you know – you know the second you turn to the cramped bathroom, door shutting behind you, your knees will buckle. You’ll step over grimy grout and scrub yourself until your skin is irritated, red. 

You hold out for just a moment longer, peering up at your Lieutenant. 

Anxiolytic. 

Then, when you start to outline the rest of him, following the planes of his mask, you force yourself to pull away with an overturning ache. 

You lie and insist you’re not too far gone.

Yet, you touch yourself to the thought of him. 

Holed in the small square shower, your hand clamped over your mouth. The water runs discontinuous, broken by loud hisses and weak pressure. It’s cold at this point, nipping away at heated flesh. Has he left by now? 

No, you hear muffled mumbles right outside. Johnny’s laugh barks loud. 

You’ve long since finished cleaning off, engulfed in a heavy perfume. Sandalwood, masculinity. Ghost. Simon. A projected image lights your closed eyelids; him looming, cornering you into the tiled wall. The showerhead would come to his browbone at full height, but he’d crouch down and kiss you and his hair would drip, droplets beating your cheeks. 

Atta’ girl. 

Husky compliments for only you to hear, cleaving you open on his cock. (Your fingers slip faster over your clit.) Folding you in half, pumping you full, overflowing. (You whimper into your palm.) Biting down on his shoulder, divotting yourself amidst battle-borne scars. 

He’d pinch your guts, you’d feel him in your chest. Tummy bulge, too much, too big. (Your hole quivers around the meagre thrust of your hand.) Spitting in your mouth, filthy, pushed down into a pillow, a wall, the floor. Bruised glutes, pistoning hip. (A bubble in your core nears popping.)

Problem, Scout?

Euphoria builds, a swelling cacophony of string-plucked and pressed pedalboard longing. A colourful sunset bursting into sight. Your legs squeeze; the air tastes like mist and warm sex – you chase the hints of masculinity that drift into the mix. His shampoo, his eyes. A presence more profound than anything else, unmoving and stubborn in the undercurrent of your life. Lodged into a river bank, a buoy when drowning.

A constant assured to never waver – blameless vice. Like sweets, like cigarettes. 

You picture his broad spread – shadowed gaze, hulking thighs. Arms powerful enough to manhandle you into anything and everything, wet clay to his ministrations. It’s not enough – this frantic rutting, hurried masturbation confined to a cubby. You need to feel the extent of him, every bit of skin pressed into yours. To trace those tattoos with washable markers, idle and lazy on a couch, laid up on his lap after a long nap. Domesticity, the type you lacked back home.

A knot clusters at the base of your spine, stuttering in and out of existence. You won’t be able to place it, can’t coax it out. Only him, only him.

Simon.

“Ya almost done, lass?” Soap raps at the door. 

Your heels slide on wet ground. You’re able to pull your hand out from between your thighs in time – smacking against cool walls to stabilise yourself – but not before you let out an emphatic yelp. 

“Bonnie?” He exclaims, louder. 

You gather your breath, blinking. The world tilts.

You’ve been in here too long. 

“Yeah! Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll come out in a bit.” 

Bloody hell.

You halt the spray of water and towel off in a stunned silence – floodgates locked once more. You will yourself to think of anything else – the threat across the street, chemists, terrorists, flavoured water and the saltpetre you shoot off with little thought. Kerosene, bullets lodged in gaping wounds, your mother’s liquor cabinet – closed off, cold heart. 

They always round back to him, duplicitous hands that lead you astray. Off on the wrong path.

Prominent veins that disappear behind painted gloves. Knives strapped to bullet-proof vests. Remembering you liked Chinese, and returning with supplies mere minutes after you’d sent the text. His voice, burrowing deep into marrow, thrumming the very sponge.

Or – maybe he’s everywhere, all at once. 

Dead ends.

When you emerge, your skin is still slightly damp, clinging to the loose clothes you’d thrown on in a fit. Soap leans against the door frame, waiting on you.

“Had us worried for a second.” He smirks. Us – you glance at the other. Simon stands by the window, diligent. “Hope ta God ye didn’ use up all the hot water.” 

You mimic his shit-eating expression. Faux mirth, it doesn’t quite resonate. “The cold is good for your skin, Johnny.”

“A'll take yer word for it, then.” Soap nods, patting your shoulder before slipping past.

You’re left alone with him. 

There’s a persistent twinge, still lodged up velvet walls. It returns with gnawing sincerity at the sight of him. You hold it back, dismissing your internal pleas for a promised release, and tentatively pad over to where he stands.

“Hey,” You whisper. His head tilts the slightest bit, just enough for his spilt-ink irises to latch onto yours. Your gaze flickers down to the jut of his chin. 

“Alright?” 

Three beats before your response. No. Never. Can’t be. 

“‘Course.” The tremble in your legs speaks to the contrary. Nails bite into your palm. You add – “Nothing happened?” – with a vague motion to the street, redirecting your tension to something substantial – a mission with a foreseeable goal. 

“Kitten lost its mother.” He echoes, taking in the way your expression lifts. “Roadkill.” 

“Oh.” Your chest throbs, a faint bang of the doldrums. 

“And,” He appends. “Laswell’s informants say the targets will make a move sometime tomorrow.” 

You ruminate on the knowledge, turning it over in your head. It doesn’t exactly fit, too slippery to be anything to trust. You concede for the time being.

“And when they do?” You ask. 

“We’ll be ready for them.” 

Naturally. You hold onto his tone, that grim determination fizzing through you, charged particles, rallying electricity. And the lightning, that devastating bolt that burns with every bullet, every spotted threat, is a credit to him. Lieutenant, spearhead of your team. 

You find yourself thinking about the after. When sloshing alcohol fills their stomachs in celebration, and the report has been typed, filed into a manilla folder to spoil on some general’s desk – would this memory, too, gather dust? The glimpse of you, doused in his scent, flushed. Takeout, asleep with company – a semblance of true home abandoned between these musty walls. 

It’ll be hard not to miss it. 

You click your tongue, still on the precipice of something. Like hanging off a cliff – you can’t see far enough to gauge whether there’s water to break your fall. Your orgasm is a forgotten prospect by now; you’ve depleted the limited alone time you have for the day.

But–

You search for your cigarettes, that familiar grittiness stuck to the roof of your mouth.

They’re laying on the table, next to Simon’s car keys and gun. 

You take the smallest step forward, wrist spasming. But a large hand wraps around it, completely overtaking you. 

You’re stopped before you can even reach out. He’d been following your eyes. 

“MacTavish’s certainly got bad timing, hasn’ he?” He starts, slowly pulling your hand up to his face. You’re a ragdoll, succumbing to his command. 

What did he mean by that? Bad timing? 

Your gut bottoms out, sinking to unfathomable depths. 

He can’t know. Can he? 

The Sahara Desert. Cracked lips, sunken skin. Your nose burnt, peeling under an unforgiving sun. 

He’d noticed you lagging behind. I’ve got water in my bag. 

I’m good. 

You’re not. Drink. 

And unscrewed the bottle when you proved too weak. 

Ghost is renowned for that brutal efficiency, barked demands in a chaotic field. His strength rings louder than any grenade, released strikers, thrown into your line of vision. As it charges, you picture death and the unfulfilling void your life had been. Mud blows onto your face. Mud, and flaming plastic, and the gore of other victims. A shrill sound only you can hear; danger of going deaf. Danger, danger. A final fatality. No survivors. 

He doesn’t miss a thing. 

He halts when your fingers bump the stretched fabric of his mask. You can feel his breath, hot steam. Skin prickles, and your panties pool with the reminder of his mortality. A ghost, but living nonetheless. 

He draws a deep inhale. 

He knows. 

“Didn’t finish, pet?” 

Shit.

That fucking voice – pestle onto mortar, grinding you down into a candied paste to gorge on. He’s a century old being, emerging from a prison – Tartarus – only to find you, supple and sweet as nectar and completely willing. You blink up at him with lidded eyes, damp eyelashes fanning the crease of your lid. 

“No.” Barely a whisper, all breathlessness. 

His head dips, stooping low to match your height. You can trace the lines that paint seeps into. 

“Turn around. Face the window.” 

Chastised, guilty as a child caught doing something naughty, you swallow the stone in your throat and do as he says.  Somewhere, floating in the deep recesses of your mind, you’re aware you can refuse. He won’t strike up a counter – would pat your hip and send you off to bed.

But your back is to his abdomen now, swapping body-heat and the groans of your internal organs. He’d almost bled out on you once; on a mission in Russia – limping, bread-crumb trail of maroon ichor on untouched snow. Your fear had you heaving into a metal bowl, tucked away in an aeroplane bathroom, refusing to leave until he’d been stabilised next door.

You’d be the traitor that shot him before you pass this up.

A widow’s sky; bedarkened, weeping. Clouds roll over the moon, kraken-cruel, coughing great gouts of water onto the drab buildings in your area. It’s hard to see much beyond the hazy neon sign, scintillating behind fog, and the lone street light. The weather is ideal for enemy attack; they could camouflage in the great pour. 

As it stands, though, all you focus on are the gloves that brush up and down your arms. 

“Keep an eye out. Got it?” 

Wet hair shakes when you nod – so quick to succumb to his every whim. His torso rocks from behind you – a soundless chuckle – and the air shifts as he moves, occupying himself with something, just out of observation.

You’re determined to do right by him. Atta’ girl, rumbled in that inflection of his. Squinting, you leer out on that wretched building, as it has been eight hours a day for the past nine. 

But warm hands start to run up your shirt. Calluses skim, finding the knife-wound scar at your side, pressing into dimpled flesh. He kneads you – tapping into that lush centre, tender as a peach, still there. You’re ripped from your moniker, Scout, and transformed into a blubbering miscreant. 

It takes you a stupidly long time to piece it together. You feel it before you realise; the rough-leather touch, dry enough to scrape gooseflesh. Fingernails, cut short, scratching nerves, wheedling so they shoot liquid desire down to your core.

He’d taken off his gloves. 

Your back arches with renewed vigour, jaw hinging, no barrier between the empty room and your drawn out moan. He’s fucking fire on you, licking up the available expanse of skin until his thumbs brush the plush underswell of your breasts. 

You frantically search for his forearms, scrambling for purchase in his onslaught.  It’s not exactly ecstasy, far from it — no rainbow blooms, tingling gold from your toes to your nose – but it’s been ages since you were last caressed like this. Enough for you to feel brand new, wrapped gift in a prim little bow, eager to be spread, undone. 

A plea balloons in you, knocking teeth, choking. He pinches your pebbled nipples in reprimand, a speechless warning, and you understand, tilting upwards to keep an eye out, lips shut. 

“Look at you, desperate little thing.” He groans, working your tits with Herculean strength. You nearly collapse at the glorious pain it elicits – unwavering focus pointed solely on you, that pragmatic means to an end. You tighten your hold on his wrists, his frame your only support.

“O-Only for… ah–” One hand travels down your navel to coast on the waistband of your sweats. You hiccup, forcing your resilience, staying on task. Keep an eye out

“This what you think about? When you stuff those tiny little fingers up your cunt and tell yourself they’re enough?” 

But you see nothing; nothing but glowing prospects, the sight of what you could be. Rain – inundated, broken to blacking out, sparking power lines, exposed wire. 

You wobble and tail end into a prominent bulge, lower back skimming coarse denim. Simon meets you halfway, lugging you closer, until you fit perfectly against him. Head to chest, back to –

He grinds his pelvis into you, etching himself permanently there. An invisible scar, another brand for your time with the 141 – one marked in black, virile crest onto wool. He’s massive; no one can ever be enough after him – if it was up to you, there won’t be.

“Fuck.” You pique into a whine. “Please… Please, S–” 

“Not here.” He says, slotting his nose above your ear. It’s damnation, this game of tug-of-war, tightroping the line between seething torture and bliss. 

“We can be quick,” 

And he growls, ripping into a feral noise that stuffs your senses as he cups you, finding your soaked distress at its source. “I’ll take my time with you. With this–” He twists a nipple, a sharp sting. “With this–” He pinches the plump fat of your cunt. “Fuckin’ hell, pet. Wicked, is what it is – what you do to me.” 

You bite your tongue and drink the blood that beads, vision blurring with hot tears. It’s the lull after an extinguished tab, the crawling addiction – more, more. 

You need to see him, to look straight ahead at an eclipse as it darkens your world. 

“Yours. I– D-Do whatever… you want,” 

Simon shudders, shaking you along with it, as though you’re one. “I’ll ruin you.”

“M’already there.”   

And then two digits press into your folds, gathering the slick that drips. It must be phantom, with the way the sensation shoots through you, undeterred, stirring that coil of buried pleasure. It must be – supernatural, unreal, startlingly mythological, spoken only through word of mouth for fear of what legends can wreak on paper. 

But it’s fucking real. You’re far too familiar with fleeting dreams, of grinding down on pillows that are too pliable to compare to him. Reading fairy tales to take you someplace else, those books burnt, along with your oak shelves.

This tangibility – the true ripple of muscles under, behind, around you – is nothing of the sort. You feel it in your liver, your throat. Picking the plaque that lines your lungs. 

Simon absolves you of all treason, all guilt. You only exist as you are now, a puddle of divinity.

But as he starts circling your clit, you’re able to discern a slip in the shadows through your bleary lust. 

Along the perimeter of the compound walls, just across the street. 

“H-Hey–” You croak. He tugs you tighter against him, thick finger starting to breach you. Seizing his arm, you bury your lips into his sleeve. “Simon.” 

He slows his efforts, buried quarter way, at the first knuckle. It twitches within you – he can taste the gravitas in your tone. 

“Lt… I think– I think I see something.” 

Destiny switches on its axis, warping back to grim reality. When Ghost instantly withdraws, bolting for his gun, you emerge from the pool of ignorance you’d so willingly dove into. Disappointment, devastation. Undeserving of more than this fleeting touch, non-ordained. Whatever good deed you’d committed to be able to encounter heaven, combated by the kills you’d enacted – hellish girl. 

“SOAP, OUT, NOW.” Ghost bangs at the bathroom door.

He turns to order you – something about spotting him as he goes to confront the threat. 

You’re at a standstill, paralysed – your irises the only things that move as you hunt the cause to his sudden urgency.

Why’s he so worried? 

It was only a shadow. 

Could have been the kitten. Or the Calico that terrorises it. 

A car. Some teenager reckless enough to drive in this downpour. 

You’d ruined your one chance. Your position will be compromised, and when the gunpowder clears, he’ll wake from this purgatory and paint you just as you are. His teammate, relative rookie, nicotine kiss. 

And him, Ghost – Lieutenant. You’ll be stuck searching for Simon in the fissures. 

But your name is not for nothing. 

Scout. You’d earned it in Mexico, on your first mission with him. Spotted a cartel’s corps from a mile away, crouched in the undergrowth, dressed in all green. 

You’re the reason we’re alive, kid. 

It comes to you clear as diamond, purified with static pressure and graphite. Filling in the scratches, glinting – winking – at you. 

A red laser, pointed straight at your chest. 

Sniper. 

“GET DOWN.” That cockney cadence, launched louder than ever before. 

Your Lieutenant doesn’t yell, not at you. 

At Soap. At Gaz. Sometimes even at Price. 

Never at you. 

“SCOUT.”

A careening mass throws you down onto the carpeted floor – a crushing boulder in weight alone. You hardly register the solid arms that wrap around you – the hard-plate chest you’re tucked against – before a clamorous whistle strikes the motel.

The blast bursts near your head, spewing merciless fusillade. The walls cave in, fire rupturing from the screeching bomb. 

Red clouds your vision – blood or ire or your harrowing life, flashing before your eyes.

There’s a ringing in your ears. You think of Simon, of climbing sycamore trees and sleeping on its branches. Eating honey from a pot, disposing of your damned habits – that one upturned stick, to be lit once you’d moved on. Your Papa had told you the tale, skin-wrapped bones, laying on his deathbed. 

Back in the trenches, my friends and I would invert a single cigarette upon buying a new pack. If we lived long enough to smoke it, we were of the lucky few.

You lose consciousness, buried beneath rubble and a hulking body.

Kerosene, arson – gunmetal sulphur pouring into your bedroom in the dead of night. You had owned a collection of vintage dolls, dressed in decorative lace and bonnets, given to you by a distant relative. Their porcelain faces had melted in the heat. 

You’d been counting stars the evening before, perched on a ledge, waiting for one to blink onto the obsidian. There was a meteorite instead, a streak of glimmering marvel on the edges of a tree, dissolving in earth’s atmosphere. You hadn’t made a wish, but you’d left the window open for your Papa to come back. 

It was the only exit out when your door crumbled to ash. 

A vermillion blaze versus a two story drop. You took your chances barefoot when your mother’s liquor cabinet fed the flames, inferno now. Jumping out into the muggy yard, your nightgown snagging splinters. Cushioned by a rosebush she had stopped tending to – dry, with razor-sharp thorns. 

She was too inebriated to rise on her own two feet. Dead, along with the house, once home.

When you come to, you’re in the medbay back on base. 

You suffered a second-degree burn on your shoulder and a head trauma worth eight stitches, and not much else. 

Your brain, switched out for bromine-doused cotton, takes a while to recall the events that led you here. You play a game of catchup before you greet the world, memories stuck behind a blurry pane of overwhelming emotion. You don’t exactly remember so much as you feel; desire, confusion, a terrifying sense of peace while embraced by a force that meant safety. 

No, that’s not quite right. 

Your neck aches. When was the last time you ate? 

You need a cigarette.  

Not embraced. 

Your eyes fly open. 

Simon. 

“Hey, hey.” Gentle hands press your torso, thumbing you back down on the stiff cot. The voice is higher-pitched than his, softer. Laswell. “Easy there, Scout. You’re still hurt.”

The monitor picks up on your alarm, beeping in tandem to the staggering tread of your heart. Your ribcage closes in on itself, paradigm of dread – you can’t stop the nervous tremor in your fingers. 

A white halo frames the Inspector General, highlighting the flyaways on her blonde bun. Her blouse, typically steam-pressed to perfection, gathers in wrinkles instead. 

You’re sure you look worse. Your tongue wilts with lack of hydration.  

“W-What happened,” Thankfully, she picks up on the croak in your tone and hands you a bottle of water. Unflavoured – not clementine. 

She goes about explaining as you drink. Faulty information, distorted by word of mouth. Turned out to be one day off. They’d been intent on transporting their cargo – the unlawful compounds worked on for months – until someone tipped them to your location. One too many sightings, I’m afraid. The boys were reckless with how often they left. 

You digest the events with little more than a nod. Building anticipation constricts your throat; your attempt to address it comes out unsteady,

“And…” The question dies before it's posed, breaking off to clot the air. Your fears; too afraid to speak them into fruition.

But Laswell gives you a small smile, patting your blanketed calf. 

“They’re alright. MacTavish is still out – he got the worst of it I’m afraid. Was as naked as the day he was born when we found him, but he’s stable.” A cold wave of relief urges the humourless chortle to tumble from your lips – an excavation of a grim unease, fossilised deep in your gut. “The Lieutenant was discharged last week.” 

Biting your lip, you duck your head to idly observe the IV taped to your forearm. A new haar of synthetic smoke purges you; for once, a deep inhale of a substance that won’t rot. The knowledge that he’s okay – fully whole, out there, somewhere – lends itself to that tantalising urge, fulfils it better than thirteen bucks every will. 

You follow the tube that pumps you full of drugs and land on your phone, glowing on your nightstand. 

“We were able to salvage a few things. It’s broken, but it works.” 

You blink and hope your appreciation flashes through.

Lemon antiseptic, the metallic tang of stainless steel left out in the open. An intercom, someplace distant, blares static orders to the late night nurses that bustle down the hall.

It’s not until Laswell leaves and you’re alone, restless, entangled in taut sheets, that you check your messages. 

Two unopened. Both under one contact – Lt.

Found him in the wreckage.

sent tuesday

Accompanied by a photo.

A ginger kitten with a scalded nose, curled up in the crook of a tattooed forearm.

You don’t see him for a month afterwards. 

The Captain and Kyle visit after Soap wakes. They crowd into your room, in full arms, and tell you stories about Damascus. 

Kibbeh, they call it. I was just about ready to stuff ten into my pockets. It was just that good.

Don’ tempt me, Garrick. A'v been livin’ off soup an jello for two weeks.

You slump into your single pillow and imagine you’re anywhere but here. 

Bulgur wheat pounded with meat, rolled into a ball – toasted pine nuts and spice. Standing below mosaic arches, cover from the light shower and a fragile, pellucid sky. Backgammon in a cafe. 

Atop a windowsill, legs swinging as you look for your Papa in the night. Still full from your peanut-butter and jelly sandwich dinner, made with grubby little hands, tiptoeing to reach the kitchen counter. Roses, just watered, still thriving.

Coffin nail, death stick. Flipping a cigarette, seated across a man who refuses to let you light it. Szechuan chicken smeared down your throat, a disused motel transformed sanctuary. That titillating crush, culminating to desperate gropes, attuned to what you like. 

As your sutures dissolve, you spend an endless stretch of time hovering over a keypad. Your last sent message – what’d you name him – left with no response. Dead ends.

You ask Laswell to get you a pack of Marlboro red and deplete the twenty before you’re discharged. She brings along a fresh set of clothes; leggings, a hoodie and gloves. They keep you snug when you step out into the winter wind. 

Snow detonates under the crunch of your boots, the world around you imprisoned in a glair-white silence. Nothing sounds, nothing stirs, nothing sings. Your breath is visible, glittering like angel-fire. A buzzing mind – founded in two cigarettes over the past hour – entices you to act beyond reason. You rent a car and drive three hours out. 

It’s 9:02 pm when you text him, curled up on the couch in your safehouse.

You: finally out

[attached: current location] 

And you don’t wait for a response. You place your phone face down and click to a random gossip network. All on D-list celebrities – you forgot to pay your cable bill. 

Actress baby bumps and divorce scandals sing you to sleep.

read at 9:03 pm

Broad shoulders – dusted in powder from the storm outside – occlude your entryway. 

You bat away the exhaustion roiling your senses, breathing through the obnoxious lurch of your stomach. 

Ghost towers over you, ball cap and mask covered, larger than you remember him. 

You’re the one who invited him. And yet–

His actual appearance unnerves you to the point of emphysema. 

It all comes swarming back to you.

The pulsing ardour, renewed vitality pumped into a hollow conch. Wet firewood, camp smouldering as fat droplets, sobbing clouds, splash on a barbecue. That smell that carries in with harsh weather – coal and warmth from an unknown source, snuggling under a quilt with a window swung open because you just can’t get enough. 

Bottomless chasms, anointed scelaras – central heterochromia, flecks of blue and a ring of black painted onto pupils that pin you down. 

Your brow furrows, indents to store the unspoken, bereft of assurance. Your inquiry cracks with a petrifying amount of vulnerability.

“How are you?” 

He takes a step forward. “Your head–” 

“Almost a scar at this point,” You grin, brushing over the wound. 

“And Johnny?” 

“Better than ever.”

“You mean to tell me, you haven’t been in contact with anyone since Sudbury?” 

A candle flickers from its place on your television console – peppermint and the aroma of melted wax. You’d muted the program at one point. Now, all there is to go on is the polychromatic motley of cartoon characters, suffering injuries that progressively grow more animated. 

The scene illuminates Simon’s otherwise shadowed form – pink and blues lighting the skull on his face mask. You’d travelled to your couch, spread across its length with him seated at your feet. His thigh tenses by your ankle. 

“Hm.” Pinky twitching, it brushes your heel. 

“Sent on some other mission, then?” 

“Negative.” He gruffs, the clipped answer popping like kindling logs, and shifts towards you. Cushions sink, unused to his musculature, and LED hues warp along the exposed skin of his forehead. His hood is still up, hat fixed on his head – you can’t see his hair – but ashen eyelashes tell you it's blonde. 

You watch the way his knee jumps, boot tapping the hardwood floor. Since you invited him in, suspense has radiated off everything he does. Like he’s primed, in that instinctual mode that triggers before a fight, panther on its haunches. 

You think you know why. 

“It’s not your fault, Lt.” 

His brow bone sets, hanging over the boundless stare that slides to you. 

Knees bending, you tuck your legs underneath you to move closer. Pandora’s box.

“I left too often. Got spotted too many times.” 

The concession comes in an earth-shattering quietness. 

Simon tends to corners, alleyways too narrow to fit him, eclipse, his subtlety the upper-hand in every battle. Dressed in tenebrosity – a gloaming shade, stibnite eyes – he veers on the precipice of anonymity. He had been, for the longest time. Ghost and that’s all, assurance to a quick kill before he fades from the radar. No safehouse, no name, a quick glimpse at a face. His file, composed of black bar censors.

Who’s he? Newly introduced to the 141, tail of liquor not far behind you. 

That’s your Lieutenant. You’d do well to keep him as just that. 

When you were a kid, you thought twilight was when the world would be plunged into the slag, a stygian crypt. Darling child, you should be in bed. When the moon turns its back on you and you’re left with nothing but the northern star.

But your Papa pointed the truth out on one of your several camping trips, just the two of you in the midst of a congested wood, laying against thick Sycamore trunks. 

Twilight is when the sun rounds just below the horizon. 

That little clarity, paling blue. When you wake up to the reflection of its rays blushing your tent walls, and you’re able to see the outline of your hands. Still dark enough to go back to bed, but a sign you have a new day waiting on you. The tipping point of tranquillity. 

He’s twilight; here, now. Laying down a slice of guilt he stuffs bone-deep.

“And you saved my life.” 

Simon takes a moment, then nods, a minute incline of his head. 

“I’m sorry too, y’know.” You smooth over the hair that feathers his forearm. This one is a blank canvas, completely bare save for the white scars that cross it. “If I hadn’t distracted–”

“No.” His hand is sweltering when it engulfs yours. “Don’ apologise for that.” 

An ignored promise rustles. Not here. I’ll take my time with you.

“Simon…” 

He murmurs your real name in response, the sound pulled deep from within the recesses of his chest, as though it’s been stored there for aeons. A gem in a dragon’s den. It calls to vertigo, a surge of adrenaline, free-falling. Like tilting your body back on a swing, legs kicked to the air – knowing there’s sand to break your tumble but screaming nonetheless. 

“I still–” 

His head dips low to face yours. Nose on nose. A warning rumble as he snarls. 

“I know, pet. Me too.”

Your pulse thumps, centred in on that bundle of nerves at your core. Cornered prey, backed into the arm of your couch. Touching yourself to the thought of this very thing, enclosed in a shower, him right outside – he fills your view. All you see are those eyes that light with lechery. All you feel is his arm, rounding your waist.

“Y-You– haven’t… haven’t seen my bedroom yet.” He shudders, then stiffens, clasping you securely to his man of steel. His mouth tucks to your ear, subsequent whisper a savage vow.

“I think I’ll be able to find it.” 

With one swift heave, he throws you over his shoulder, resolute against your coquettish squeals.

“Don’t you fucking hide from me. Spread your legs, pet, let me see that cunt.” 

An iron wall presses you down onto the duvet, suffocating, completely submerging you in skin-wrapped sinew, meaty arms caging you in on either side. Your panties were the last to go, stubbornly moist and clinging to glossy lips. He had helped you slip them from your ankles. 

“J-Jus’ fuck me… We can do the oth… other stuff– ah-” 

He’s still in his jeans, a staunch contrast against your nude, slot between your trembling legs. Nails graze the edge of his belt buckle. The bulge constrained by denim is enough to tempt you in forgoing the foreplay.

But he slaps your thigh, the blow sharp as the sting that blossoms under impact. Your hips buck, a hiss blowing from between your teeth.

“It won’t fit like this,” Simon grits, hooking those large hands under your knees. He manoeuvres you with little effort, folding you in half to bear your pussy to his wandering eyes. The hoodie slips off when he hangs his head low. 

Honey tresses, dirtied blonde – streaks of brown. Cropped short at the sides but unkempt where he’s able to brush it back under the balaclava. 

Your panting halts for the second you take him in. Eyes flicker up to your open expression, lips parted. You don’t see it, but he smiles – just the slightest bit – under the mask. 

“You’re quivering.” 

“Huh?” 

His thumb swipes over your hole. 

“Oh–” 

He takes advantage of your reverential state and dives, sliding to lay on his front. You’re hardly able to register it when he flips off his mask, before his nose presses to your clit, stifling heat completely engulfing you. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” A groan, muffled by lewd slurps and squelches. Your back arches, and his arms move to support it as you thrust into his eager mouth. 

Simon fucking devours you, absorbed in the endless slick that seeps. Dextrous, mimicking the motion’s you’ve long since memorised in your fantasies. Those nights in Sudbury, where he kept you company as you dreamt of being splayed on that cot, three fingers plunging into your airtights depths. He sucks the moisture, that sticky sweetness that transforms into something else in his presence. From polluted waste, toxic chemicals rung from cigarettes and self-loathing, to nostalgia, nectar – life before it had gone to shit. 

He’s stone while keeping you in place, intractable, offering you no choice but to clutch onto fresh sheets and sob out to nothing. No prayers, no pleas; you’re an incoherent mess in his onslaught, tangent syllables of Si…mon and so g-good. You don’t beg for release or deceleration – nothing you say goes. It’s just him, just that fucking… expert tongue, sinful desire. Fingers buried into flesh, calling sore bruises.

To find purchase in that hair, clinging onto locks that are still somewhat damp. He’d showered before he came, soaped in sandalwood – 2-in-1. It’s convenient. You’ve gained an affection for the fragrance, foraging for it everywhere. Cologne, air-freshener, chapstick. Jotted on your grocery list, shampoo, body wash – timbre tinted, essence of him. You capsize into the masculinity that emanates from those honey curls, pushing him onto you, tongue swatching deeper. Deeper. 

You’d take him raw, too. Post-workout, sweat-coated. Stripping those layers after a mission, laying him down. Lemme take care of you. Musk, unadulterated redolence. The salty tang down his pecs, licking fervent adoration, a four letter word spelt in glistening spit upon a muscled abdomen. Cupping his balls with steadfast devotion, gaping fauces clicking with the ram of his tip, swallowing him deeper. Deeper. 

The digits that had been there – testing waters before the motel was bombed – return, gathering the liquid that pools down the crest of your ass. He brushes the tight ring of muscle, pauses, then carries on in his endeavour to stretch you open on his fingers. 

Nothing could prepare you for the empyrean pleasure that wracks through you when the two are fully situated, up to their ends, quirking back to hit that spongy wall. 

“So fuckin’ tight. Can barely move ‘em, pet.” He groans. Your eyes squeeze shut, neck thrown back, rising into salvation. Paradise. 

No; beyond that. This gratification wasn’t born in strife, no wars were waged in its name – the first crusade, witch hunts. It’s a thread, separate from it all, diverging from literature and alcohol, taking with it nicotiana, an uprooted plant. It’s something new, something the two of you create – Simon, Ghost, embedded into someone who’s waiting a lifetime for him. 

“I– I’m–” Your insides entwine, tingling self-indulgence skipping up your spine, hightailing your head. He’s added a third, scissoring your velvet walls apart, giving into the vacuum and delving with twice the power. “Simon! Ple… Please–”

“Give it to me, c’mon.” Your calves curve over his back, holding him there. Gut, intestines, your heart; they threaten to snap, to succumb to the eternal gravitas of the force between your legs. 

You gush into his wide mouth, flooding him in a heady ambrosia. 

And Simon – leviathan that prospers in the cavernous wet – swallows it all, kneading tempting circles under your knees.

“Atta’ girl.”

“I bought you something.” You mention between hushed moans.

His heavy body wraps around yours, holding you to a bare chest, his hips pistoning lazily into the plummet of your pussy. A swollen cock spears your open, wedged so deep it touches your cervix with flighty pecks. 

Likewise, he presses sloppy kisses on the bend where your neck meets your shoulder. His chin is still soaked with liquid sex. 

“Yeah?” The taunt vibrates through you. You feel it settle in the place you reserve, just for him. 

Delirious, stuffed chock-full of your favourite vice, you giggle. “Mmm. Chocolates.” 

Rough fingertips seek your clit, deliciously abrasive as they rub it in, unyielding. Your fourth orgasm slithers up on you. 

“Chocolate?” 

You turn to meet his lips, clacking teeth. When you speak again, you realise with dizzying lucidity that the taste of tobacco is long gone, replaced by the evidence of intimacy and lingering bourbon. 

“Y-yeah… Sweet tooth.” 

Simon drives himself deeper into you.

“There are sweeter things.”

He’d named the kitten Tommy.

[undertheorangetree]

The Last of the Dragons

Chapter Three- The Coronation

Summary- The coronation has come about on an even day.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Incest. Mention of (dragon) depression. Bitchy Cregan Stark. Cunnilingus. Fingering. P in V sex. Descriptions of child sexual abuse. Aemond’s brothel trauma. Still angsty babes.

Author's Note- This chapter is a beast besties (10.3k😬) brace yourselves. Link to the full story belowwww

series masterlist

This high up, surrounded by nothing but the mist of the clouds and the frigid air, she feels as though she could go anywhere. It would be easy. One word and Silverwing would turn and fly across the Narrow Sea, deliver them both to the Free Cities. She could live well enough in Pentos or Myr, surviving off the good will of others and the menace that comes from her dragon. It would be an easy life, one that is becoming more and more appealing as the descent brings them lower, but she does not have Silverwing turn. Instead they continue their descent over Blackwater Bay, casting a dark shadow over the half repaired city below them before landing before the ruins of the Dragonpit.

It has yet to be touched since the storming of the pit, only the bodies having been cleared away, graves dug for the Dragonkeepers nearby. Being here makes her feel sick but it is the only place near enough to the Red Keep that can accommodate a safe landing. Even here though, it is difficult, Silverwing hovering in the air for a moment before finally managing to find a place clear enough of rubble to land comfortably.

Ser Willis Fell is waiting for them nearby, sitting proud atop his horse with the reins of another clutched in his fist. He inclines his head in greeting when she looks his way but she takes her time in dismounting. She stays in the saddle for a moment too long, only coming down when Silverwing lets out a mildly irritated huff, more than prepared to return to her nest after flying for so long. Though she loves to fly, she has noticed her dragon longing more and more for her nest these past few months. She has assumed that the loss of Vermithor, of her mate, has made her melancholy and she cannot find the heart to push her when she is so clearly devasted. They are two fragile beings now, broken and battered, and she can do nothing but pray that their bond will help get them through this.

Silverwing drops her head when she finally dismounts and she raises a hand to her muzzle, running it over warm dragonscale. Silverwing lets out another huff, bathing her in the smell of sulfur and ash with her breath and she lets her forehead rest on the dragon's nose for a moment. She breathes in the comforting smell of dragon, not quite ready to return to the Keep yet but knowing she has no choice, before stepping back with a nod. Though Silverwing hesitates for a moment, eventually she manages to depart, the beat of her wings sending the dust around them swirling.

With a haggard sigh, she turns on her heel and makes her way toward Ser Willis and the horses. They both balk somewhat when they smell the dragon on her, taking small steps back to distance themselves, but they are well trained enough not to run. Ser Willis dismounts at her approach, inclining his head, and she manages a small smile.

"Ser," she greets, acutely aware that this man was present on her wedding night, the memory forever lodged into her mind like an axe in a tree.

"Your grace. I trust you had a pleasant ride," he says, ever the picture of duty, one hand offered to her while the other holds the reins steady.

"I always do," she sighs, taking his hand and allowing him to aid her in mounting her horse.

She turns her chin up to watch Silverwing as she leaves, wings spread wide as she returns to the caves above the sea. Already there is a longing in her chest, wanting nothing more than to go with her, but instead she looks toward Ser Willis and offers him a nod, allowing him to lead the way back to the Keep.

With the coronation scheduled to happen the following afternoon, the main streets are far too chaotic to attempt to travel them. With so many lords and ladies still scheduled to arrive throughout the day, they are too crowded to so much as walk through, much less ride through on horseback or, Gods forbid, in a wheelhouse. Instead, Ser Willis takes them through the backroads, riding so close that their horses are all but pressed chest to flank. It is a poorer part of the city so she knows what he is expecting. For some cutthroat or beggar to come lunging from a dark corner in an attempt to slit her throat or steal his money purse, but other than a few bewildered stares followed by hasty bows, no one comes forward. She assumes they are all too busy watching the arriving lords, the current retinue making their way through the opposite street to so much fanfare she feels she may go deaf.

She looks over her shoulder to glance at Ser Willis, eyes still locked on the opposite street. "Who's arriving, do you know?"

He follows her gaze to stare through the awnings, squinting in an attempt to make out the heraldry. "House Karstark, I believe. No doubt Lord Stark is not far behind."

That gets her attention. She looks at Ser Willis for a moment, knowing her disbelief is palpable. Jace had written to her about Lord Cregan, every word filled with admiration and respect. He had gushed about how she must meet him, how after the war they would take their dragons and fly north so he may show her everything he had experienced there. He had raved about the weirwood forests, the Old Gods, the people who lived there. He had loved all of it but he had loved Cregan most of all. They had gotten on so well she had half the mind to believe they were brothers separated in the womb from the way he spoke of the young lord. When we go north together, he had said, you will see what kind of man he is. You will love him as I do.

She had wanted to meet him.

Jace had wanted her to meet him.

Read the rest here :)

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[nahoney22]

Hey! Congratulations on 4k followers bestie! I’m going to slide in a Captain Rex request if you don’t mind. Perhaps a steamy & smutty, forbidden love trope with a female Jedi? 😈 I just know you could work some magic! Many thanks of you choose to do this 💖

Hush, Don’t Tell the General***

Captain Rex X F!JediReader

word count: 2k

The tensions were thick after todays mission and you and Rex had to be alone together one way or another.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Minors will be blocked if i see you interact. Explicit sexual content, explicit language, female reader, established secret relationship, forbidden love, p in v, slightly rough sex, semi-public sex, wall sex, creampie, fingering, dirty talk, praises, fluff but also a little bit of angst if you squint. Pre Order 66.

"Another smooth operation, Anakin," Obi-Wan remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. It was a tone you had grown accustomed to after the countless missions combating the separatist forces that you had been doing with Obi-Wan and Anakin. And given the situation, Obi-Wan's displeasure was quite understandable.

As a Jedi yourself, you’re typically calm and collected as well as precise in your tactics but Anakin was… something else.

The odds had turned grim and a sinking feeling made you wonder if you'd ever even see another day. However, a particular Captain of the 501st, ensured you escaped with minor injuries. Maybe a few bumps and bruises but nothing too severe.

Anakin, ever the defiant one, retorted, "It's not like I anticipated their reinforcements, Master." He paused, rolling his eyes, "But, let's admit it, it was fun ."

"’Fun’ is hardly the word I'd choose," you said, shaking off some dust from your attire.

Anakin smirked, "Well, the mission was a success. Besides, you had Rex and you were out of that building in the nick of time."

As Rex moved closer, you cast him a sidelong glance. "Barely in time to avoid becoming ash," you pointed out.

Rex meets your gaze and something shifts in Rex's expression. Was that anger? Annoyance? Whatever it was, you were certain it wasn’t directed at you.

"Excuse me," you say eventually, pulling away from the intense gaze of the Clone as well as the incessant bickering of General Kenobi and his Padawan, "I need some fresh air."

Rex's watchful eyes follow you, and you offer a fleeting glance back with a hint of a smile before you're enveloped by the cooling evening.

Wandering the perimeter of the Jedi temple that evening, your mind is seemingly in the clouds as the setting sun paints long shadows on the ground.

But then, you sense a presence. You slip into a hidden alcove and wait. The unmistakable sound of footsteps soon follows.

"You always seem to know where to find me, Captain," you remark without turning, arms folded cockily over your chest upon hearing Rex draw nearer.

"It's all about instincts, General. You told me that."

In a seamless move, his arms encircle you, pulling you close, the warmth of his breath ghosting over the nape of your neck. "Today was... challenging," he murmurs, lips ever so gently brushing against your warm skin that sends ripples of pleasure through you.

"I sense you’re troubled, Captain," you observe, sinking into his embrace as his hold on you becomes more pronounced. "What's on your mind?"

"Today was a close call. Too close. Skywalker's tactics have grown increasingly unpredictable since Ahsoka left," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. As you meet his gaze, your hand gently cradles his face. “I could’ve killed him by putting you in danger like that.”

Seeing Rex angry was a rarity but like he said, today was a close call. His scowl was sharp but as you gently touch him, you see his resolve settle.

"I'm still here thanks to you," you reassure with a soft smile. "Though I can't deny that I've felt a disturbance in the Force around Anakin."

Rex peers deeply into your eyes, searching for answers. "Is this something he's shared with you or just a Jedi intuition?"

"Anakin and I aren't close in that way; he doesn't share his personal struggles with me." You take a step back, leaning against the cool wall, eyes drawn to the now moonlit sky. "However, I trust in General Kenobi's guidance. Training a Padawan is a complex task."

"Seems you've got a somewhat good read on him," he states before you feel the familiar warmth of Rex's body as he leans in. His eyes lock onto yours. "I just wish Skywalker would think twice before jumping headfirst into danger. Putting you in danger.”

"You're concerned about him," you observe, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw.

“He’s my General. And… a good friend.” He sighs but then smiles softly upon feeling the delicacy of your fingers tracing along his jaw. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now, I want to talk about my Jedi.”

"Is that so?" Your voice dances with amusement, heart quickening as he draws you in tighter, heat radiating from the closeness. "What do you want to know?"

"How do you go days without our secret moments?" he asks, voice husky with emotion, fingers cradling you just so as he flushes his body against yours. “How can you cope without me being inside you for so long?”

Time had blurred; days, maybe a week or two since your last stolen moment. But for Rex, the longing was evident. As a Jedi however, detachment was part of your teachings, yet Rex was your exception, your beautiful secret. A relationship shadowed in secrecy, known to none, and hopefully, it would remain that way.

You shudder at his words, a heat already panging in your core. He towers over you, his armor making him look larger than he was but not far off.

It’s dominant and striking but so welcoming when his lips descend upon yours after so long, throwing your head back against the wall the force of his kiss.

His hands bite into your hips and you reciprocate by sinking your teeth into his lower lip, a groan deep in his throat. “Naughty girl,” he groans playfully before he pulls away and physically rips apart your Jedi robes, exposing your skin to the cool air.

“Rex!” You squeak in surprise. When you first got together you were pleasantly surprised at his dominating role in the bedroom but to see him so riled up, and in a somewhat public space, was quite unusual yet very exciting. How long had he been missing you?

“I need to have you, I need you so much.” He moves his lips down your neck, kissing over your now exposed collarbones and just over your breasts, cupping them with his hands that had you mewling into his embrace.

“What if someone sees us?”

“I don’t care.” He grumbles, exposing your left breast from under your bra and you let out the faintest whine as his lips latch to youth nipple, sucking delicately.

You cock your leg up, his arm instinctively wrapping under your thigh and keeping it hoisted as he pushes more into you, his length aching behind his codpiece. You held the back of his head, fingers caressing his blonde buzz cut as he flicked your stiffened bud with his tongue before soon, his hand invited its way into your panties.

“Gods, you’re wet,” he almost shivers at the sensation of your juices between your folds, his index and forefinger collecting your slick before he pulls out and you watch in utmost awe as he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks the taste off, “I’ve missed your pussy.”

“Is that so?” You grin, bringing his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his lips and then wrestling your tongue with his. As if to say ‘and I’ve missed your cock’, your hands move towards his codpiece, letting it clatter to the floor before pulling his warm, twitching cock free.

This time he does shudder. The touch of your hand causes him to groan and naturally start to rut into your grasp as you begin stroking rhythmically at his cock. All the while he tugged at your panties, bunching them up to the side and grabbing your thigh again and bringing you near. “Do you want me to fuck you? Here? Right now?”

You couldn’t deny that there was a risk in all this, being caught would be the end of both of your lives as a Jedi and as a Clone Captain but as he pawed at your pussy again, your pussy throbbed in attic patios and he was too good to resist. You nod eagerly, whimpering as he doesn’t hesitate to push his tip against your entrance as you move your hips forward. “Yes,” you gasp, “yes, fuck me Captain.”

When Rex raised your leg just an inch higher, he slammed his hips forward, plunging his cock into your slippery core; drawing a strangled gasp from the pair of you.

“Oh fuck!” He grunts, his cock adjusting to your walls before he begins to pummel you against the wall, feeling your body react to every thrust he gave.

“Rex,” you whimper his name almost pathetically, hands holding onto his shoulders for dear life as his thrusts become intoxicating, making you sob so loud in pleasure that it covers the sound of his thighs and balls slapping lewdly against your exposed skin.

One thrust in particular had you moaning out loud that one hand came up and moved to bury your head into his neck, tutting at you teasingly, “Hush now my beautiful Jedi, we don’t want to draw any attention to us do we?” But he doesn’t help himself as his hand drops from your thigh to play softly at your clit, while the roll of his hips remain sharp and precise with every word.

“It’s s-so good,” you pant, teeth nipping at the skin of his neck, beautifully scented with a little tinge of sweat.

“And you’re taking me so well, aren’t you?” He cooes, “you sound so precious when you’re needy.”

Your head rolled back, stars starting to blur your vision and not just from the night sky. His fingers worked relentlessly at your clit as he fucks you and you wanted to quip that he was the needy one but you didn’t want to risk an intense reaction that has people come looking. “I’m not g-gonna last any longer Rex, please let me cum.”

“You want to cum, darling? You want to come on your Captain’s cock?” He chuckles darkly, his own movements staggering as he breathes through shaken breaths. “Are you going to let me fill you up?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes! Please cum in me.”

“Always so polite.” He grins, grunting as his high begins to hit. “I’m going to fill you with so much cum that you won’t need me for another week. C’mon, lift your leg a little - that’s right - good girl.” He murmured beautifully, pushing his cock in and out of your pussy lazily.

He could feel your body tensing, knowing that your orgasm wasn’t far. Nor for him either. Your body felt like it was on fire, the need and desire from him after just a few weeks of not being able to touch another was unbearable. And as he asks you if you’re ready to cum, you nodded obediently and he upped the momentum of his fingers between your legs.

Suddenly, the coil in you snapped and you went limp under him, Rex catching you quickly as you buried your face into his neck, muffling your wanton screams of delight. He groaned, low and guttural as he summoned a final slam of his cock into your core once more, coming undone to the feeling of his cock buried deep in you as your juices dripped down his length.

“I love you,” he says tenderly, “I love you so much.”

Rex's confession, whispered with an earnestness that sends shivers down your spine, tugs at your heart. "I love you too," you breathe out, pulling him into a gentle, lingering kiss. Every moment with him was precious, and every goodbye, a horrible heartache.

After a few tender moments, you both recognize the danger of lingering. The reality of your situation quickly comes crashing back. Straightening your attire and composing yourselves, the weight of the galaxy settles back onto your shoulders.

"We'll find our moment again soon," Rex promises, his voice thick with emotion, matching the emotions in your eyes.

"Stay safe, Captain" you murmur, gently letting go of him.

“And you, General.”

Although the war seemed unending and your secret rendezvous scarce, deep down you held onto hope. Hope that one day the galaxy would be at peace, and you and Rex could be free to be together.

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[imaginedreamwrite]

Like No One Does

Part 3: Take Me By The Hand

The pitiful image was burned into your mind, the statement that was such an anxiety producing point in your life. The account number that was on the top of the statement might have well been ash and dust—there was no need for it to be as mocking as it was. The bare bones of your bank account had rendered a familiar feeling of you struggling to comprehend and take care of your parent's house.

At least when you weren’t in the hospital, or when you weren’t in Danah’s house pretending like you weren’t one additional bill away from being flat broke. Your parent’s terminal sickness had already been the starting point of anxiety for you, but then to add insult to injury was your extended family’s inability to care.

If it wasn’t for the Levinson’s you would’ve been homeless at 16. You were already an orphan at 16, with no extended family who cared. And adding homelessness to your decrepit standing wouldn’t have been a far fetch. But the Levinson’s, they saved your life. Danah was your best friend, Mrs. Levinson was your second mother, Mr. Levinson your second father.

And Ari…

Ari Levinson was a stronghold you didn’t know you needed, he was a stalwart support system that you didn’t deserve but received anyway.

Maybe that’s why you were so nervous as you waited for him to pick you up. You’d accepted a job offer from him to become his new assistant/secretary, and you had quit your jobs like he wanted you to. You had completely freed yourself to be his assistant and accepted a job that paid enough for you to not just survive, but thrive. This job would give you incredible benefits and health insurance that you wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise.

Of course, Ari insisted that you required more or better clothes for this job. And you couldn’t have even pretended to argue with him because you knew it was true. You had no appropriate clothes for this job, even if you hadn’t been struggling as you were, there was a certain expectation he had. Or likely had.

“Empty bank account would be better than this.” You crumbled the paper in your hands and tossed it aside, the wrinkled and discarded statement landing somewhere in your dismal place.

With it departing you by your hand, you had turned your attention to the window on your right. You had been watching the window for Ari’s vehicle, not only not wanting to keep him waiting, but knowing that this neighbourhood wasn’t the greatest. And Ari’s didn’t deserve to spend more time in this hellhole than necessary.

“You should move in with my sister, princess. Or move in with me, I’d be a good roommate.” Ari had brought up that particular argument many times over when you would talk, and every time you would let your stubbornness get in the way.

“Danah has her dance studio, and even if she didn't, I’ll be fine.” You denied Ari and you denied Danah, as often as you could.

Your bank account may have been in the red, but at least you had paid rent, insurance, and utilities for your apartment. You might not have had any money, currently, to your name, but you had necessities in your place to eat and not go hungry. However, there was the increasing desire to want more, and that desire pushed you to accept Ari’s offer.

At the very least, you would be able to pay off your parent’s medical bills easier, you’d have good health insurance, and you could save enough to move to a new place. You could potentially afford to get a newer car that didn’t seem like it was running on it’s last rusted bolts. At the very least, this job would be able to give you more of a financial pillow.

“Princess, let’s get going!” Ari’s voice filtered from the street below, and it was a look out the thin glass that made your heart race at the sight of him.

Wearing a plain white v-neck shirt with a leather jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans, he looked like a massive yet ethereally gorgeous runway model. It was unjust how attractive Ari Levinson was, and how easy you could get irritated at him—for seemingly just being beautiful.

“Don’t make me come up there!” He had leaned against the side of his car, something sleek and black, with his arms crossed over his chest. Covering his eyes was a pair of mirrored aviators, which you wouldn’t have liked on anyone else, but on him, they looked good.

Through the thin glass you waved, once, and then stepped back. You grabbed your cheap second hand purse and your phone, on the verge of breaking and couldn’t hold a charge. Once you had your things, you slipped your shoes on and left your apartment, locking the door behind you, before you headed down the stairs.

You pushed on the main door to the building and stepped onto the sidewalk, watching him watching you from across the street. Your feet carried you with purpose, and your fingers tapped against your palm in a rhythmic dance to quell your nerves.

“Baby,” Ari spoke to you, his voice deep and husky, and his blue eyes fixated on you with wholehearted anticipation, “I was about to come up and grab you. Get in the car, hertzeleh.”

You paused and looked at Ari when you were just a foot away, your neck craned to be able to look into his eyes. With his casual yet striking clothing choice and his endearing smile, it was almost impossible to understand why he was currently single. The women he had spent time with and slept with in the past had all been flings, by his account and his claims, yet none had managed to win the bachelor over.

“What does that mean?” You asked him with a soft voice, walking around the front of the vehicle to the other side and as you got into the passenger seat, you took notice of the box on the centre console.

The food distracts you from Ari not telling you what he called you, although given his track record, it must be something sweet.

“Food, sweetheart. For you.” Ari climbed into the driver’s seat and lifted the glasses from his face to set them on the dashboard. “Ma sent your favourite and I picked up coffee for you.”

“Ari, you didn’t have to.” The iced coffee sitting in the cupholder came from one of his parent’s Jewish bakeries, and it was your absolute favourite combination.

The hazelnut blend mixed with a dash of cinnamon and whipped cream was your go-to whenever you and Danah went. And as for the breakfast, you could only imagine what food Mrs. Levinson made Ari bring you.

“We have a full day ahead of us.” His cordial smile and pleasant tone were nothing new to you, nothing you hadn’t expected from him. It was only natural for Ari to be the kind of man who was firm and levelheaded, yet tough when it came to business, and a giant teddy bear when it came to family and friends.

“A full day? How long can it take to go clothes shopping?” You scoff and turn away, biting into the delicious flaky Jewish pastry. As you get a few pieces of the sugared crispy top stuck to your lips, Ari’s laugh fills the void—and his thumb brushing the pieces off sends shivers down your spine.

“Princess, your ass is mine from right now until I drop you off at your new apartment.” The sudden bombshell announcement nearly makes you choke on your food, and you find yourself sputtering to catch your breath.

You turn your head and stare at him, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. You seemed completely mind blown by this revelation, although to your shock, Ari simply cups your chin and closes your mouth.

“Buckle up, hertzeleh. I mean it.” He leans away from you and his broad shoulders touch the driver's seat, and then he winks at you. “Your sass-pot ass isn’t dying today.”

“You don’t get to slide by the fact that you said new apartment, Ari Levinson.” You set the pastry down and wipe your hands, steeling your gaze.

He’s ignorant to you, or maybe just ignoring your stare and your tone. Whatever he’s doing, it doesn’t bother him and more than that he seems to smirk. Even though he’s not looking at you, and he's slipping a pair of aviator sunglasses on, you can tell he’s rather pleased with himself.

“Ari Levinson—“

“Cut the attitude, baby girl.” His smirk only grows, and he reaches out to tap your knee. “You eat first, and then we’ll talk.”

“No, we’ll talk now.” You shift in the seat to face him more head on, as far as the buckle allows, and then you tuck your chin to your chest. “What the hell are you talking about? New apartment?”

He doesn’t answer you immediately, though you doubt he’s at a loss for words. Rather, it's all part of his ploy, of his plan to control the conversation, simply because he can. After a moment, Ari finally speaks and when he does, he tips his head, conveniently stopped at a red light.

“It’s part of the contract, sweetheart.” He flashes you a grin, one that’s convinced countless women to fall into his bed—but it just annoys you.

“I didn’t sign a contract, Ari.” You enunciate his name with force, your jaw ticking as you briefly grind your teeth. “And I don’t need a new apartment.”

“It’s part of your benefits, Y/N. You don’t need to be so stubborn all the time, little bug.” Damn him and damn the way his voice eases you, regardless of how much you want to smack him. “It’s got everything you want.”

“Oh yeah? Like what? What does this new apartment have that mine doesn’t?” You want to challenge him, you want to fight with him because if he thinks he can tell you what to do with your place…

“For one, honey….” Ari’s hand reaches for yours, and he squeezes lightly, drawing out a soft huff from you. “…no one’s been shot in the building. Or stabbed.”

You roll your eyes and almost wish you could have defended the building, but you couldn’t. Truthfully, it felt like every time you went into that place, or even near it, you were risking something. You knew it yourself that you needed a new apartment, but the fact that you couldn’t afford one was holding you back.

“Ari—“ you start to protest again, finding yourself unable to raise much of an argument when his hand touches your leg. His fingers spread above your knee as he squeezes lightly—telling you nonverbally that you don’t need to be so stubborn and let him do this for you.

After a minute of silence, he speaks, like what he says would be the final nail in the coffin. “It’s in the Lexington, sweetheart.”

And you suppose it is. The Lexington was a building you’d always wanted to live in, a place inside the city that seemed to be so improper. The building itself was brick and mortar, but there were these marble-esque pillars that stood outside the front entrance. They were like guards over the building, and it had given it such an aged yet fresh feel to the place.

The apartments inside were just as beautiful as the exterior with rich dark hardwood floors, private balconies that overlooked the park. Each apartment had onsite laundry, which would’ve been a selling point on its own; however, the bathroom would’ve been your convincer.

You’d seen pictures of the bathrooms on the rental site, and you’d been amazed from the beginning. Each apartment had a large two-person soaker tub with clawfoot details and had a seamless view to the outside world. The window let in natural light that made the whole room seem otherworldly. It was a big draw to why you’d only wished to live there, meanwhile the causality of being unable to always boiled down to money.

The rent alone was more than you’d make in 6 months, and it never seemed to be in the realm of possibilities for you. The Lexington was always unreachable, it felt as far from you as the castle you’d dreamed of as a child. It was a noble or even tender dream, but it was never within any realm of reality.

“Ari, you can’t just get me an apartment, or pay for an entire new wardrobe. Or…” you wanted to continue listing off reasons why he didn’t have to spend all this money on you, or why he didn’t have to put in the effort.

You were a grown woman, and he was your best friend’s brother. He didn’t owe you anything, and you weren’t going to take advantage of his time or money. You knew the entire Levinson family was generous, they’d taken you in when you had nothing, when you had nowhere to go. But that was over now, yes Ari had offered you a job, but he didn’t owe you more.

The job was enough. The job would make you capable of paying off the debts from your parents' hospital bills and funerals. You’d be able to pay it off on your own, you didn’t need him to do anything for you.

“Ketzeleh,” he squeezes your knee again, briefly splitting his attention between the road and yourself, “I’m not asking, I’m telling.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, the irrevocable sentence unable to be retracted. You feel stupid for a minute, like a fool for saying what you had. At least until you hear Ari’s deep rumble, the husky laugh that fills any minute slip of silence.

“Ari, I mean it, I’m not sleeping with you.” You cross your arms over your chest, your lips pressed firmly together. “I’m not going to be one of those girls that falls into your bed.”

“Of course not, baby.” He removes his hand from your knee and rests it on your cheek. “You’re too strong for that, right?”

You roll your eyes and smack his hand away, huffing poignantly. You retain the silence and draw your attention back toward the pastry Ari’s mother sent for you. It remained half-unfinished during the conversation, and you pick it up again to finish it. You shift away from him back to your original position and sink your teeth into the flaky dessert, ripping a piece off.

Ari has leagues of women falling at his feet. He’s Boston’s most eligible bachelor, and no one woman has been able to hold him down. Although they’ve tried, all he seems to want to do is sleep around and have everything be temporary. You’d seen some of the women he’s messed around with, all of them beautiful and striking and modelesque.

You, on the other hand, had few relationships. You didn’t have an opportunity to have relationships, not when you were made an orphan. Not when you were saddled with a suffocating amount of debt that you had to pay off.

“Ketzeleh, look at me.” Ari had finally stopped the car, parking in a private and gated lot for a series of expensive boutiques he was taking you to. “Ketzeleh…”

You raised your head and looked his way, your eyes searching his blues. He had unbuckled and turned to face you, the car still running and the faint sound of the radio in the background. Once you had faced him, Ari had reached out and brushed a piece of the fine sugar from the pastry off your cheek. His thumb grazed your skin and his eyes were solely on you. His voice was quieter than expected yet no less husky.

“You don’t need to ask, you don’t need to feel like this is an IOU situation. This is a gift, there is nothing you have to pay back.” His husky Boston accent had drawn an illicit shiver down your spine as he slowly leaned in and kissed your forehead. The moment was tender, and you were easily distracted by the feel of his plush lips on your skin.

It felt like you were 16 again, sitting in your dark room with nothing but candlelight. It was as if Ari were comforting you again, whispering to you that everything would be okay. You felt like that 16-year-old, scared and frightened for the future.

“You’re okay,” one hand wove into your hair at your nape while the other cupped your cheek, “you’ll be okay.”

[ironstrange1991]

Need

Pairing: Doctor!Strange, Defender!Strange, Supreme!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After the reader breaks one of the Sanctum relics, she starts to feel a little strange and it is up to the Stephens to deal with the situation in the best way possible.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Polyamorous relationship dinamics. SMUT: Sex pollen, oral sex with male receiving, masturbation with male receiving, umprotected p in v sex, creampie, cum eating, slight spanking, slight degradation kink, there is probably more stuff that I am not remembering.

A/N: It took me almost a month to write this fic and I know many of you are anxious to finally read it, so I hope you like it and have a good reading.

You weren't feeling well. Your body was aching, but it wasn't a normal kind of pain, it was something very specific. At first you didn't pay attention to the sensations when they started, you ignored them as much as you could because you were worried and embarrassed about having broken one of the Sanctum's relics and you had no idea how to tell Stephen because you were tired of hearing phrases like: Don't touch things you don't know what they are; Don't mess with the relics; Stay away from magical artifacts.

You always did like you were told, but sometimes you needed to clean one shelf or another, you couldn't stand to see the dust gathering and Stephen never remembered to clean them and Defender never had time when you asked him to, so sometimes, against their advice, you did a good job cleaning everything.

It was exactly what you had done that morning. Since you were off work and the three Stephens were busy doing god knows what and you'd be spending the day alone, you decided to be productive and clean up the parts of the Sanctum that were always overlooked in routine cleaning.

Everything was going perfectly fine until you bumped into one of the many vases on the pedestals in the Window of the Worlds Room and it smashed to the floor. Inside the vase there was only earth. Or you thought it was earth, although you could have sworn you smelled a strange smell coming from it. It was a black and thin substance that, when it fell to the ground, raised a cloud of dust, soiling your clothes.

"What the fuck, Y/n" You screamed to yourself bringing your hand to your mouth completely paralyzed. It took a few minutes for you to calm down and clean up everything. As you put the pieces of the vase in a box and tried to pick up that disgusting dust from the floor to dump it in a plastic bag you were pretty sure you inhaled a lot of the substance, but you tried your best not to think about what that meant, although a thought insistent in the back of your head made you scared to death that the thing was actually the ashes of some important master who had died centuries ago and was now stuck to your hands and clothes.

But there were more important things to think about. For example, how were you going to tell Stephen that? He would be so mad at you.

Finally, you hid the box and plastic bag with all the earth you could pick up from the floor and put it on a shelf at the back of the library. You continued cleaning and tried to calm your anxiety by telling yourself that the best thing to do was to tell Defender what happened and ask him to fix the relic before Stephen noticed. You just knew he wasn't going to get mad at you and he would do his best to help you hide it from the other Stephens.

You were finishing your cleaning when you noticed the first symptoms. You felt a little dizzy and thought that was why you hadn't eaten anything in the morning, but then you started to feel hot. Very hot. Which wasn't normal since you were in the middle of autumn.

The other symptoms took longer to appear and it took you a while to notice that something was really wrong.

You noticed that you were thinking about Stephen a lot, which to a certain extent was normal, you thought about your Stephens all the time, however you were thinking about specific parts of their bodies and very specific things they did to you in bed and it was leaving you in an almost unbearable state of arousal.

By mid-day it was clear that those sensations were not normal, mainly because you tried to solve the problem yourself with one of your vibrators and you didn't get any results, in fact the situation seemed to get worse.

You were horny, sweating and aching for Stephen to the point where it became a real pain right between your legs. You couldn't think straight, but you knew it must have something to do with the substance you inhaled and seeing that your symptoms seemed to get stronger by the minute, you overcame your fear and shame and called the first Stephen in your cellphone speed dial.

The phone rang a few times until finally you heard the familiar baritone voice. The sound somehow made the ache between your legs increase.

"Stephen… can you come home, please?"

You didn't pay attention to how your voice sounded, but his response sounded worried. "Y/n? What happened?"

You inhaled and exhaled through your mouth "I'm not feeling well. Stephen, please... can you come home?"

"Honey, tell me what happened." Supreme insisted on an answer.

"Please Stephen, Hurry up!"

...

Stephen and Defender were talking to Wong in his office when Stephen's phone rang. He looked on the screen and seeing that it was Supreme he just declined the call. Whatever it was, it could wait.

A few seconds later Defender's cell phone rang and he excused himself to Wong and left the room to answer it. He came back quickly seeming worried.

"Something happened to Y/n. We need to go home."

Wong didn't ask any questions, he just waved towards the door "Well, go ahead then. Let me know if you need anything."

Stephen walked out of Wong's office with Defender on his heels.

"What exactly did she say?" He asked putting his sling ring on his finger.

"Supreme said she called him begging him to come home. Said she's not feeling well."

Stephen opened a portal to the Sanctum's living room and the two walked through it, finding the room empty.

"And why did she call him?" Stephen didn’t even try to hide his annoyance.

"This is no time to be jealous, Doctor." Defender answered while they went up the stairs and crossed the corridor quickly finding the door to the master bedroom, Stephen's room, open.

When they got there, they found Y/n sitting on Supreme's lap, both arms thrown around his shoulders, face hidden in the crook of his neck. He was stroking her hair, whispering in her ear.

"What happened?" Stephen asked, quickly noticing that her skin was red and glowing, her clothes was wet with sweat.

Hearing his voice, she got up and ran to him, her arms wrapping around his neck, her lips colliding against his. Stephen kissed her quickly, but brought his hand to her forehead.

"Christ, she is burning!" He said casting a worried look at Defender.

Defender touched her arm and as if she had only noticed his presence at that moment, she let go of Stephen and threw herself into his arms.

"I'm sorry, baby. It was my fault."

Defender shushed her "What happened, baby?"

"I was cleaning the house and... it was an accident, I didn't want to break anything, you know I'm always careful with your things..."

Defender shushed her and faced Stephen worriedly. "We should take her to the hospital."

Stephen nodded "Sweetheart, whatever you broke, we'll fix it later. Now, tell me what you're feeling."

She faced him shyly taking Defender's hand and lowering it until it reached between her legs "I’m feeling weird here."

The two Stephens glared at each other and Supreme chuckled nervously. "Did you notice the smell on her clothes?"

Defender buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. She moaned softly and shamelessly rubbed herself in Defender's hand. "Baby, please. Make the ache go away."

Stephen sighed heavily "What exactly did you break, sweetheart?"

"A vase. It was on one of the pedestals in the Window of the Worlds room."

Stephen shook his head "If it's what I think it is, it could take hours for her to get better and the symptoms are only going to get worse unless we..." He didn't finish what he was saying, instead he glanced at Y/ n moaning and grinding herself in Defender’s hand like a cat in heat.

"Baby...please." She whined.

Defender shushed her and placed a kiss on her forehead. "It's okay, baby. We'll make the ache go away."

Supreme stood up "I'm going to lock the Sanctum. Hope you guys saved your energy today.

...

You were burning. Inside out. But unlike any other known fever you didn't feel cold, you were literally melting in beaks of sweat.

Stephen insisted on putting you under the shower to remove any trace of the magical substance that was stuck to your skin and although the water was cold, you were still burning.

He insisted on soaping you up like he was bathing a child and the whole time he kept his face straight and didn't say a word. That, along with all the weird sensations in your body, brought tears to your eyes.

"I'm sorry, Stephen." You apologized for the thousandth time, your voice trembling. "Please, don't be mad at me."

He sighed heavily helping you rinse the soap off your body and smiled reassuringly "I'm not mad at you. I'm just worried. I don't know how long this is going to last."

You whimpered hearing those words. You just wanted it to stop. "Don't you have any spells you can use?"

He shook his head "Not that I know of, at least." He turned off the shower and wrapped you in a towel "Come on, let me take you to bed, I'll take care of you."

Supreme and Defender were in the room sitting in the two armchairs next to the fireplace, but the fire had been put out.

Stephen touched your forehead "The temperature dropped a little with the cold water" He said sitting you on the bed and going to the wardrobe to get a change of clothes for you.

"I don't feel any better. It's too hot." You complained looking at the silk pajamas he chose for you to wear. "I don't want to get dressed, Stephen. I just said it's too hot."

He sighed rolling his lips "Okay, Sweetheart, as you wish." He placed the change of clothes on top of the bedside table looking unsure of his next actions, so you let go of the towel letting it fall down your naked body. "I need you."

He gave Supreme and Defender a quick look as if he was expecting some kind of approval and you spread your legs so he could fit between them.

Stephen touched your face and allowed himself a smirk "I never thought I would have to make love to you under these circumstances, love. This is for you to learn to listen to me and not mess with the Sanctum relics."

You pouted "But you want to make love to me, don't you?"

He took off the shirt he was wearing and you were eager to touch his defined chest. You scratched at his skin, your hand going down to the waistband of his pants. You helped him to undress. He was hard already and you couldn't help but devour him with your eyes.

Stephen grabbed your chin making you look into his eyes. "I always want to make love to you, sweetheart. Always. But something tells me that’s not what you need today."

You grabbed his cock and started to pump him and Stephen let out a little groan watching you spit in your hand and stroke him nice and hard to get him ready for you. He gently pulled your hand away and took over giving his cock a couple of jerks.

“You need to be fucked and that’s precisely what I’m going to do to you now.” He finally entered you drawing a loud moan from your lips. The feeling inside you seemed to intensify for a moment, but when he started to move you felt relief, it was like you could finally breathe after being submerged for so long.

"Oh Stephen..."

Stephen groaned, his face in the crook of your neck, your legs entwined behind his back. He wasn't being gentle and you didn't want him to be. He was right, this definitely wasn't about making love at all, you were filled with the most basic, primal desire to be dominated by a man and be used without mercy.

Stephen leaned on one of the canopy columns of the bed and considerably increased the strength of his thrusts.

"Yes, right there, Stephen."

He grabbed your chin making you look at him "Does it feel better now?" He asked, his breathing coming in between gasps.

You just nodded.

"I know. My cock is making you feel a lot better, isn't it, sweetheart?"

 You nodded vehemently and clung to his neck, searching for his lips as if you needed them to breathe.

"I need you to come, Stephen. Inside me. It will help, I know it will help. Please."

Stephen groaned loud "Need my cum inside you, uh? That will make the pain go away?"

"Yes, yes, it will. Please, Stephen, cum for me, cum inside me, give it all to me."

Stephen buried his face in your neck getting carried away by the moment and let out a loud moan right by your ear and his thrusts stopped completely and you felt his cum spurting inside of you, thick, warm and so much of it. You moaned feeling a different kind of climax. You didn't come, but it was like your body was reveling in the sensation of having his cum inside you. Like the body of a person who has spent days in the desert and can finally feel the water running down their throat.

Stephen kissed you gently and pulled out. "How does it feel now? Better?" He asked, checking on you. He was panting.

You felt slightly better, but the fire still burned between your legs. Somehow you knew it was far from over.

You bit your inner lip and shook your head.

"It may take some time to actually get better, but we're here, we'll take care of you."

You wrapped your arms around him pulling him back on top of you "I need more, Steph, please..."

He chuckled. "I need a few minutes to get ready for you again, sweetheart." He responded placing a peck on your lips and then addressed Supreme. "She needs more. You take over now?"

Supreme got up with an ironic smile on his lips "Tired already, Doctor?"

Stephen pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, but he didn't respond, wisely deciding that this wasn't the time to argue.

When Supreme approached you stopping beside the bed there was a smirk on his lips and his eyes showed that he was holding back his laughter.

"It's not funny, Stephen." You said slightly offended.

"I know, I know this is a terrible situation, honey, but I can't help it." He said giggling and pulling you to his lips. You slapped his shoulder, but kissed him anyway. You reached for his belts, but he snapped his fingers impatiently and quickly got rid of his robes. You pulled him on top of you, letting his body weight make his cock rub against your clit. It felt good, very good.

You moaned pornographically loudly.

"Of all the relics, you had to bump into that vase." He said nibbling your bottom lip and teasing you.

"Stephen, please..."

"I know, I know." He patted your hip "Turn around. Get on your hands and knees for me."

You complied, but he tsked "Turn full length on the bed. Let's give the other Stephens a better view of our actions."

You did as you were told and pulled a pillow up to your head, hugging it tight and lifting your ass as high as possible. Supreme rubbed the tip of his cock on your slit, using Stephen's cum as lube. He put two fingers inside you fingering you and gave his cock a couple of jerks and finally, finally, entered you with a hard thrust.

He stopped with his dick buried inside you enjoying the feeling "Fuck, honey, you feel so good, so impossibly warm..."

"Stephen, please move." You begged and moaned loudly when he did as you asked. He rested both hands on your waist pulling you against his thrusts at an incredibly fast pace.

"Oh my god yes, yes Stephen, just like that, fuck me just like that.”

He slapped your ass cheek hard, much harder than you were used to, making you yelp. "Yeah, just like that? Who could tell a magical relic could turn my girl into such a needy little whore, uh?"

You whimpered softly feeling the mixture of pleasure and relief flood your body, Stephen's teasing having an effect on you. "Y-Yes, Stephen"

He slapped you again and kept his pace incredibly rough "Such a needy little thing desperate to be fucked. Aren't you ashamed?"

You shook your head no "It feels good, Steph... when you fuck me like this. So good."

Stephen groaned obscenely loud, his fingers carving the flesh of your hips, his heavy balls slamming against your clit as he fucked your pussy with such hunger.

"I know, honey. It feels good for me too. Your pussy is so warm and so delicious... wanna cum inside and fill you with my seed. Will it help calm the ache?"

"Y-yes, it will, please give it to me, Stephen."

You bit the pillow suppressing your desperate moans that were quickly escalating to screams.

"Oh, I will, but I want to enjoy this warm little pussy a bit more. It feels so good."

He brought one of his hands to your hair, gripping it tightly and pulling, using it as a rein to pull you against his thrusts. It felt so good, so right to give yourself to him like that, for a minute all that existed was the two of you and the sounds of the sex you were having, loud and wet.

"F-Feels so good, Stephen, cock's fucking me so good. It's so big."

He slapped your ass ever harder this time, the sharp pain somehow adding to your pleasure. "Cock feels good inside your pussy, uh honey? You know what, I think you made it on purpose, wanted to know how it would feel to be this horny for my cock."

"N-No, I didn't. But it feels good when you're fucking me." You moaned loudly and bit the pillow feeling your whole body tingling with a strange sensation, it was almost as if you could feel your orgasm approaching, but at the same time it was different, too strange, and too strong and it all felt too much. "Please, Stephen cum, it feels too much, I need you to cum."

Stephen groaned "Beg for it, just one more time."

"P-Please Steph, I need your cum, please cum inside me, please."

And so he did. Stephen's thrusts came to a halt, he moaned so loud and you felt his cum spurting inside you. It felt good and you felt relieved. Your legs gave out and you fell face down on the mattress. Stephen supported his body weight on his arms and kissed your cheek.

"Good girl. Tell me, does it feel any better now, or do you need more?

You were panting, your heart was pounding in your ears, yet you know you were far from sated. "N-Need more."

You were scared by the intensity of it. The relief you felt when he was fucking you, or pushing his cum inside you, gave way to the already known need, a desire for sex that seemed inhuman.

"I know, honey. We'll give you more."

...

Defender was extremely hard. His cock was throbbing desperately asking for Y/n, and it couldn't be any different. Even though he was used to sharing her in bed with the other Stephens, watching them fuck her was still one of the most arousing things he'd ever done in his life. Over time he stopped questioning whether that was right or wrong and just enjoyed the moment.

He couldn't believe such a silly accident could have led to that, and the problem wasn’t that she would have to have sex for the rest of the day and they would have to provide that for her, that was a privilege. The thing that was bothering Stephen was that she was, to a certain extent, suffering, and he wanted to alleviate that, he wanted to make the ache go away.

He went to her, eager to play his part, but first, he conjured a glass of water and made her drink it. He took the hair tie that held his hair and tied hers in a ponytail.

"It'll help with the heat." He said caressing her face. "I wish there was more I could do, baby."

She threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck "I'm sorry..."

"Shh, its okay, we are not mad at you, none of us are mad at you. It was an accident, accidents happen."

Y/n sought his lips desperately and he kissed her. Her hands were eager to free him from his robes.

Stephen let her undress him. He kicked off his boots and got rid of his pants and boxers and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

She grabbed his cock and spat on it and swallowed it whole with such a hunger that Stephen gasped. She started bobbing her head along his length and Stephen grabbed her ponytail and let himself indulge in the feeling of her mouth sucking his cock for a minute, but as soon as he realized how that wasn't going to help her situation at all, he gently grabbed her chin and pulled her off his cock.

"Baby, you shouldn't make me cum in your mouth, it would be a waste. You need it inside, remember?"

She nodded with a sweet pout "But it feels good when I such your cock, baby."

Defender almost melted at those words. God, she was so lovely and he was so in love with her that sometimes it felt like his chest was going to explode. So much love that he never dreamed of being able to feel before he met her.

He pulled her to his lips and she moved to straddle him. "I know it'll be even better if you ride me, baby. What do you think, uh? Would you like to use me to make yourself cum?"

She nodded and he guided his cock to her entrance and she lowered her body letting him stretch her inch by inch.

"Oh, baby it feels so good." She moaned resting both hands on his shoulders.

Stephen let out a soft groan "Yeah? Use me then, baby. Fuck me any way you want. I'm yours."

She moaned loudly and began to ride him at first slowly and then increased the pace, fucking him fast and hard, riding him with such desperation. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him for a passionate kiss, eliciting a hum from him and Stephen closed his eyes forgetting for a moment why they were making love like that in the middle of the day. He just concentrated on the wonderful feeling of having her tight and warm pussy around his cock, squeezing him incredibly tight.

Y/n let herself be carried away by the moment, her forehead pressed against his, her lips stealing passionate kisses from his lips. It felt so good, definitely too good.

Stephen held her waist to make her stop for a second. "Slow down, baby. Don't make me cum yet, I want to last for you."

She nodded, but her hips kept moving albeit slowly. "It feels good. Your cock is making me feel so good, Stephen."

"Your pussy feels amazing too, baby. I never get tired of making love to you, you know that?" He cupped her face and kissed her ardently and in one swift movement he placed her under him and entered inside her again, thrusting slowly but putting intensity into the movements, going deep enough to reach that special part of her that always made her moan louder. . And as soon as he found it, she whimpered.

"Y-yes, baby, right there."

She locked her legs behind his back and dug her nails into his skin.

"Gonna cum for me, uh?" He teased.

Y/n nodded. "Yes, yes, baby, I'm so close. Wanna cum, Steph, please."

Stephen leaned on the headboard to increase the intensity of the thrusts and put his other hand between them, he started rubbing her clit in circles and instantly he felt her pussy fluttering around his cock. She closed her eyes and her whole body started to shake.

"That's it baby, don't hold back, cum for me."

She moaned outrageously loud and grabbed a handful of his hair pulling him to her lips. Stephen kissed her passionately and kept thrusting, prolonging her climax and feeling his balls tightening.

"Fuck baby, wanna cum in you. Can I cum, love? Tell me I can cum."

She smiled sweetly. "Y-yes...cum baby...inside." Her voice sounded shaky and so sweet. Stephen buried his face in her neck and gave a couple of intense thrusts before coming to a complete stop, emptying himself into her.

Stephen knew it didn't matter how many times he had come inside her, every time was special and it always made him feel like the happiest man in the world.

...

You opened your eyes feeling your body tired, but you were far from sated. Although the strange feeling and heat had subsided considerably, the arousal you felt was far from being considered normal. Your body was trembling under Stephen, you were feeling weird in your stomach and your walls were clenching around his cock as evidence of how much you still wanted him.

Stephen's heavy breathing in your ear didn't do much to help your situation as you loved the sounds they made when they finished on you.

You stroked his hair gently kissing the top of his head.

 "How are you feeling right now?" He asked in your ear and kissed your lips gently.

"Better, but I still want you." You replied feeling your cheeks getting hot, but deciding to get over your shyness. There was no room for that when you were with your men. "Actually, I think I need my three Stephens now." You confessed.

He smirked cupping your cheek and kissing your lips again. "Yeah? I'm sure the others are eager to join us."

He pulled out and you stretched out on the bed. You were feeling a little sore between your legs, but you didn't pay much attention to that.

He conjured a cloth to clean you up. "We made a mess on you, baby." He admitted making you chuckle.

"I like it."

You waited patiently while he cleaned you up carefully, being extra affectionate. When he was finally satisfied with his work, he got rid of the dirty cloth and kissed you. Your fingers tangled in his hair and he let out a soft moan. So soft and so sweet.

"I want your mouth now, baby, if that's okay." He asked nibbling on your bottom lip.

You nodded, but gently pushed him away so you could sit down. You hooked your finger, inviting the other Stephens to join in too.

"There's room for more Stephens in this bed." You teased.

Stephen, who had put his boxers back on, walked promptly to you, his cock visibly hard beneath the white fabric. There was a smirk on his lips as he sat down on the mattress beside you and stroked your cheek, the tension from before long gone.

"You have no idea what it's like for me to see them fuck you, sweetheart." He confessed taking your hand and leading it to his cock. "You look so good while being fucked, taking them so well. You make me so proud."

"Hm, I love being fucked by all my Stephens. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world." You responded grabbing his cock through the fabric, moving to sit on his lap and pulling him to your lips. He wrapped his arms around you and thrusted his tongue into your mouth, dominating yours in a big, wet, jealous kiss. It was you who broke the kiss first, running your lips down his neck, biting and sucking the skin while grinding yourself back and forth in his shaft.

He groaned and patted your ass and suggested "Get on all fours and stick that luscious ass out for me so you can suck Defender while I fuck you from behind. What do you think, Sweetheart?"

You nodded, smiling slyly, but cast a questioning look at Supreme who was still sitting, smoking a cigarette and watching you intently.

He smirked "I'll join you soon, honey. Now, do as he says, make me proud."

You nodded at him dismounting from Stephen's lap and positioned yourself on all fours making sure to stick your ass as high as possible while wrapping your arms around Defender's thighs and grabbing his cock. You gave him a teasing look before popping it into your mouth eliciting a loud moan from his lips. He threw his head back indulging in the pleasure of it.

"Fuck baby. Oh yes...she really knows how to suck dick." He praised and Stephen chuckled proudly.

"I know, she is amazing." Stephen answered slapping your ass. "Isn't that right, sweetheart? Show him you're the best."

You let out a muffled moan when Stephen thrust two fingers into your pussy and started to fuck you with them. You felt him nudging your entrance with the tip of his cock and you wiggled your ass teasingly as he gripped your waist tight and entered you with a single thrust. You would have screamed if your mouth wasn't stuffed with Defender's cock.

Stephen kept the pace fast and strong and Defender grabbed your hair that was starting to come loose from the hair tie and wrapped it around his hand, but he didn't push. "That's right, baby, feels so good. Flick that wonderful tongue on the head. Yes, just like that. Such a good girl, such a good baby sucking my cock so good."

You groaned loudly, loving hearing Defender loosing up like that. Usually, he was always very modest in dirty talk, which only made the moment even more exciting.

Stephen slapped your ass again, harder this time, and pulled his cock out of you, teasing. "Such a dirty little girl taking my cock so well, uh? And sucking Defender's dick too. You drive me crazy, you know that? Make me wanna fucking ruin you."

You took Defender's cock out of your mouth to respond to his taunts. "Ruin me, Steph. Fuck me til I can't walk. I'm still so horny."

"Yeah? I guarantee you learned a lesson today, didn't you?"

You pumped Defender’s cock hard and replied "You guys aren't mad at me?"

 "How could I be mad at you if your disobedience resulted in the three of us fucking you like that?" Stephen replied entering you all at once and starting to pound into you, the sound of flesh against flesh and your breaths and moans was all you could hear.

Defender pulled you to his lips, fucking your mouth with his tongue as you let out a moan on his lips.

"He's right, baby. You need to be more careful, but none of us are mad at you. How could we…"

He directed you back to his cock and you spat at it and shoved it in your mouth going all the way down this time, feeling the tip hitting against the back of your throat.

He groaned loudly. "...when you suck cock like that? Fuck, baby. You’re gonna make me cum."

You just hummed in response.

"Is that what you want? Want my cum in your mouth?"

You hummed positively making Stephen groan in response. "Such a dirty little thing. She needs cum in all her holes today, isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Uh hum" You hummed while Stephen fucked your pussy in such violent pace. You put your all into your work, swallowing Defender's cock and then taking it out of your mouth and flicking your tongue at the head and sucking hard and then running your tongue down the length of it just to swallow it again and repeating the process until he moaned loudly and grabbed a handful of your hair and spurted ropes of his warm cum into your mouth.

"Oh fuck..." He let out something between a groan and a chuckle. "Take it, baby. Swallow it all."

You were aware that this was definitely not Defender's usual behavior, he was usually much softer than that and much less talkative, but you couldn't deny how much that side of him appealed to you.

His moans were like music to your ears. "That's it baby... so fucking good. Oh... love you so much."

You took his cock out of your mouth and made sure you opened it for him to see his cum inside and only then did you do as you were told, swallowing everything and sticking your tongue out for him to see.

“So fucking dirty.” He groaned pulling you to his lips.

"I love you too" You moaned in his lips as Stephen's thrusts became more erratic and you could feel him pulsing inside you.

He let out a loud groan. "Fuck sweetheart, pussy feels too good, gonna cum, tell me you want my cum too, tell me how much you need it."

You moaned feeling that you were close too. Your body responding to his thrusts, the coil threatening to snap each time he hit your sweet spot. "Fuck yes, Steph. N-need your cum, give it to me."

He grabbed your hair and pulled it pulling you against his chest as he fucked you mercilessly.

"Body is desperate for more cum, uh? You're leaking and you still need more?" He teased whispering in your ear.

"Y-Yes. Need more."

"Yeah? You're a greedy little whore, aren't you? One Stephen isn't enough, it takes three to fill that pussy with cum and make the ache go away?"

"Uh hum" You hummed feeling that you were very close to your second orgasm. "Stephen... wanna cum."

Stephen bit your earlobe and lowered one of his hands to the middle of your legs and began to rub your clit in circles. You let out a loud moan. "Oh yes, Steph, make me cum."

He hummed in your ear making sure to rub his goatee in your skin, making it prickle. "Then say it: I'm a greedy little whore who needs three Stephens to satisfy me."

You whimpered repeating the words the way he wanted and once he was done with his teasing he started to pound into you even harder and that added to the stimulation of his long fingers on your clit was enough to make you come, but this time it was bigger, more intense and you felt warm liquid running down your legs. Stephen groaned loudly and started to spurt his cum inside you. He didn't stop thrusting until he was fully finished, pushing his cum inside you with each thrust.

"F-Fuck yes. Oh my god, sweetheart... the things you do to me..."

You felt your legs shaking and Stephen pulled out and you sat up in bed. Your entire body was shaking with the intensity of your orgasm.

"Fuck sweetheart, you squirted all over the bed, made a mess." He stated, but there was a certain pride in his eyes, the corners of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "Was it that good?"

You nodded letting yourself be pulled into Supreme's lap who had returned to bed. You were so lost in your pleasure that you didn't even notice Defender pulling away, he was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace now, dressed in sweatpants, his hair pulled back in a messy bun. He smiled proudly at you, deciding to just enjoy the show as now he was satisfied.

"First time wetting the bed like that, honey? You're going to have to do it again for me now." Supreme teased but you knew he was serious, you could see in the way his irises darkened that he was jealous.

"I... don't know how I did it." You replied feeling your face getting hot. "I never..."

"He knows, sweetheart." Stephen chuckled "I'm sure it will happen again sometime. Now, give me a kiss." He cupped your chin and kissed you and then got up and walked gloriously naked to the bathroom.

Supreme held your chin between his thumb and index finger making you look at him. "How you're feeling now? Pussy still feeling weird?"

You stroked his hair, tucking a few white strands behind his ear and trying to understand how you felt. The desperation and the heat had passed, your body was tired and sore, but you still felt the desire for sex and you knew that wasn't normal, because you had already come twice, the second one being the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced.

"I'm feeling better, but I still need you." You replied cupping his face.

He smirked "That pollen really turned you into an insatiable little thing, didn't it?"

You nodded feeling your cheeks getting hot and buried your face in the crook of his neck. "I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't even know what was in that vase."

He stroked your back, his trembling fingertips brushing lightly across your skin. "I know, I was just teasing you, honey. We know you don't need pollen to be horny."

He took your hand and led it down to his cock. He was so hard for you.

You wrapped your fingers around his cock and turned your head to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. Your lips moved in sync as your tongues fought for dominance, neither of you willing to give in, but when you tightened your hand around his cock and began to pump him at a fast, precise pace he relinquished control moaning loudly and you took the opportunity to win him over by sucking his tongue with a victorious hum.

It was you who moved to position him inside you. You were leaking, Stephen's cum running down your thighs mixed with your own fluids, but neither you nor Supreme cared about the mess at that point. All that mattered was the desire you both felt and as you sank into his cock he moaned loudly cupping your face and making you look into his eyes.

"I love you, Y/n. I love the life we ​​share." He whispered as a secret in your ear.

You grinned as you move up and down fucking him slowly but oh so good. "I love you too, Stephen. I love all my Stephens."

He smirked grabbing your waist and taking control back to himself, moving you on his cock at the pace he wanted, always fast, hard, rough even. The squelching sound of his cock fucking your pussy was so arousing, you were so wet, the sensation was different and so amazing and it wasn't just you who noticed that, because Supreme groaned completely lost in his pleasure and confessed. "Fuck, honey, pussy feels so nice wet like that. Cum is the best lube in the world."

You let out a small giggle letting yourself be manhandled by him and feeling like the coil in the pit of your stomach was about to snap again. He felt it too because your walls fluttered around his cock and he groaned loudly, both of his hands grabbing your ass cheeks and moving you up and down.

"Are you going to come for me now? One orgasm for each Stephen?" He teased and you just nodded, your arms wrapped around his neck to keep your balance as you rocked on his cock.

"Do it, honey. Do it now. I can't hold back any longer. Gonna cum too."

You forced yourself down rubbing your clit on his pelvic bone and let yourself be dominated by the wave of pleasure that washed over you.

Stephen came soon after, pushing ropes and ropes of cum inside you.

You two ended up panting, devouring each other's mouths and moaning.

After five loads of cum inside, you felt the fire and need for sex die down leaving you in a state of exhaustion you couldn't remember ever feeling before. Your body slumped over Stephen and your eyes closed almost immediately and you felt him holding you tighter, but everything around you was an incomprehensible blur.

...

Stephen returned to the bedroom after taking a shower and putting on a pair of pants. He had also prepared the bathtub with warm water and Y/n favorite bath salts, imagining that she would need them to relax after their activities.

"If you guys are done, I prepared a bath for her." Stephen said and Supreme nodded.

"Hear that, honey? A hot bath will help you feel better."

She just hummed and mumbled some incomprehensible words.

Defender got up and walked over to them. "I take care of her." He said taking Y/n from Supreme's lap and taking her to the bathroom.

Supreme quickly cleaned himself up and used magic to dress back in his robes and boots. "I'll take care of the mess Doctor, maybe we'd better take a look at that relic before Wong finds out she broke it."

Stephen nodded. "You're right. Did she say where she put it?"

"At the library. In a box."

Supreme used magic to dry the mattress she had soaked so beautifully and part of him was still fighting the jealousy that scene caused in him. He put clean sheets on the bed and finished organizing everything before leaving. After an afternoon like that, he was begging for a hot shower and some sleep.

Defender knew Y/n was exhausted, so he bathed her quickly and sat her up in bed and helped her get dressed in the silk pajamas Stephen had left on the bedside table. He used magic to dry her hair and helped her under the sheets.

"Is cold." She complained now that she was totally free from the influence of the pollen.

"Do you want a blanket, or do you want me to light the fireplace?"

But she didn't answer, falling asleep almost immediately.

He covered her with a blanket and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Love you baby." He whispered and left the room.

...

Stephen shouldn't have been surprised to find Wong in the library. It was the most common thing in the world, but due to all the events he couldn't help but curse internally.

"How is y/n feeling?" The Sorcerer Supreme asked walking down the hall carrying a box with pieces of what was once a relic.

"She is better now." That's all Stephen said.

Wong smiled to himself. "I will take this to Kamar Taj to repair the relic and its contents."

Stephen nodded. "That's precisely what I came to do now."

Wong seemed to think for a moment before speaking. "You know, there's an herbal infusion that can be brewed to ease the... symptoms, but it looks like the three of you managed to solve the problem quite well."

Stephen was blushing like a teenager. "Yes. Thank you, Wong."

Wong nodded opening a portal back to Kamar Taj. “Keep her away from my relics, Strange.” He demanded.

Stephen sighed watching the portal closing and shook his head still trying to believe in everything that had happened. The things Y/n did to Stephen, to all the Stephens... Yet he wouldn’t change a thing.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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[what-the-stark]

@deviousmxnds from x

"Oh wow, Loki's description actually failed to prepare me for how obnoxious you are in person." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stabilize the irritation that was already about to boil over.

"Name's Dr. Cizko."

"Doctor." Yikes, Loki. Riiiight. He probably deserved that. Somehow, Tony had managed to almost forget about that entire near-death experience. Maybe due to all the other similarly death-inclusive engagements he'd enjoyed lately. Sort of went with the territory. "What's your specialty? I'd say it's a pleasure, but you kind of look like you're already having a ground glass enema, so I'll skip it."

[sisiren]

I discovered Audacity was free and decided to make a TAZ: Balance edit! More information under the cut.

Song: Experience - Ludovico Einaudi

Quotes (in order of which they appear in the audio): “One day I made the decision to… stop championing other people's heroism and to take the direction of my life into my own hands.” - Lunar Interlude III, Rest and Relaxation

“This is just for a little bit, I’m gonna stop this, what we’ve done to this world.” - The Stolen Century 7

“And, I lost dear, dear friends because of that decision, but it was the only one to make.” - Lunar Interlude III, Rest and Relaxation

“I’m gonna find you a place where you can be happy again, it’s just for a little while, and then, you’ll remember, I promise.” - The Stolen Century 7

“Magnus Burnsides” - Here There be Gerblins 1

“T-A-A-K-O” - Here There be Gerblins 1

“Merle Highchurch” - Here There be Gerblins 1

“Barry Bluejeans” - Lunar Interlude V, Reunion Tour 1

“I’m Davenport” - The Stolen Century 7

“Blasted the letters L U P into the wall.” - Lunar Interlude III, Rest and Relaxation

“I pull out the Umbra Staff and I point it at Lucretia” - Story and Song, Finale 1

“You fucking took everything from me” - Story and Song, Finale 1

“Oh shit! Is it today?” - The Stolen Century 6

“It’s today.” - The Stolen Century 6

“I did this one already. I did this world and kind of… crushed it.” - The Stolen Century 1

“I’m begging you, let me finish this and we can talk about it.” - Story and Song, Finale 1

“Are you my friend?” - The Stolen Century 4

“To have friendship, Merle, it requires you to...[sighs] love someone.” - The Stolen Century 4

“Our capacity for love increases with each person we cross paths with throughout our lives, and with each moment we spend with those people.” - The Stolen Century 5

“I said: I love you, Jules.” -The Eleventh Hour 8

“You are my heart.” - The Stolen Century 6

“I - I love you dad.” - Story and Song, Finale 3

“I love you too, baby.” - Story and Song, Finale 3

“And these things, Merle, friendship and love and happiness, they’re- they’re all so… small.” - The Stolen Century 4

“But I’ve been living a hundred years with me and one year with millions of people.” - The Stolen Century 7

“Honestly; do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” - Story and Song, Finale 1

“Everybody else that I ever met, aside from the six of you, were dust.” - The Stolen Century 7

“Dead…got turned into ash.” - Lunar Interlude V, Reunion Tour 1

“They were just talking dust.” - The Stolen Century 7

“I have nothing, and I don’t give a shit. The world is ending, and I. Don't. Care.” - Story and Song, Finale 1

“But the one thing we do have, is the thing that people in love rarely ever have enough of. And it’s time.” - The Stolen Century 5

“You found her! Maybe not how you expected to, but when you weren’t looking you found her.” - Story and Song, Finale 1

“Who?” - The Stolen Century 7

“I wonder which one would be worse to take from you: the person that you loved or the person that you… hate.” - The Suffering Game 5

“They are beings of pure, concentrated evil.” - The Suffering Game 1

“And they’ve all been evil?” - The Suffering Game 1

“Invariably.” - The Suffering Game 1

“Lup, they don't trust me.” - The Eleventh Hour 9

“The light is a sickeningly powerful energy source. Any items powered by that energy are going to be...devastating.” - The Stolen Century 7

“This is it!” - The Stolen Century 7

“Lup made us promise that we would never again put a world in danger just to thwart The Hunger's plans. And that is exactly, exactly, what we did to this world!” - Story and Song, Finale 1

“Did we make the right decision?” - The Stolen Century 7

“Sometimes there aren’t right decisions. Sometimes there’s just decisions.” - The Stolen Century 7

“Kind of seems like I've got you right here.” - The Stolen Century 4

“And the devastation it wreaks is immeasurable.” - The Stolen Century 7

“What if you didn’t have to worry and you could just cut out the bullshit and do good recklessly?” - The Eleventh Hour 7

“Merle...will you sit with me? Just...just for a moment?” - Story and Song, Finale 3

“...You got it, buddy.” - Story and Song, Finale 3

“And suddenly thousands of bonds are threaded between the three of you.” - Story and Song, Finale 3

“I know we don’t say this enough, but… Thank you.” - The Stolen Century 7

“I saw seven birds: The Twins.” - The Crystal Kingdom 11

“You ready bro?” - The Stolen Century 7

“Hell yeah!” - The Stolen Century 7

“The Lover.” - The Crystal Kingdom 11

“It’s only been twe— Um… Twenty-one years…” - The Stolen Century 3

“The Protector.” - The Crystal Kingdom 7

“Magnus rushes in.” - Story and Song, Finale 3

“The Lonely Journal Keeper.” - The Crystal Kingdom 7

“I’m gonna save us all, I - I promise.” - Story and Song, Finale 1

“The Peacemaker.” - The Crystal Kingdom 7

“I find joy whatever I do.” - The Stolen Century 4

“And The Wordless One.” - The Crystal Kingdom 7

“Have we not… earned a little wrath?” - The Stolen Century 6

“You got all the time in the world, my man.” - The Stolen Century 3

[inkskinned]

i. my brother calls for the 3rd time today. nobody i know has been sleeping well. we are all worried about prion disease. he and i discuss the book we've been reading. when we were kids, he and i used to spend hours playing video games - but i can't do that anymore. it gives me anxiety.

ii. so i make a joke that god accidentally siphoned me into a slurpie. he spat me back out onto the pavement, so i could glisten under the sun in a pink froth. something about a life ruined next to an oil slick. i think if you were born in the 90's you deserve financial compensation. other kids don't understand: it really was a different world we grew up in.

iii. i am ever-more convinced that when you raise children on an endless supply of the apocalypse, the only next step for them is to turn and swallow the sun.

vi. i think there is a way to be brave like a rabid dog. i think there is a way to be brave like shark teeth. like gun-goes-off. i think there is a way to take the mistake and shove it into a gift box and say - it's mine, so it's home. and if it's not home, fine. i'll make it something.

v. okay. okay. stand up for a second. no, i haven't slept either. we're not gonna get any sleep tonight neither.

vi. don't you get it? he calls me and talks about the book because we read books together instead now. don't you get it? i wanted to be a spilled drink so i could be sweet & messy. don't you get it? i am going to coat the throat of every person who is singing. i am going to rush out over this world like lighting. i am here because of the things that could-not-kill me, because of the things i wouldn't let touch me.

vii. don't you get it? jack london says i'd rather be ashes than dust. i am sinking my teeth into a life like a fire. no one from this generation is doing fine. but we are here and it's sometimes half-hearted but. i think love made a jump somewhere in there and twisted her ankle and since then we're all just-about-to-get-up. since then we've been dragging our run.

viii. so get up. be alive like a coke can bursting. be alive like a cracked sundial. like sword on the back. be alive like the multitudes you contain are all talking, are all humming, are about to start unionizing. be alive in the way your parents would hate, alive like a bruise. alive like a stain.

ix. where there isn't a bed, find rest anyway. where there isn't time to be okay, do well-enough. god left you as a spaghetti noodle on the other side of wasteland. all raw-skin and panting. you had to go out and hunt down peace until you could clasp it in your bare hands, shiny and buzzing. you made good and kind out of your own temperance and bone. you shaped it from red mud and the heads of barbie dolls. you found a way through the gristle. you found a way home.

x. little grinch child, scarab beetle, precious thing. tell the always-ending world: that which you give me. i keep surviving.

[markpellegrinoimagines]

Soulmate V.2

Request: Could you do a soulmate with lucifer, He kidnaps her and she can see his wings.

Tw: Wing!kink, Smut, Kidnapping, Rough!Foreplay

-

Sam and Dean were always telling her that she was too bold. Unafraid of the consequences as she stared down adversaries wether they were demons, Or Angel's. It's most likely why she'd ended up in her current situation. Y/n had been trailing a demon for days now, the black eyed bastard was the best lead she had for tracking down an important artifact. She'd been stopped for the night, taking a much needed rest after days of stalking her prey.

That's when the dammed thing struck. She was fresh from a shower with a towel wrapped tightly around her form when pain exploded across the back of her head and the sight of her meager room went black, with her body hitting the floor with a loud thump.

Y/n felt feeling returning to her limbs, and her senses slowly slipped back into awareness. The first thing to hit her was the smell. It was musty, like old mildew and dust. The next was sound. Aged creaking of settling rafters and the squeak of old springs when she shifts against the uncomfortable surface she was laid upon.

Slowly and very carefully, Y/n pushed herself up until she could look around through hazy vision at what appeared to be an abandoned studio apartment. She was laid out in a dust covered bed and could feel the grit of it scraping across her skin. Not far from the bed was a living area with worn down couches and a coffee table with several layers of dust across its surface.

A chill sent shivers racing up and down her spine, and she snapped her gaze down. The damp towel shed been wrapped in after her shower was slipping loose, revealing bare skin, and she hurriedly pulled it tight, covering her extremities.

She slipped her legs over the edge of the bed and slowly ended up into her feet. The back of her skull throbbed with each movement, and the floor boards creaked under her feet. Couldn't the demon have waited until she at least had some clothes on?

There wasn't a single article of fabric she could use to cover herself. The place was picked clean, and she wasn't willing to come in contact with those bed sheets any longer than she'd already had.

"Oh fuck me.."

A dark chuckle and a freezing cold filled the room, making her whip around until she was facing the new threat. "Was that an invitation? I'm flattered, Little Human..." Glaciap blue eyes slid up and down her form, lingering on the lower hem of the towel. "Did you dress this way just for me~?"

Lucifer waited for her response. This was his first time meeting the little hunter that was often seen around the Winchester boys. She was quite the sight. He'd been expecting more flannel and crass remarks. Not this sweet little human with wide e/c eyes. In fact... it was as if she wasn't even looking at him. Her gaze was locked up and over his shoulder and her pupils were trembling with what he could only assume was awe.

Y/n had paused in what she'd been planning to say as she watched the large shimmering mass shift behind the form of the tall blue-eyed blonde. The more she focused on the ethereal mass, the more detailed it became. Six large arching wings hung from the man's back, They were a smokey silver tipped in burnt Pink and veins of glittering gold through every quill. Each shift sent a wave of ash to the floor.

They were gorgeous. Their unique and tragic beauty had her completely captured by awe. The urge to run her fings through the mass of feathers was strong. She completely zoned out the Blondes words.

Lucifer was feeling his patience wain. He'd wanted long enough, and the human hadn't even met his gaze for a mere second. Did she believe she was better than him? He slowly stalked forward, an angry frown beginning to pull at the edge of his lips before it lifted into a cruel grin. She still wasn't meeting his eyes.

His fingers closed around the weak column of her neck. She was so vulnerable and frail.. He ignored the small thrill that ran through him as he examined the way his vessels hand looked around her throat.

He could feel her pulse hammering away beneath the pads of his fingers. The beat, a salacious dance, tempted him in closer as he eyed her with glowing red eyes.

"I'll not be ignored by a sniveling little Mud-"

"Your wings are so beautiful...~"

Lucifers jaw shut with a clack of teeth and a crack of the joint. Her words echoed in his skull, buzzing around his grace. What did she just say?

His fingers tightened further and was soon joined by his other hand, caging in her cheeks.

"Repeat that, Now!?"

Y/n swallowed as an embered heat warmed her lower belly. A small hint of concern ebbed its way through the back of her mind. All logic was seeping out of her ears in the presence of this angel. It was just her luck she somehow managed to capture the interest of Lucifer, and now she couldn't even keep her head on straight. His hands squeezing her vulnerable throat should not be making her nearly as hot bother as it is.

"I said, You're wings are beautiful... I.."

Lucifers thoughts were moving a mile a second, A mate.. A soulmate..

Out of all the things his father could have done.. A human soulmate..

A humorless chuckle slipped past his lips. Was this his punishment? His eyes once again trailed down her toweled form, and the cleavage he could see wrapped loosely in its soft hold. His smirk grew as something settled over him..

Or maybe it wasnt..~

"You know little human~ I had you grabbed because of your relation to the winchesters. But it's seems," His slowly slid up one of his hands to run his fingers through h/l h/c locks, "I've found a different reason to keep you around..."

He watched her brows furrow in confusion, only to lift in alarm when chilled lips descend om her own. Capturing them in a demanding and devouring press. Two prodding tips slowly pride her lips open until he was able to twirl his split tongue around her warm muscle.

Y/n was lost the second his lips brushed hers. The low embers in her gut flared to life in an explosion of desire and need as she raised trembling hands to press almost uncertainly into the soft mass of feathers. That one touch unlocked the flood works as lucifer trembled against her and a dark needy groan was growled into her open mouth.

Freezing palms hooked underneath her bare thighs, and she barely recognized the twisting feeling of the world warping around her in a flurry of feathers and wind. Her back connected with silky smooth fabric as she was roughly pinned down against a soft bouncy surface.

Y/n cracked open her eyes and pulled her lips from the angels, scanning their new surroundings. The room was dark with an arched ceiling. The bed she'd been pressed down into had a large canopy hung above with deep red curtains closing them inside.

Soon, her attention was being drawn back to lucifer. Unable to stray away for long. E/c eyes widened considerably as she takes in the swath of bared skin. When had he...?

"When.."

"Shhh..." A chilled finger pressed against her lips quieting her thoughts as he used his free hand to arrange her legs around his waist and situate his hardened length between slick folds.

Y/n whined low in her throat when those first few rolls of his hips had his tip knocking against her sensitive clit. When it catches against her dripping entrance before slipping up to bounce against that nub, she lets out a loud whimper.

"That's it, Just like that little Human~ let me hear your pleasure."

As soon as his finger slipped free from her lips, a loud moan of his name filled the space, "Lucifer!~"

It tapered off into a gasping and breathy mewl as the chilled flesh of his length began to stretch her open, inch by inch. Heels dug into his back, urging her forward until his hips were flush with her own, and he was growling possessive obscenities into the shell of her ear.

"Made just for me, my own little human.. to keep.. to claim and Fill~ All mine!" His hips snapped harshly into the Crease of her thighs, carving her dripping walls open with every body jolting lunge of hips. The obscene smack of thighs was accompanied with gasping mewls from his little souldmates lips.

"Lu-Lucifer!! Ah~ Harder..please~!"

His response was a growl and glowing red eyes. Blunt chilled nails dug divots into her waist, holding her in place, giving him more leverage with every thrust. She could already feel the coil tightening up in her gut, threatening to snap at any second. It seemed even the Archangel rutting her into the sheets was needing the edge of pleasure.

A tsunami of ecstasy threatening to drown them both within the coiling Abyss of need sinking its claws into them both. Lucifers hands slipped up her waist until his palms were caging her cheeks and pulling her melting lips to meet his own in a possessive kiss. Her owns fingers slunk up and around his shoulders to trail teasingly along the muscled ridge of his wings.

They shuttered against her touch, and then she sank her hands into the feathers. It was all Lucifer needed to be sent crashing over the edge, his teeth scraping teasingly against her bottom lip.

Y/ns legs tightened around his hips as a warmth spread through her lower gut, Lucifer rolled his hips, pressing his release deeper into her core with every grunt and meeting of flesh. Her little whimpers were music to his ears as he nipped his teeth against her shoulder.

"You won't be leaving this bed, I'll have you begging me for my touch, Mewling and crying for more~"

He watched her cheeks flush, and he could barely restrain himself as he felt those little human fingers once again tease through ashen feathers.

"Please, Lucifer~ Don't stop.."

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