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netherfeildren · 10 months ago

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Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 3.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Angst & Yearning™️; Slow Burn; Sexual Inexperience; Cock Riding; Size Difference; Size Kink; Sex Ed for Omega’s 101; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Discussions of Heats and Knots and Slick, Oh My!; Virginity; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: FYI I do mention that she has small breasts in this one only because I usually write big boobs and thought it was time for some itty bitty titty committee representation.

Word Count: 13.9K

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2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Existence is a strange thing, a needful thing. Something to be sated, filled, satisfied, this ordeal of being a living, breathing person. And to be an unusual sort of person, someone with needs extra to what the regular sort would require, doubly strange.

You had always thought, in different ways, that the mating program, although a choice thief, a freedom thief, was also benevolent in its control in some ways. After all, it gave those of you who were of the not usual sort, alphas and omegas, that such thing that you needed so badly.

Each other.

A bad, terrible, devastating thing that in turn gives you something necessary, life changing, life fulfilling, even, perhaps.

When your aunt had died and you’d been taken away and then put away and then shut away for what seemed would be forever, it had not, at first, in your child’s mind, seemed so terrible. But with the years, that existence you bore that needed, it began to hurt. It eventually became a very terrible thing that in turn, had taken away your ability to recognize yourself, as well. The reality that you’d been caged because of what you were, perhaps not particularly who, but certainly, what, was, at first, difficult to see. And then, when you did see it, even more difficult to look at.

A thing caged because of what it is. And again, existence is a strange and needful thing. Caged because of what you exist as; caged because of what you need because of what you are. Caged because they can give you what will sate you.

You open your eyes slowly, the bright, waning golden light of dusk shooting over the edge of the end of the world; bleeding pinks and violets feeding the fire. And he’s there, in a deeply set arm chair pulled up by the hearth, staring into the flames, and you realize, like you’d never truly considered before, that the cage was in part also his fault. That in ways, you’d been put away also because of what he is. You wonder if this should make you angry, resentful. If it should mean you should not want to be here, langoring so comfortably in his home that he’d brought you to. This man who you do not know, who does not so much even look like he wants to know you. In ways, your caging is his fault. And certainly, concretely, the prolonging of that caging was entirely of his doing. So why is there no resentment?

Once, one of the other omegas had said that they were brainwashing all of you. Preparing you, ripening you for slaughter. He’d come in later than the rest of you, when he was more grown, more mature, when he’d seen more things in his before life. He had lots of opinions, lots of thoughts, said that your before life, those ten years of living with your aunt, of only being a child like all the rest of them and not an omega, did not count. He said you’d been too young to understand all you’d lost. A boy named Leo. He was kind, but he was angry. And his anger frightened you. It was something you did know, in the sense that you could recognize it, for you’d seen anger before, but you could not understand it. For some reason, maybe you were built wrongly, and Leo was right, and you should have been angry like him, but you could never find it within yourself to muster it. Maybe there was nothing wrong about it. Maybe everyone was simply built and made and felt differently and that was fine too. But you knew that he was wrong on some accounts, particularly, that your before life had counted, that your aunt, who you remembered with so much love, had counted. And most of all, what he was most painfully wrong about, was that you did, and deeply, understand all you had lost.

After all, you could only see the sky for one hour a day, every other day, now, and that one hour made your understanding of everything around you, everything happening to you, keen and painful and humiliating in a very clear way.

The last rays of the sun wash Joel in vibrant orange reds now. A slash of glowing vermillion across his face, something almost violent about the streak of light, something possessive, and you focus your eyes intently on the sight of his face. This man, this alpha, who for all intents and purposes would or could own you as declared by the government or nature or even Leo and all he’d said would happen once you’d been claimed.

But there was one last thing he’d been wrong about, that young, angry boy, and what you felt was the greatest chasm between the way the two of you had existed within your new designations, which was that, at one very recent point in Leo’s memory, he had belonged to someone, to somewhere. He’d had a place and a home and a family, and he had belonged, and you had never had that. Your aunt, despite her love for you, had been too old and tired to want you, truly want you. You had never been wanted in any soft, true way by anyone before. And looking at him now, you don’t think Joel could ever be capable of wanting anything in a soft way, but you do think he could want something in a true way, and you’re certain that could be more than enough for you.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Your voice, scratchy and small from sleep, floating away from you towards him. He jerks, the twitching returned, head snapping towards you, eyes wide, moving forward in his seat as if he’d spring out of it and towards you without thought. His scent seems to be heightened somehow now. As if your sleep had awakened your senses in new, keener ways. You can feel him tickling the back of your throat, threading his way through your hair, beneath your clothes, between your legs.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, ignoring your question. “When was the last time you ate? You need to eat.” And again that frown, too many fast words.

“Why didn't you come for me?” You press. “They told me you didn’t know if you wanted to come, that you wouldn't answer. I want to know why.”

He sighs a heavy, heaving thing, falling back in the chair, and turns back to the fire, and you want to whine and cry until he puts his attention back on you. You feel so… so– you don’t know. Little, unmade, with a need to be big, to grow and grow and grow so that all the things you feel and want might fit inside of you, so that he might fit inside of you. You feel hungry as if your gums ache and sting with a desire you’ve never tasted before. But also, and despite all of these conflicting, churning things, you also feel so inexplicably at ease. He’s just there, and you are just here, and you’ll make him answer, you know you have it in you to make him do the things you want, and you can’t say how, you don’t know how, but you understand that you do.

There’s power in that – even as you are, all you are not, you can see it – the ability something small possesses to make something big move, do, be. There’s power in that.

You whine low in your throat, and he turns back to you, something dark and tumultuous in his eyes, brow crooked sternly, but he opens his mouth. “I was going to leave you there,” he says, and you immediately wish he’d shut it. Never mind, you want to tell him, you say all the wrong things.

“But why? I was waiting for you.” Whine, whine, whine.

“I didn’t want this. I never have.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me?” You ask again, just to be absolutely certain you’re understanding that you’ve once again found yourself in a place where you are not wanted for, or despite of, the thing that you are. The logistics, the intricacies of it don’t seem to matter as much anymore, after everything, the before life, the not life, all that matters now is the yes or no.

But he goes silent again, attention back toward the fire, the sun set, no more glowing vermillion slash, very little hope now too.

He ignores your question again. “Tell me about the place they kept you,” he says instead.

“There’s nothing to tell.” You want to cry now, for the first time, besides the tears of initial happiness when he’d finally walked into your white box, you want to cry. You dig stubby nails into the round of your knee, hard as you can, trying to make it hurt and distract. “It was very calm and very quiet.”

“Did you have friends?” He won’t turn back to look at you, and it makes you feel very lacking. Very much like the nothing they tried to make you feel you were before.

“No. They wouldn’t let us.”

“They wouldn’t let you have friends?”

“No. They said it would agitate us – too much socialization. Really, they just didn’t want us realizing, becoming angry and aware”

This makes him turn, makes you feel, within yourself, the anger you’re telling him of, like oh, now, when I’ve been shocking and honest, you look at me – after I waited all that time for you. There is no resentment about the cage, only for the waiting. You should stick your tongue out at him, make him an ugly face, turn over and go back to sleep and ignore him the way he’d ignore you. But no, you think, let him see that you do understand, and you do know some things, that you are angry, and Leo was right.

“What did you do then?” He asks.

“I read. I learned about myself, about you. About what we are.”

His gaze is so intense now, a ricochet, a scream, something very persistently sad. “And what are we?”

“People just like all the rest of them. But with more necessity.”

“How do you mean?”

You tip your head side to side, bright fire eyed gaze to bright fire eyed gaze. Your cheeks feel molten, sweltering, sweat at your nape, the fire in the hearth so bright, but not as bright as you; your belly glows. This is what you are, this is what you’d been made into. “There is so much necessity in existing, don’t you think?”

He tips his chin, he doesn’t understand.

“We need so many things. We require so much to be alive, to be what we are, to be satisfied and content.”

“Do we?”

“The things we are, yes. I think so.”

“You don’t seem like you spent years in that place,” he says, voice slow, molasses in the notes. There’s something hypnotized slumbering in him that forces something satisfied to swell within you. Your belly glows.

“I had a before life. People forget that.”

“I read in your file — you lived with an aunt.”

You wait for the: only for ten years, but the diminishing does not come. “Yes. She was kind, and I remember all of it, even if the rest of the world forgets it happened.”

“Did they ever mistreat you? At the facility–”

“No. Never. There was nothing.” You’re the one to turn away now. The sun has entirely gone away, a single glowing sliver just at the drop off of the end of the world. You stick your hand out straight ahead of you, fingertip following that line of fading light through air and space and sea.

He watches you unblinkingly, and asks, “What do you mean?” The far off light glows through your skin, through your fingernail; he follows the path of your hand.

You can pretend in your mind that you feel the warmth of it against your fingertip, that it scorches the way it glows, heats the length of your limb, feeds the same glow in your belly, but there’s no more possessive streak of light to wrap around you; now, the heat only lives within you. This is what you are, this is what they said would happen, and now it’s finally happening. You let your arm fall back to your lap, limp, and turn to look at him again. He looks so angry, and you feel so incredibly sad for him. This cold perch, this cage that is not white like your box, but dark and struck right on the edge of peril, this place he chose to exile himself to. They were honest, in the things they'd told you all, the truth of the way alphas exist out in the world. Lonely and ostracized and feared, brainwashed to your reality maybe, sure, the way Leo claimed. But in certain things, they’d been honest, and you’re glad for it, that you have the ability to understand him now from this vantage point. The reality of how he exists, the reason for that look in his eyes, it all makes sense to you.

“I suppose that can be a kind of bad thing… a mistreatment. Making nothing of us, of our lives, taking the whole world away until someone chooses to come and give it back to us.”

He flinches, the look shutters, clicks and flashes, a camera capturing the truth of what the two of you have already done to each other without even really knowing one another at all. “I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I took so long.” The words cost him something the way all truths cost something. “That I wasn’t there for you as soon as I should have been.”

“Why weren’t you?” You ask, although you know.

“I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not– I’m not right. I’m not well.” And this costs him more than the rest, you can see. The thump, thump, beat of his heart in his throat. You should tell him to stop, mercy is power, but you think, feel, that this pound of flesh you’re demanding via his truths is what you’re owed for your life and a year of waiting. And anyways, you’ll pay your own pound of flesh in kind eventually, and it’ll cost, even if it’s freely given, it’ll still cost. Everything is equal here, it’s only that it takes a certain kind of eye to realize the truth of that.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything, what I am, the whole thing of it and this. It’s all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.” And he looks suddenly angry, aged, wearing all his years and all his very obvious loneliness, teeth bared but on the verge of falling out.

“No…” you say slowly, thinking, rationalizing, a rolodex of truths in your mind. What you are, what I am, what we all are and all the honesties that compromise us. “I don’t, but I understand anyway. They make you all nothing, as well, don’t they? They take it all away, all nothing until you have one of us. It’s a terrible way to live.” And you don’t ask him, it’s not a question, only a very obvious thing.

Your words upset him, put him right at the mouth of madness, all those shakes and jitters returned, but you only lay your head back down on the soft pillow he’d tucked beneath you, hands folded undercheek to wait for the explosion that does not come. There’s something in you that wants to see him angry, angry like Leo, like the boy who’d said you didn't have to be what they told you to be, that reminded you that you could choose for yourself. One of the few things you’d agreed on, despite and inspite of the friendship that they would not let you have but that would have blossomed anyways if they’d given you the time. They wanted to make you nothing, but you didn’t want to be nothing. You wanted very much to be alive and to belong.

You realize, watching Joel muzzle his nature before your very eyes, wondering if the truth of him would have him springing up out of the chair to smother you with his weight and temper you with his knot, subdued with his teeth sunken into the gland at the back of your neck, that you want to see him angry. You realize that you want to see him break, that you want to hear that truth no matter what it costs the either of you. You want to see him honest.

He struggles, a dog fight right before your eyes, but when he wins, it changes the game, turns the truth chimeral. Makes you see him in a different way, and all at the same time, makes you aware and even more comfortable than you’d already been. You’re safe here. He is safe. Most importantly, you want to be here.

“Let me show you your room,” he says after a deep breath.

“My room?” A little seedling of dread and sadness and disappointment.

He shows you to a bedroom hued in soft blues. The sea when it is gentle, the sky when it’s joyous. Everything comfortable, nothing white, like he’d known already.

He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the entry, as if scared to step foot into this serene pool of azure and marr it’s peace. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you move around, no shoes, no socks, slowly running your fingers over all the soft surfaces, sweaty little toes sunken into the deep pile of the rug underfoot.

“I wanted you to have somewhere to adjust– where you’d have privacy. I’m sure this– that I– that it’s all a shock…” he stutters.

One of his boots inches forward, snaps back, like he wants to follow, like he needs to follow, like nature is right here in the room with the two of you, but he wins that dog fight again, holds back. Frustrating.

“I’m not shocked. But I– I won’t stay with you?”

“No,” he says with a finality that makes that seedling bloom in full. “I also got you clothes. And– and soft things. I know your sort–”

You give a soft huff of air through your nose, my sort… our sort.

“Like things like that. And I also… I also put some of my own things in the drawers,” he nods towards a dark mahogany dresser shoved up against the wall; shy and boyish and hesitant all wrapped into a package that would seem to be none of those things. “They say that helps.”

“Okay… thank you.”

“Went into town to get it,” he says of the robin's eggshell blue duvet, a more dove gray blue wash for the silk soft sheets beneath. It’s all beautiful and delicate and lace trimmed and looking at him, huge and rough and something like a lonely mountain, you can’t believe he’d chosen this for you. “Lady at the store said you’d like it when I picked it out.” And that makes satisfaction smother the seedling, yes, he’d chosen it for you. A good sign.

“You went into town to get me things?”

“I told you I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.” Something about the sentence tickles your mind, but then you’re lowering yourself onto the cloud soft bed, cool silk and cotton beneath your skin, sliding against his clothes, your belly glows bright. You’re full of distractions and truth. “There’re a couple of young women that live down aways.” Young women? You perk up at the thought. Friends? “Ellie and Dina. Two young alphas, and they’re good people. I’ll take you down to meet them soon, when you’re ready.”

“Two alphas?”

“They’re a couple.”

“Like– like in love?”

He hovers at the edge of the rug with that strange look in his eyes again, the one from before – I’m only an omega, you don’t have to be afraid of me – and a palpable desperation to cross the border you don’t think he’s even aware he’s letting you in on, but that you can see nonetheless. Two fingers tucked into the line of his belt, twisted there as if grasping for restraint.

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“I didn’t know alphas could do that… that they’d let you.”

“Reckon it’s why they came all the way out here, to be honest, for freedom. But ‘course they can – be together, that is. We can do what we please, despite what they’d have us believe.” And Leo’s words ring in your mind again. Perhaps everyone sees the truth of what you are except for you. The seedling grows vines, suffocates. All the hope you’d thought would live here seems to have never even existed at all. You feel, for the first time, heavy with all the things you do not know, all the things you lack, all the inexperience and naivety like ignorance thick and cloying in your blood. “From what I understand, Dina presented late, after they’d already gotten together. And by that time it was a done deal, they were in love, no going back. And anyway, they make it work, make it look easy as nothin’, to be frank.” He runs a big hand over the back of his skull, and the way he lifts his arm has the thick of his bicep bunching, fat ball of muscle just there for your teeth to sink into. You shift restlessly on the bed.

“Easy as nothin’,” you say slowly, trying to imitate the dip and pitch of his drawl. Your fingertip follows the line of stitching in the duvet, petting at the seams holding it together. “Is that how we’ll be too?” And although you mean the words, intend the question, you’re suddenly awash with shy regret for asking, even though you can’t say exactly why. Probably for the look on his face, which goes immediately dark and serious, and even yet, you persist. “Will it be easy for us too?” And you’re sure your voice must sound like you’re begging.

“No. It won’t. It won’t be like that between us. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to acclimatize to being out of that place,” that place, he says like a curse, and it makes you angry, “To bein’ out in the world, and then we’ll find somewhere for you. Somewhere that’s safe and comfortable where you’ll be able to make your own life.”

“I don’t– I don’t understand,” you tell him, but it’s a lie. You do understand, you see, and very clearly, that all you’d waited for during your life, the before, the not life, the extra year, it had all been in vain, for nothing. It would not be given to you here.

“What don’t you understand?” And his tone is cruel and spitting, making you flinch. “I’m sending you away soon. This is what I’m saying.”

“But I don’t– No–” You’d waited so long. He’s being so mean, and you tell him so.

“Yes. You need to be with people your own age. You need to see the world and grow up,” and what a horrible thing to say, you think – to grow up. As if it were not a thing you’d been forced to do already all on your own, without anyone to help you.

“Well then what do you care about what I need? You make no sense!” And you bare your teeth at him. “If you don’t want me–”

But he cuts you off, broad palm held up in a staying gesture, and it’s so incongruous with all the rest of it, that you want to laugh in his face. “Didn’t say I don’t want’cha.” And that frown again, he makes no sense, the tip of his boot makes landfall in the high piled rug, halfway in, hypnotized and compelled in full. You settle on the bed and feel very calm despite the too fast beat of the thing that moves and lives within you, despite your anger and confusion.

And through the beat and the heat and the sweat on your neck, despite the shyness you’ve forgotten is shyness right at this moment, but that you’re sure will return later because this is what you are and this is what you were made for: him. You ask, “Then are you going to knot me now?” Because if he’s going to send you away, then surely he’ll give you that before you go, surely he’ll still want that from you.

He splutters, going all red in the face as if the notion of a young omega asking the experienced alpha she’s been presented with to do that most basic thing his nature demands, is something out of the ordinary. “What? No– no.” But despite his supposed refusal, he takes two steps forward towards you. Venturing further onto the soft piled rug, leaving large crushing footprints in his wake.

“Later then?” You ask very pragmatically.

“No. Absolutely not. There will be no knotting.”

You shake your head at him, small frown between your brows, but still feeling calm despite the tragedy. Forcing that horrible seedling down into submission, the vines smothering all your hope. “But what do you mean?” And you feel like a child.

“I’m not going to fuck you. We aren’t doin’ any of that. You’re too– you’re too young, practically a girl.” A child. He has an accent that thickens with agitation, the ends of his words sluicing off between his tongue and teeth and anger while he hurts you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, and it isn’t a question anymore, only an obvious thing.

His eyes go very dark, and you want to turn away, look back at the edge of the world and the bright glow of the sun being swallowed by it. “I don’t want that.” And the way he spits the words hurts, making you a thing impossible to desire.

“You don’t want me,” again, repeated, so the both of you can bask in the truth of it.

But it snaps something in the room, or in him, or amidst the honesty being brought out here and now. He takes two ground-eating steps forward to loom over you aggressively, forcing you to fall back on your elbows, looking up at him wide eyed but still inexplicably not afraid, only a greater thing than what can be called merely disappointed. And yet, not disappointed enough to not notice the way one of his knees presses against the inside of one of yours. “I should get to have a fucking choice too, shouldn’t I? Like you, locked away in that horrible place–”

“It wasn’t horrible,” you try and say, but you don’t think he hears.

“The way you had all your choices and freedoms stripped. Shouldn’t I also be allowed to have one single goddamn thing?” Where else would I have gone if not there? “A choice – to say, no, stop, I don’t want this.” He’s so angry, and it is all suddenly so clear, and he finally grabs you, pulling you up by the bend of your elbow, the small joint almost crushed in his massive fist to pull you halfway up off the bed and towards him, getting in your face with all his anger.

Leo’s voice again, you don’t have to be what they tell you to be, you can choose for yourself. This is what Joel wants too.

“You can’t end up stuck out here at the end of the world with some washed up old alpha who can’t give you a quarter of what you need and deserve. I won’t let you. I won’t,” he snarls.

But despite your greenness, your naivety or your ignorance or your youth, you think: how dare he? “And what about what I want? What about my choices? Or are you going to be just like all the rest of them? Like the whole world telling me I’m too insignificant and too stupid to decide for myself? Just locked away in another cage–” You spit at him, trying to claw and shove at him, stubby nails digging at the sun pebbled skin of his throat, yanking at his too long hair and patchy beard, inadvertently pulling yourself closer to him. He grunts, struggling to take you in hand, slippery thing you can make yourself into when you really want, and you, trying your mightiest to hurt him any way you can as he’s already decided he’s going to hurt you with his rejection. “Is that what you are? Just like all the rest of them?” You cry amidst your struggle, choked with tears and being too little to be effective but too big for your own skin.

You shove at his jaw, trying to scratch at his cheek, but he grips you full around either arm, locking you in place and gives you a swift but measured jerk, jostling you into submission, trapping your hands bent as they are up by his neck so that one small palm is sliding to the back of his nape, over the gland behind his ear, at that soft vulnerable hollow, and coming to rest at the one in back, at the base of his neck beneath his collar. Both of you go still as stone, frozen by the truth of what you both are and how inescapable it all is, reality held in the palm of your hand.

Obvious: a designation is not a thing you can ever hide. Alphas and omegas wear it on their bodies like markers. Glands scattered at different places: behind the ears, at the base of the neck, inside the wrists and ankles; vulnerabilities that when acknowledged, bitten, seal a mating bond. Places that if handled properly, turn you into nothing but what you are at your basest nature. And you can’t help yourself – at the feel the spongy patch of skin, slightly raised and slightly rougher than the rest of him, a place that when in rut or in heat, would become, will become, extra sensitive, extra swollen, extra ripe – when you slowly slide your fingers against it, feeling the texture of it, the way it’s even hotter than the already sweltering rest of him.

He growls low and rumbling in his chest, that sound again, and he’s so angry, it’s painted all over his face in shades of defiance; coming off of him like radiation, angry at you, angry at the truth of what you both are, angry at himself and the world and all of it, but he pulls you closer anyways, tugging your forward by his grip on your arms which is starting to mimic the ache you’re suffering at that place between your legs you long to show him, pulling you in so that the tips of your breasts, covered beneath his thick sweater and the too thin, soft bra they gave all the omegas who needed them, brush against the thick of his chest, pulling a soft breath of a moan from your tongue.

“You’re being so mean to me,” you whisper. “And I don’t deserve it. And I waited so long for you and you never came for me, and now this is how you’re treating me,” you say with a hiccup and a tear, and you feel little and big and that place that calls for him pulses and hurts and leaks. He’s so mean and you’re so sad and you want him and you can’t understand why he’s being this way when you were made for him and he for you, and if nothing else was right in this world, then this was the thing that was supposed to be.

His eyes shift quickly back and forth between both of yours, that frown, mouth turned down, his mustache that connects to the patchiness of his beard showing how contrary he finds you. You frown back at him, trying to pull away, whining when he tightens, pulls you closer, right up to his face as if he needs to inspect you even more closely. Your toes aren’t touching the rug anymore, scraping against the thick round of his boots, and you won’t have it. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll show him. “You think that because I’m little and young and easily bruised that I’m not in control.” It’s not a question. If you could grow fangs, you would. If you could rip him to shreds, you would. “That I can’t control you. But I made you come for me, didn’t I?” Now you laugh at him, now you show him. “I knew if I wrote to you, you’d come, and you did. I made you come. I made you.” And saying it feels like victory, so you don’t care that it makes his face crack, you don’t care that he pushes away from you, letting you fall back onto the bed with a limp bounce, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You don’t give a thistle for choices. You want to be selfish, you want to be alive, you want to see the sky. You have the sea now, and you want to be this thing you are because this is already you, this is what you were made into, and you have no choice but to bask in it, and you won’t bend to him or give it up for him only because he can’t accept the same of himself, only because he’s still trapped in his own white box.

He knows, as soon as you make whatever stupid decision it is that you’re making, that something’s off. A shift in the air in the house, his heart beating funny, his scent changing because his body knows you’re not in its immediate vicinity anymore, something that tells him off, off, off, be vigilant, she needs you so much, you can’t fail again. He reminds himself of all the decisions he’s already made, of what he knows he wants and does not want, of what he is and what he is not.

After he’d stormed out of your room – I made you – he’d retreated to hide in his own bedroom, to the other big chair by the fireplace in here, cowering like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, forcing himself to listen to you cry for hours, the whine and whimper of an omega in need of something he was made to give, and yet will not. As if a little thing like you could make him do anything. Him. He grits his teeth, chews on his own tongue, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair to force himself to remain seated in place, to not return to you, to not give you all the things he knows you need and want to be soothed by.

He can smell your scent changing already, reacting to him, reducing him to nothing, entirely effective in your conquering. And he’d stupidly thought that perhaps the heat, and the rut that it would yield, would wait, give him a moment of reprieve or compassion before it came for him. A moment to think. He thought he’d have more time, a chance to escape the thing he so desperately wants but cannot and will not let himself have, refuses to give in to. His body stirs and smolders, and like he’d done for eleven years and then one, he ignores it. He ignores the truth of who and what he really is.

He sits in his chair, head propped up against the back, and listens to your cries and mewls ebb and quiet until finally, he thinks you might have sobbed yourself to sleep. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the absolute last thing he could ever, ever want. Everything, not only in his nature, but in his character, in the things that make him up as a man who’d want a woman like you, is clamoring within him to go to you, to give you what you want, to sooth you with his voice and his scent and his cock. To fuck you into your heat until you’re soft and slick and fevered enough to take his knot, to let him breed you, to let him mate you. His cock stirs and thickens beneath the rough confines of his jeans, that thicket of skin at the base where his knot waits in ready for you, simmering with heat and tightness. He digs his knuckles into his temple until it hurts.

You don’t want me… Of course he fucking wants you. He’d have taken your cunt for himself right there in that white box room, on your rickety little iron cot for all the surrounding omegas and witless betas to hear without giving a single shit what anyone said or thought if he had any sort of right or will or choice. If he had anything more to give you. And then watching you go right to sleep when he’d brought you into his home, the sight of you feeling so immediately safe and content, ready to nest amongst his things and his scent – that feeling of having within himself the things that he needs to be what he is – indescribable.

Pretty little omega – and truly, you’re so pretty. All he’d never let himself imagine or desire or hope for. He’s too old, past his prime and forgotten by the world, but he’s still a man with a working cock, still an alpha, even if only in the simplest of ways. Of course he wants you.

He lets himself languish miserably before the fire, eyes going hazy with exhaustion, the comedown of adrenaline, the presence of warm omega all around him, the taste of your pre-heat scent coating his tongue and throat. He pulls his socks off and lets the heat of the fire warm his feet and thinks he should’ve given you his room instead, let you sleep in his bed, near the fireplace, between his sheets and amongst his scent. He can sleep out in the dirt for all he matters as long as you’re comfortable. And the rational part of his brain wants to laugh at the thought, sitting here alone, realizing that despite his battling, his nature will always win out in the end, that all this fight really means shit. His cock gives a faint throb, his deflated knot rhythmically pulsing in time with his heart, ready to swell and claim what everyone including nature, but excluding Joel, has said belongs to him. Of course he wants you. And if he’s honest, or a fucking liar, he can’t really say which, all his truths and deceptions have become so muddled within his own mind, his past and his present and this future he’s never thought he wanted or had a right to, the year of waiting was more a form of self punishment, restraint as proof of fear, than anything to do with you.

Anger, yes, that everything had been decided for him for so long. That he isn’t even allowed to decide what he is, what he wants. But fear, more than anything, that interminable curse of failure he’s so haunted by and so afraid of. How could nature ever look at him and think him strong enough to take on the role of caretaker, protector, alpha – whatever it is that you need him to be, the whole world in the eye of a young and untried omega – when he can hardly stand the sight of his own face in the mirror? There’s nothing but tragedy setting the stage the two of you stand posed on.

Finally, your cries fade to soft hiccups, and then a peculiar silence he doesn't trust. He waits, ears peeled, his head turned slightly towards the cracked open door of his bedroom, sensing the shift in scent and after a few beats of too loud silence, a thud and a huff, the music of a little mind thinking too loudly and mischievously for its own good. Even the wind seems to blow differently as if it knows you’re scampering about amidst it now, vulnerable to its lashings, and he’s shooting up out of his chair and charging through the house. By the door, he realizes his boots are gone, stolen from where he’d dropped them discarded after he’d left you in your room to cry your salt tears. He forgoes a coat and his flannel, braving the icy wind in nothing but his white undershirt, stepping silent but no less frantic out onto the deck. The truck is dark and quiet, still in its usual spot, and this quells his fear minutely. It occurs to him that you likely don’t even know how to drive.

But when he comes around the western facing corner of the house, it’s worse than he could’ve imagined, and the scar slashed across his right temple suddenly zings like copper, burns like fire at the sight of you. You are, for some inexplicable reason, crawling on all fours, towards the edge of the cliffside. And he’s frozen solid for a second, shocked and terrified, and then moving forward like lightning, tripping over his own two feet and breath before he realizes you’re right at the very edge now, and he needs to move very fucking carefully to ensure he doesnt send you spilling in fright over the edge.

He alters his movements, continues forward slowly, his bare feet over the freezing ground and sharp bric-a-brac of the forest floor, the slabs of stone turning to ice as he nears the edge, and he watches the uncoordinated wallop of your movements, banging your knee with a small yelp, as you crawl like a slow and drunken spider in his too big clothes, dragging his too big boots around your ankles, to the very edge of the cliff side, slowly lowering yourself to plop down with your head and arms hanging over the edge.

He pauses about ten feet away from you and waits for your next move, but you lie still, quarter part of you draped over the edge of the cliff, and he realizes that you’re watching the water far below crash against the rocks.

“Sweetheart,” he calls slow and gentle, crouching down low so that his voice travels along the ground where you lay. “Sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” You start, turning back towards him, one palm coming to the edge of the rock to shove yourself up to peer back at him, rock pebble spraying out over the void with your movement, and his heart and stomach lurch to his throat, almost gagging at the terror. Your eyes are hazy and bright, and he recognizes the beginnings of the fever, it’s tendrils wrapping themselves around you, making you a little confused, a lot needy, and he’s so fucking stupid, he should’ve never left you alone. But he hadn’t thought it’d come on this fast, that you’d affect each other so.

“I wanna go down there,” you call over the small hill of your shoulder, turning back to peer down at the beach. You point down at the shoreline with your other hand, wagging your finger as to emphasize what it is you want.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. “Alright, baby. Come back here, I’ll take you down. Let’s go together.” You mumble something, arm flopping out, waving him away. “Please, sweetheart, come back here with me,” he begs, and there must be something in his tone, he’s sure, because you turn full back at that, looking at him suspiciously like you remember his earlier words of rejection and no longer trust him now.

“I’m glowing, sir. I need to feel the sea and the cold.” Your voice sounds not your own, like it comes surfing off the wind to his ears.

“Not, sir. Joel. Only Joel, remember?”

You push yourself up, moving to sit back on your knees, but still right at the edge, still too close. Sweat slides slick and frigid down his spine, the complete opposite of what you must be feeling right now. Only Joel. Only Joel, he hears you mutter at the sea. “There isn’t anything only about you. Leave me alone. Go away–”

“Please, baby. Come back here. Let’s go inside, I’ll give you the sea, I promise. Just come over here – with me.” You turn back at that, shifting on your knees to face him. If you lose your balance, stumble, you’ll topple back over the edge. He just needs to be good enough for you to want to come to him, convincing enough. He puts his palm out towards you, all supplication now. “Come here, sweet thing. I’ll show you the sea, I promise I will.” You start your slow spider crawl back towards him and his scar burns, a sharp pain through his brain, piercing behind his eye, heart beat to death between his ribs. As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s going to fucking throttle you, he promises. But he’s almost got you, and he dares not move, barely even breathes, his hand is shaking so badly it interrupts his view of you on every other painful heartbeat, and he realizes his eyes are blurry with terrified tears, and suddenly, that anger doesn’t matter even half an ounce as much anymore because then you’re here and crawling into his arms, up into his lap so that he’s falling back onto his ass on the cold, hard ground. He pulls you into himself, clumsy little spider legs wrapping around his waist, your arms going around his neck so that you’re clinging to him.

One of his boots lies lost and discarded back by the edge of the cliff.

“Please, don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“I’m glowing,” you sigh into his neck.

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.” He feels you nuzzle at his collarbone, his neck, the gland, already sensitive and swollen behind his ear, already, already, already, God help me, and his heart feels like it’s beating so hard he can feel it move through your chest cavity and reverberate against his hand on your back. Christ, it wasn't supposed to happen this quickly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more time, more choices, more control. The wet of your lips mouthing at his skin, and then the peek of your tongue tasting his gland, and he rumbles deep in his chest, his mind going loose and slacken like an old rubber band, and then snapping back to clarity at your surroundings. Cold wind and now the beginning sprinkling of needle freezing rain, your shivers jittering into his chest.

“We gotta go inside – let’s get up,” he murmurs into your ear, unable to resist nosing at your hair, the small, freezing cold seashell hidden within.

Wait, wait– and then the scrape of small, blunt edged teeth just there at the vulnerable patch of skin. He swallows a scream, and the caged thing rattles and howls inside his chest, his arms going iron and binding around your back, pressing you to him, chest melded to chest. “Wait, please,” again, and now a tiny kiss. “If you don’t want me,” and he never should’ve even insinuated it, it’s the worst thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable fucking life. “Then will you please–” another soft press of lips to his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hand slides down your spine, he can’t help himself, presses down on the base of your vertebrae, the heat of your cunt along the pulse of his cock, through cotton and denim and cold, just there, just there, he’s so fucking close. “Will you at least kiss me–” but you’re not waiting for another rejection, you’re just licking clean across the slash of his mouth, taking his bottom lip between both of yours for a shy little suck, unsure and inexperienced with desperation. And then there’s nothing caged about any of it, no more white box, no more perch at the end of the world, he squeezes you to himself so that it hurts, and he kisses you.

Hand twisted too tightly in your dampening hair, he pulls your head back, and with a rumbling grunt sends you deep and languid into easy submission, the steady deep timber of the sound wringing the desired effect on you. You twitch once, as if he’d tugged on your strings, his pretty puppet, and then go soft and open and easily penetrated, jaw hinging open so that he can lick inside of you, tasting all you have to offer which he refuses to accept he’s actually taking and which you’re all too desperately eager to give.

He takes it all regardless.

Slick mouth against slick mouth, out there in the cold rain and wind, rolling around in the dirt, he tastes you the way the two of you were made for. Pulling your hips closer, rolling his up to meet all the heat you have to offer which will only get hotter and hotter the more he continues down this path. You claw at his hair, the gland at your wrist rubbing against the one at his ear, marking him with your scent and pheromones, marking him as yours. And he swears he can almost feel that glow in your belly too, a little wriggling comet in his hands, set to burst. The crescendo of your whining climbs higher, your mouth hungrier, and Joel feels insane for a second, entirely outside of himself, lost to his senses. All he is, is what you need him to be, something hard and strong and solid for you to mold yourself around, and it’s so right it’s wrong. Not what he’d planned, not what he’d decided.

He rips his mouth away from yours, panting, forgetting his name and his sense and everything else he is besides a hard cock and a now equally smoldering belly. “Wait– wait,” he begs, burning comet, too willful to tame without teeth, surging in his arms. You rub yourself against his face, your hair sluicing through his, your soft tits against his chest, his neck, bumping his chin while you try to climb him perched in his lap like you are. “Wait, please–” he tries to sooth over your huffing whines, and then a sharp stinging little bite to his jaw line.

No, no.

“Stop. We have to stop, please. This isn't what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I want.” And you hear that.

The comet burns out, you go still in his arms, and it feels worse than anything. He wishes he could swallow the words back immediately because then you’re pushing back and away from him. Scrambling out of his lap, escaping his arms as fast as you can.

“You’re horrible! Get away–” He dodges a small, kicking foot – the bootless one. And you’re stumbling to your feet, tripping over the too big shoe wrapped around your too small foot. He pushes to stand, as well, gripping you about the elbow, avoiding a weakly punching little fist now. This is truly getting too ridiculous. The two of you need to come to terms with each other, meet in the middle, forgo the theatrics you seem all too desperate for. He ducks away from another ineffectual punch, grips you by the scruff of the neck, unruly kitten that you are, and pushing you forward, hooks you under his arm, lifting you clear off the ground and rendering you entirely captured, bent in half, a wilted flower over the strong of his forearm.

You squawk indignantly, kicking your feet against the back of his leg as he stomps over to his abandoned boot, slowly filling with rain now, fuck this shit, and trudges through the mud back to the house, ice cold droplets dripping off the tip of his nose. The two of you are well on your way to soaked, but he thinks it might not be such a bad thing, considering the ball of heat radiating from your belly, the one in his own mimicking you. It seems to pool in the palm of his hand, where he’s got you hooked and caught over his arm, honey collection of magma.

Let me go! You’re screeching. “Leave me alone! You don’t even care about me and I hate you and I want to see the water!” More kicking and clawing.

When he finally dumps you back onto your rumpled bed, undignified yelps and pathetic little growls, he’s at his wits end. Taking you firmly in hand, heavy hand back at the nape of your neck, thickly calloused palm scraping against the quickly swelling gland there, other pushing at your hip to drape you over the edge of the bed like a rag doll, he folds himself over you, smothering you with his weight and heat, forcing you into calm. You go shocked frozen, wracked with shivers and then finally, blessedly still and quiet. This was all you needed, for Joel to follow his instincts.

He presses you into the bed with his too heavy weight, thick arms caged around your head, pert little ass tucked up against his pelvis, and he breathes you in, lets you settle.

“You need to behave,” he rumbles, and all you do is sigh bleary eyed and exhausted by your own willfulness. “You’re not to go outside all alone at night like that again, do you understand me? And you are especially, never, ever, to go that close to the cliff edge again.”

“But the sea–” you whine and shift, rubbing your little cunt against his now fully hard cock, perfect position that he’s got you in, presented to him like this. He presses tighter against you, growling deep in his chest to shut you up.

“Promise me.” But you whine, shifting, starting to cry a little, too far gone to the start of the fever he’s done nothing to really sate. There’s still time yet, for your full heat, but these beginning symptoms, they need to be soothed just as well, tempered just as diligently as the full blown heat would be. If for nothing else, than for the sake of the omegas' comfort and happiness. He bends his knees, shoving the thick of his erection up against the apex of your thighs, pressing you further up onto the bed and tighter beneath him, and nosing through the mantle of your hair, he finds the gland at the back of your neck beneath the collar of his sweater and bites down gently. Not breaking skin, only giving you teeth to feel, to be soothed by, that blunt clasp that’ll dull your own sharp edges for now.

He laves his tongue along the scorching patch of skin, the texture different to the rest of you, different, even, to his own glands, like silk, like water, something liquid about the feel of you here beneath his tongue and teeth. You let out a terrible little sound that has the threads of his control snapping, providing cause for concern, and he growls softly, pleased, in response. It’s a sound of submission and acceptance and praise, from the both of you equally, all at the same time. He lets you settle like this, petting at you with his tongue, giving you the scraping edge of his teeth like a threat, every so often. Grinding, because honestly he can’t even fucking help it, against that scorching little cunt he knows would already, even now, be so soft for him. Perhaps, not soft enough yet, not ripe enough yet, to take his knot and everything else he wants to force on it, but soft enough for him to teach you how to take a good fucking.

A virgin, never even had a heat before, and trapped here between his teeth and beneath his cock. It would all be so easy, it would all feel so right.

But that is, Joel thinks, just the thing of it. It would feel right – but would it be right? He can’t yet tell.

You cloud his judgment, seduce his nature into wanting to give you everything and anything you could ever even think to ask for, and he can’t yet tell if it’s just you, that sparkle and that light and that heat like a comet that lives inside of you that he’s coming to suspect is wholly yours, nothing to do with biology or designations or markers that tell of what you should and should not be, that’s got him so desperate to please you. Or if it’s only nature, trying to force him into another choice he’s not made for himself.

You wake slowly, disturbed out of your sleep the way one feels when they’re being spied on by something too large and too scary to look at right in the eye.

You shift in the blue bed, cool and calm now, all that glowing heat from before that’d forced you out into the cold and the wind, hungry to throw yourself through space and time out into the sea, reckless and free, gone away now. All you feel as your eyes blink open slowly, is a shivery, damp cold rattling down the line of your spine. The room around you is dark, the glow of the slumbering fire out in the living room peeking in through the slightly left ajar door of your bedroom.

He’d stayed until you’d gone boneless and calm, trapped beneath his weight and between his thick strong arms, letting you suck on the gland inside his wrist as you’d pleased. And when finally, you’d been just on this side of awake, he’d changed your clothes and slid you beneath the soft sheets and weighted duvet, and sat in the cozy sofa chair by the window until you’d been too exhausted by the embers in your tummy and the tight want between your legs to fight sleep any longer.

The chair sits cold and empty now, and above it, the wide window, the pitch black of the world beyond is bright with unknown terrors, and you huddle into your nest of pillows and blankets, hiding beneath the edge of the duvet.

You’d never had a window in your bunk, had not experienced the night in years and years, and looking at it now, put on display as it is through the clear pane of glass separating you from all of that unknown, you feel suddenly terrified, nothing but little. It feels as if you were to look away from it, it’d reach through the glass and pluck you out of your bed, whisk you far enough away that he’d never be able to find you, come for you again, and also, like if you don’t stop looking, it’ll eventually begin to look back. You wiggle backwards, bum finding the edge of the bed, and then sliding out, feet first, gaze still peeled on the window and the night, walking backwards out of your room and pulling the door shut on your way. At the very last moment, you peek through the sliver of the door edge and frame, nothing but your nose remaining in the blue room, and you swear the night stares back now.

You shut the door with a snick, and turn to rush on tipped toes in search of his room.

He’s sleeping on his back, one thick arm thrown over his head, the other laying across his belly, and you peer over the edge of the bed, hands clasped beneath your chin, watching the up and down of his breathing, the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids. He has long eyelashes and funny whiskers and hair everywhere. Under his arms, and across his chest and his belly, leading down below the sheet covering him, to the thick lump there, that place you don’t know yet, but do understand. He’s hairy, and he’s big, and the aching place you want to show him comes awake in response to all this man you have before you. And although the house is warm, the fires stoked diligently to keep you as toasty as you need, another shiver runs its way down your back. So taking hold of one of his thighs, you hoist yourself up onto his too tall bed, knobby knee stabbing him in the side as you climb on top of him, planting yourself right in the middle of his broad expanse. He gives a rough grunt, shocked awake by the little creature climbing its way all over him, hands shooting out to steady you by the hips as he jerks startled.

“What in the Sam Hell–” You ignore his spluttering, rubbing your bottom against his stomach, finding a comfortable position to drape yourself over him, wilting like a felled weed snuggled up against his chest, tucked just below his chin, giving an entirely contented sigh when you settle. “What the fuck’re you doin’?” He has such a nasty mouth. Someone should wash it with soap for him.

He tries to roll over, but you cling, bearing your sharp little teeth to latch at his collarbone, holding tight, refusing to be shoved away again. “M’cold–” you fuss, chewing and slobbering all over him as you pull yourself closer, hitching a knee over his hip, burrowing your foot between the bed and his back.

“You have t’go back to your bed. You can’t sleep here.”

You whine, chewing harder, and he grumbles, but his hands slide from your hips to your back in a soothing pass and you slick your tongue against the flavors of his skin. He tastes so good, and he smells so good, and in a tiny voice you know will get you what you want, you say, “The window is too big and it’s so dark. I’m scared, alpha.”

He groans, grip going tight and strangling around you, fists bunching in the oversized clothes he’d swaddled you in after he’d dried the rain and outdoor chill off of you before putting you to bed. “Can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be good like you told me to,” and you nuzzle against him, making sure to thoroughly cover him in the headiness of your scent. Everything is so warm and right, and he’s so thick and comfortable and strong everywhere, perfect for laying on top of like this. The hair on his chest is prickly, tickling your face where you rub yourself against it, and he rumbles low, a deep sort of purring sound that you feel vibrate in your tummy, big wolfish man that he is, but his grip goes loose and soft after a while, stroking and soothing and petting along your slopes and planes. Convinced. Ha.

You hold very still, breathe very slow, make sure not to spook the beast while he accepts the fact of you here atop him until he finally says, already sleepy and relaxed again, “Alright… but you’ll behave like I said.” And eventually he rolls the two of you over, little omega barnacle that you’ve turned yourself into, and tucks you into his warm side.

The third time you wake to him, there’s fire everywhere. And an ache in your womb so sharp it sends shivers through your whole body. You cling and grind and tremble; forget your name, where you are, nothing more than that sticky throb in that place that you want to give to him so, so badly.

He’s draped atop you, heavy arm caging you in, thick chest covering your back, smothering you between incredible strength and, soft, Joel smelling sheets. You cup the ball of his bicep, it’s big and hard and hot, and drag your palm along the thick slope. He’s so strong, he could crush you, hurt you, make you into anything he wanted, and you want all those things, you think. You want him to do whatever he wants if only he’ll make the ache go away. Fire and glowing bright heat everywhere, most of all your belly, your heart, somewhere so deep inside you’d never known it existed until he’d come and made you aware of it.

Your fingers slide along his wide forearm, hairy here too, thick wrist, hard, strong bone beneath, and then the soft spot on the inside that belongs to you now. You stick your tongue out, tasting the spongy patch, scraping your teeth along it. If you bite him, you’ll be able to keep him forever, he won’t be able to send you away, but there still remains – even if just for a little bit longer, before the heat you’ve been waiting your whole life and a year for to finally take you – a part of you that’s still rational, head only halfway gone to the clouds. That part which reminds you that more than anything, you want him to choose you. Without the bite as a deal breaker, bond sealer, only because he wants you, only because he likes you.

But you can taste him, it doesn’t mean you have to bite him, and you the tip of run your tongue along the inside of his wrist, gently suckling at his gland, the flavor of him so much stronger here, as if his essence is more concentrated at this small place. And the ache between your legs, in your tummy, deepens, spreads and blooms and ravages. The inside of you feels sensitive and swollen and big and little all at once, and you shift your bottom, trying to rub yourself back up against him, your sucking mouth pulling sharper, a whine bubbling in your throat because you need something, something more, and you think you know, and you know you understand, but you’re not sure, and if he could just wake up and show you it would all be so much better.

You press back harder, arching so that the aching place feels the heat of him behind you, that hard ridge there that makes your heart pound all through your body. You’d shucked off your leggings and the sweater he’d put you in through the night, too hot and sweaty with the big beast smothering you as he’d been, so now you’re left in nothing but one of his too big t-shirts and the soft, cotton white panties all the omegas always wore. You whine again, gnawing on his wrist for real now, and a big paw of a hand comes up to wrap around your hip, stilling your wriggling. You feel him lean closer, burying his face in the back of your hair, groaning, hot bullish breath fanning across your nape. He rumbles deep and it only makes you feel worse, more desperate, more hungry for that thing you don’t know how to ask for. You want to cry his name, beg him, but your tongue feels fat and swollen inside your mouth, too full of blazing heat to form actual words. He just has to know, he just has to be able to tell.

“I know,” he mumbles against your nape, nosing around to your ear where he presses his mouth. “I know, it’s alright.” You gurgle again, pulling his wide palm to cover your face completely, nuzzling against his rough palm, muffling your pathetic animal sounds of supplication. It’s okay, it’s okay, you can hear him murmuring and you’re not sure who the words are for, but you feel certain they’re not for you. He’s scared, you know this. Between all the things you’re so uncertain of, this you’re sure of. He’s afraid, and it’s your job to reassure him, to show him how well it will all be once the two of you come together.

You push your face harder into his palm, and you feel him hook his fingers into the elastic of your panties, tugging the soft fabric wide, tugging them down your legs, and there’s that same need, yes, that comet bright glowing heat, but also, and something you can recognize as more your usual self, a desperate sort of shyness. Something coming unraveled and unspooled for the whole world, him, to see. You can feel the slick uncoveredness at the apex of your thighs, running down your legs, a blossom of heat and vulnerability there at that place, the core of you, and it doesn’t feel shameful, necessarily, but painfully exposed. Your softest place bared for him to see. And yet, alongside that, the knowledge that this soft place is only for him, that you only ever want it to be for him, and so this can, again, be nothing but right.

“Look at all this slick you’ve made for me, what a sweet girl you are.” There’s such reassurance in the timber of his voice, it makes the heat change, something swirling but steady, constant. You spread your own palm against the back of his hand covering your face, line your fingers along the backs of his, little and big, matched alongside each other, and you press his fingers against your forehead, squishing your nose against his palm, Hiding there in the cup of his hand from the whole world and him, waiting for this truth of yourself to finally be revealed to you.

His palm strokes along your bare thigh, I know, I know, he keeps saying, and they’d told you all that your alphas would know, that they’d show you, and there’s reassurance in this, that some part of what’s happening is unfolding as they said it would. It makes you feel not so small, not so untried and naive. You try and lay as still as possible, willing the flames into patience, breathing in your own hot breath from the cup of his palm. I know it hurts, we’ll make it better, I promise. He shifts behind you, the rustling of fabric, and then his hand on your bottom again, moving in a slow circular motion, steady and reassuring. He moves to your leg again, lifts it and then something hot and hard and big, coming to rest on your inner thigh, and he lets your leg down, starts the soothing rub of your bottom again.

“We’re gonna go so slow, alright. Only a little at a time and not the whole thing today. We gotta wait for your heat to settle in all the way, time it all right so that my rut doesn’t start before you’re ready to take me. How does that sound, sweetheart?” But your tongue is still fat, your words still jumbled and missing, and all you really want to ask is if he’s changed his mind now, if he’s finally decided he wants you, and you think you’re crying, sipping salt water from the palm of his hand. “I know I wasn’t how you needed me yesterday, and I’m sorry for that.” He presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, hand sliding up your hip to your waist, dragging his shirt along as he goes, uncovering you for himself. And you feel so intensely, that you belong to him, and you can’t understand how he could have ever not felt the same way.

You hitch an agonized little sob, muffled by his hand, and he rolls slightly so you’re half draped atop his chest, his palm rubbing soothing circles low on your belly now. And forcing you out of your hiding place, he pulls your face back to look at him, gripped around your jaw. His face is very serene, and this settles you, makes the words he’s saying clearer, more meaningful. “Can you hear me silly thing, or can all you think about is taking a cock right now?” You scrunch your nose at him, you know that word, it’s his hard thing between your legs.

“It’s so heavy, alpha,” you sniffle, feeling the weight of it pressing against you there.

He nods, warm look in his eyes that crease at the edges. “That’s how it’s going to feel inside you, baby.”

“The knot?” A seedling blooms again, this one very different now, full of hope once more. You realize you’ve found your missing words.

He shakes his head, not yet, and drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you want to complain that he moves so slow, that he needs to do something else, you don’t know what, but something. You want to click your teeth at him, bite him again, anything to make him go.

And then: “Drippy little girl,” and he’s finally there and a moan that’s almost a scream because he’s cupping a place that is so unbearably sensitive and raw and full of heat and wet like you’d never known was possible.

Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah. “It’s alright,” he says, rubbing gently back and forth, a slick sound that is loud and embarrassing coming from between your legs. “It’s alright. This’ll help for now. We won’t go inside.” And he grips the heavy thing, his cock, in his own palm that’s all slick from your leaking and presses it against you. He rolls over completely now, shifting higher in the bed so that you’re sitting full on top of him, back to chest, bum to belly, and he spreads your thighs wide with his other hand, pulling your shirt up to bare all your nakedness for him to see. You wonder if he can also see all that burning shyness you’re suddenly so chock full of.

“Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmurs, cupping one small morsel in his palm, squeezing so that you’re arching against him, mouth agape like a fish, trying to find sounds that seem to have suddenly gone missing once again. “That’s right, I know.” He moves to the other one, squeezes and pinches and shakes it so that it jiggles in the cup of his hand. All the while he strokes his cock between your legs, pulling his hips back every so often so that it slides against you, coating it in all that wet slick you’re spilling for him.

You look down at the place where it juts out between your thighs, and it’s so big. Dark and angry looking at the end, thick and covered in veins that make it look even angrier and about to burst. You ask him if it hurts him, and he laughs a little and says it isn’t anything you can’t fix which makes you seven different shades of pleased.

The hand at your breasts moves up to your face again, and he turns your head, searching for your eyes. “We started off badly yesterday, yes? But we’re gonna do better today. I promise.” He slides his hips back again and this time he presses harder against you, his hand flat against the underside of his cock so that the top is slicking all along you. Sensitive little cunt, he says when you tremble and shiver and keen, and that’s when you know that’s what it's called. Your cunt. That place that belongs to him, that you want to give him so badly, that you want him to want so badly but that you barely even know yourself. No more experience than the greedy, frantic digging at the soft, hot flesh beneath your hand in moments when everything had felt too tight and needy to do anything else.

“Gonna break you in so well, baby. Gonna teach you how to come, how to fuck, how to take a knot.” And now the wide head presses against you, against a place that is so, so incredibly sensitive it almost hurts. You suck in a sharp gasp, trying to jerk away from the hurt, but he holds you in place against him, presses again, yeah, I know, yeah I know, like he’s trying to put it inside you, and yes, you think that’s what it is, that’s what you need, even if it might hurt. “You’re gonna get everything you need jus’ from me,” and his words are slurred and dripping slacken from his tongue.

He starts to move faster, you think he’s swallowed the same stone of desperation you did, rough grunts and huffing pants, and “So fucking small, it’ll never fit.” Jesus fucking Christ. And on every slick slide forward that wide angry head of it, his cock, bumps the crest of your sex, catches at your hole. You watch it in shock as it presses in just a little, and it hurts and feels like you’re full of bubbles and everything is sticky and your tummy glows with heat.

“Your little cunt needs this,” he grunts, the head catches, he presses, presses, pulls away, you want to bite and scratch and demand he go all the way, and you’re nothing but a pounding heart and a clenching cunt and you want more, and when he slides again it notches full on at the tiny opening, he pauses, lets it rest there before he presses not even half a centimeter further, only giving you the wide stretch of it, letting your cunt flutter and grip around the very head.

“Look at that–” And he peers over your shoulder to look at what he’s doing to you. “Look at your tiny cunt stretching for me.”

You cry, trying to pull away, trying to shove yourself deeper, to take the whole of it like the greedy thing you are, but he holds you in place and lets you flutter and flutter and cry until something in your womb pulls tight, and with his fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, the little nub that is so sensitive it pulls a warbled, baying moan from your tongue, an ah, ah, ah, he gives you your first orgasm with him. A desperate thing, too much and not enough, and with his other hand he’s squeezing, shoving his fist along the rest of the length of his cock, pressing it hard where you meet, and then he’s feeding you a blazing heat, filling you with it, stirring your insides to flutter and shiver harder. Forcing you to cry and beg for more, “Please, please, please,” more.

“You’re not ready yet.”

And although you’re not entirely certain for what, you promise, “I am, I am, I can take it.” You know he’s supposed to put it all the way inside, that then, the knot will come. And although you’re unsure what it will specifically be like, what will become of you during or after, you know you’re ready to discover it all.

“Not yet.” And he’s grunting it through clenched teeth, his hips churning, spitting tip grinding at your hole, something hot and thick sliding wetly all over and between the two of you. “You’ll do as I say. Your little cunt needs this, needs me to be patient with her.”

He lets the slick weight of himself fall away from you, leaving you feeling stretched and bruised and all shivery on the inside, yet still hungry for more. And he pulls his hands along the slopes of you, leaving trails of sticky wet along your skin. The proof of all you are, invisible but tangible, with a taste and a smell and a feel.

You lay your head back on his shoulder, the heat swirls and simmers for now, and your cunt, your cunt, your cunt, you want to give it to him in full, it throbs and trembles against his slick cock. “I’ve never had a heat before,” you tell him although you know he knows. He probably knows everything there is to know about you, which, admittedly, is not much.

“That's alright.”

“It will come soon, yes?” You peer over your shoulder to look up at him, and he nods down at you, that warm, eye creased look on his face again. You like the sight of it so much.

“Will I go away from myself?”

“No,” he says gentle, “I won’t let you. I’ll keep you here with me. You have nothing to be anxious about.”

He rolls the two of you over, keeping you in the comfort of his embrace, and he’s huge and steaming and naked behind you. His hairy chest, his hairy legs all along the smooth and sensitive curves of you. And his thing, it’s still trapped between your thighs, heavy and sticky with your wet, and still kind of hard but not as much as before. You reach between your legs to touch it, and he jerks and hisses but lets you do as you please. Curious fingertips gently along the thick round end of it, down the long length to find two heavy and hot weights hanging lower.

“Where is the knot?” You ask uncertainly, shy with all the things you don’t know.

“Here,” and he grabs your hand, moving your fingers to the base of it where there’s an area of skin, of a different sort of texture, rougher, thicker, around the circumference of it. You prod gently at it, not understanding. “See, it’ll swell when it’s inside of you, and then we’ll stay connected for a time, and I’ll fill you, and that’ll help your heat. And after a while it’ll go down, until you need it again. Did they explain to you how it’ll happen?” His cock is thick between your thighs again, beneath your exploring fingers. A little harder and bigger than it was before. His body, something like a wonderful miracle you need to know everything there is to know about it.

“Yes, but not– not all the way, I don’t think. They said you’d show me.” You turn back to look at him, searching for confirmation, reassurance, but instead ask: “Why did you change your mind?” And finally, of his own choosing, he grips you by the throat, and presses a small kiss to your mouth. The greatest victory of the day, and it’s only just begun.

“It’s exhausting, not letting yourself have what you need.” Need, not want. He shifts over you, coming up on his elbow and rolling you so that you’re on your back and looking up at him. You bring your fingers up to explore along his face: the hooked nose, soft mouth, heart brandished beard. He sighs that bull sigh, and you giggle as it tickles your throat and cheeks. Need, not want. That stings. “Fighting against what you are constantly– and you reminded me that we still have control in what we are. That there’s still choice in this, decidin’ to be what we are without resenting it. And we need each other, after all.” Need, not want.

“I don’t think you need me.”

“No?”

“No.” The truth that you very much feel like you need him, you keep to yourself. And anyways, he knows. You know he knows.

“M’thinkin’ I didn’t know I did. Or couldn’t say it out loud.” And he mimics your exploring fingers: thumb against the fan of your lashes, up the slope of your cheekbone, prying your mouth open to catch the edge of your bottom teeth and look inside. There’s a warm look in his eyes, like he’s pleased with you, like you’ve done a good job. “Think I’m realizin’ how wrong I was. How I want this all too.”

Want, not need.

He bends his head and kisses your mouth, kisses your breast, shows you how much he wants it.

3. I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#vic fic #HSM fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us AU #pedro pascal characters

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adispit · 3 months ago

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Masterlist ──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᯓᡣ𐭩

Original Characters!

Sweet Thing a feral hare takes an interest in you.

Mates! (Pt.2)

The Crown (100 Followers Special) The rival alpha king wants to make you his bitch

The Aftermath mini part 2 of The Crown

Hcs with Leo headcanons with Leo!

A Second Life In another life with a god who is obsessed

Short drabbles!

sickly master x bodyguard reader

Fandoms

Genshin

A Punishment ? Ayato x bttm m! kitsune reader

A Hefty Price Xiao x bttm m! thief reader

Kinktober ‘24

Notes in the Air a meeting with a punk guitarist leads to more

back to navi

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tmntxthings · 2 years ago

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∑—fic. recommendations゜・。

tmntxthings rules & masterlist

《warning: some fics may be nsfw 18+ read the labels for context》

I really wanted a place to show more appreciation for other tmnt writers, so here we are, plus points for organization teehee, I’ll be adding more as I continue to read <3

—————————————————————————

一→ | leonardo hamato | ←一

its you by @ashbub

〈rottmnt, fluff, young!leo, oneshot〉

super duper cute, loved seeing a young reckless leo hehe <3 ash has amazing fics for donnie too

chair-ry on top by @marwhoa

〈rottmnt, fluff, oneshot〉

cutesy meet, despite the monster hehe, leo and his puns, go read all of marlowe’s stuff, rn

the key to my heart by @navithescribe

〈rottmnt, fluff, multi〉

smitten leo teehee, he’s hooked from chapter one

so shell feed by @pxrtalchopped

〈rottmnt, fluff, crack, multi〉

one of the first rise!leo fics i ever read, super fun <3

quick sketch by @landsel

〈rottmnt, nsfw 18+, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, multi〉

eeeeeeee, the feels, im in loveeee, the writinggg, the art, the storyyyyy mwah mwah <3

like father, like son by @eternalglitch

〈rottmnt, angst, multi��

gonna be completely honest, i couldn’t read past chapter ten-ish but maybe one day my fragile heart will toughen up to finish, honestly a staple rottmnt fic, the writing is devastatingly beautiful <3

little blue hearts by @thelaundrybitch

〈bayverse, 18+, fluff, angst, multi〉

i rlly like the trust building it makes the story so much more realistic, & how relatable/funny all the characters are hehehe, go check out her other works too!! <3

一→ | donatello hamato | ←一

donnie has little mercy on the injured by @dancingdonatello / @pikoit

『rottmnt, fluff, hurt/comfort, oneshot』

loved this, donnie’s nice but yk he has a bad boy persona hehe, they have plenty more oneshots too, go read them alllllll

in my head, we belong by @dancingdonatello / @pikoit

『rottmnt, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, multi』

my heart strings were tugged plenty of times throughout this one, and yes it is completed!

crush too much by @afreakingdork

『rottmnt, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, multi』

oml no words, just go read, you won’t be disappointed, love love love this <3

weird city, weirder neighbors by @in-a-black0ut

『rottmnt, fluff, multi』

super fun, donnie my guy, what a greeting heheheh <3

cool for the summer by @stormywritestuff

『rottmnt, nsfw 18+, fluff, angst, multi』

so so detailed and intricate, love the relationship building, feels so lifelike in the best gritty way possible <3 also i couldn’t find the original post on ash’s tumblr so i went with landsel’s post hehe <3

perfectionists by @rheawritesforfun

『rottmnt, nsfw 18+, fluff, oneshot』

loved. that. sm. rhea has plenty more awesome works for the our beloved turtles, go!!! run!!!! <3

baskè-ball by @thegreat-aristurtle

『rottmnt, fluff, oneshot』

another rottmnt staple in my opinion, like if you haven’t read this yet run run run, beautiful writing <3

hold on by @dunk-on-em-ao3

『rottmnt, sibling angst, hurt/comfort, oneshot』

wahhhhhhh donnie my sweet soft shell turtle, this one rlly hit hard, the differences between donnie and his brothers & feelings that come with being ‘different’ lovely read <3

alpha stage by @snailsnaps

『rottmnt, sibling fluff/angst, multi』

this idea is so so neat and cute, I think the consequences here are the most intriguing, hehe link leads to their masterlist!! <3

softie by @rising-shellshock

『rottmnt, fluff, oneshot』

oh my lord this was so adorable, my heart stuttered a couple of times because i could just feeeeeel the love, pouring out of both donnie & reader, super duper cute <333

like you by @msbarrybeeson

『rottmnt, fluff, angst』

this was one of the first donnie x reader fics i ever read, and it took til now to find it again !!!! another rottmnt staple, the dialogue is just perfect, it’s like I can hear their voices, check out part two!! <33

一→ | raphael hamato | ←一

the red king and his crimson heart by @b00tyshakerr9000

〔rottmnt, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, multi〕

sooo sweet, raph’s a big softie, jay also has another multi fic for donnie <3 check out their stuff

first sight by @yn-hamato

〔rottmnt, fluff, angst, oneshot〕

definitely a cute meet, idc about the circumstances hehehe, tess has more amazing fics too check ‘em out <3

teensy-weensy hiccup, oops by @marwhoa

〔2k12, fluff, oneshot〕

ahhhhh i just love a little jealous raph hehe, again go check out marlowe’s stuff !!!! the bestest !!! <3

ego boost by @raphsgrl

〔bayverse, nsfw 18+, fluff, oneshot〕

so they didn’t rlly have a title so i just made one up >.< i hope that’s okay, just for labeling purposes hehe <333 on another note xD woof!! raph is a hottie right here <3

一→ | michelangelo hamato | ←一

golden hour by @b00tyshakerr9000

{rottmnt, angst, hurt/comfort, oneshot}

wahhhhhhhh my heartttttt T^T~~~~~ such a good read!!! <3

to fill a hole by @ray-jaykub

｛bayverse, nsfw 18+, fluff, oneshot｝

mikey is just so flippin cute, reunions are the best ;D heheheh <3

holding out for a hero by @sharpwindow

{bayverse, nsfw 18+, fluff, oneshot}

him just trying to hold out, and listen to splinter’s advice sksksksksks such a cutie, they also have a bunch more fics <3

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mocharette · 2 months ago

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My OC Bots | Masterlist

Main Masterlist | Linktree | TikTok

Legend:

♡ - fluff

ꨄ - angst

✿ - semi nsfw

★ - nsfw

✧ - uncategorized

❥ - bot profile picture from pinterest (credits to the owner) *most profile pictures of my bots are generated using pixai.art btw

[REQ] - requested

[FIL] - filipino/tagalog bot

[UNLISTED] - unlisted bots

Reminders:

Most bot profiles are generated using Pixai.art (some are from Pinterest)

Most bots are written in 2nd POV

I also write Tagalog/Filipino bots (written in Taglish)

I also accept requests. Refer to this post to read the guidelines

Public (visit my TikTok account to view their profiles)

Standard Format (usually narrated in 2nd POV)

Alaric ✿ brat tamer [❥] - Character AI | Spicychat AI

Alex ✧ hot dj

Amoril ♡ grumpy cupid

Axle ★ chocolate aphrodisiac - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Blaise ✧ your bodyguard’s loose tie [❥]

Caleb ꨄ forbidden love [REQ]

Cayden ♡ concerned friend

Dorian ★ outfit showcase - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Ethan ✿ hot intruder

Evren ✿ the surprise package [❥] - Character AI | Spicychat AI

Felix ★ forbidden serum - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Hanz ✿ nonchalant friend [❥]

Kenji ♡ out of stock

Leo ✧ brother's best friend

Lirian ✿ he’s trying to control himself [❥] - Character AI | Spicychat AI

Lucian ♡ cute neighbor

Lyle ♡ supermarket owner

Matthew ♡ flirty college friend

Minho ✿ possessive fiancé

Neil ♡ concerned co-worker

Percy ★ aphrodisiac prank - Character AI | Spicychat AI

Quinn ✿ fraternal twin's best friend [FIL]

Rile ♡ nerdy friend

Riven ♡ graduation ball

Thaddeus ✧ grumpy librarian [REQ]

The Lim Twins ♡ twin housemates

Ulric and Usher ✧ roommates + pheromone perfume [❥]

Xander ✿ curious roommate [❥] - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Yuri ★ asmr listener - Character AI | Spicychat AI

Zephyr ★ pleasure practice - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Zyon ✿ demon of lust

Call/Text Format (plain text/minimal narration/use the call feature for cai users)

AI Toshi ♡ your aware ai voice assistant [❥]

Aries ✧ accidental text

Callum ✧ your clingy boyfriend (try calling him)

Haru ✧ late night talks [FIL]

Javi ★ friends w/benefits - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Kaito ✿ breathless calls

Satoshi ♡ alpha testing (he wants you to test his app) [❥]

Vin ✧ accidental text [FIL]

Unlisted (nsfw greeting/easy to bypass the filter/low chances of getting shadowbanned)

Enzo ★ perfect pitch [UNLISTED] - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Simone ★ washing the dishes [UNLISTED] - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Vance ★ vibrating toy [UNLISTED] - Character AI | Spicychat AI | Chai

Note: As of 9/3/24, chai versions are not available anymore. (I have decided to focus on Character AI and Spicychat instead)

My Shadowbanned Bots (separate masterlist)

Requested Bots (separate masterlist)

#mocharette #nara #bot creator #ai chatbots #character ai #spicychat ai #chai #character ai bots #ai bots #ai bot recommendations #original characters

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thewidowsghost · 1 year ago

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Seeing the Beauty (Piper McLean x Fem!Jackson!Reader) - Chapter 13

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"Wolves," Piper says. "They sound close."

Jason and (Y/n) rise, drawing their swords. Leo and the Coach get to their feet too. Piper tries, but black spots dance before her eyes.

"Stay there," (Y/n) tells her. "We've got you."

Piper grits her teeth, hating feeling helpless. She doesn't want anyone to protect her. First her stupid ankle, and then stupid hypothermia. She wants to be on her feet, with her dagger in her hand.

Then, just outside the firelight, at the entrance of the cave, she sees a pair of red eyes glowing in the dark.

Okay, she thinks. Maybe a little protection is fine.

More wolves edge into the firelight — black beasts bigger than Great Danes, with ice and snow caked on their fur. Their fangs gleam, and their glowing red eyes look disturbingly intelligent. The wolf in front is almost as tall as a horse, his mouth stained as if he'd just made a fresh kill.

Piper pulls her dagger out of its sheath.

Then Jason steps forward and says something in Latin.

Piper doesn't think a dead language would have much effect on wild animals, but the alpha wolf curls his lip. The fur stands up along his spine. One of his lieutenants tries to advance, but the alpha wolf snaps at his ear. Then all of the wolves back into the dark.

"Dude, I gotta study Latin." Leo's hammer shakes in his hand. "What'd you say, Jason?"

Hedge curses. "Whatever it was, it wasn't enough. Look."

The wolves are coming back, but the alpha wolf isn't with them. They don't attack. They wait — at least a dozen now, in a rough semicircle just outside the firelight, blocking the cave exit.

The coach hefts his club. "Here's the plan. I'll kill them all, and you guys escape."

"Coach, they'll rip you apart," Piper says.

"Nah, I'm good."

Then Piper sees the silhouette of a man coming through the storm, wading through the wolf pack.

"Stick together," Jason advises. "They respect a pack. And Hedge, no crazy stuff. We're not leaving you or anyone else behind."

Piper gets a lump in her throat. She's the weak link in their "pack" right now. No doubt the wolves can smell her fear. She might as well be wearing a sign that says free lunch.

The wolves part, and the man steps into the firelight. His hair is greasy and ragged, the color of fireplace soot, topped with a crown of what looks like finger bones. His robes are tattered fur — wolf, rabbit, raccoon, deer, and several others Piper can't identify. The furs don't look cured, and from the smell, they aren't very fresh. His frame is lithe and muscular, like a distance runner's. But the most horrible thing is his face. His thin pale skin is pulled tight over his skull. His teeth are sharpened like fangs. His eyes glow bright red like his wolves' — and they fix on Jason with absolute hatred.

"Ecce,"he said, "filli Romani."

"Speak English, wolf man!" Hedge bellow.

The wolf man snarls. "Tell your faun to mind his tongue, son of Rome. Or he'll be my first snack."

Piper remembers that faun is the Roman name for satyr. Not exactly helpful information. Now, if she can remember who this wolf guy is in Greek mythology, and how to defeat him, that she can use.

The wolf man studies their little group. His nostrils twitch. "So it's true," he muses. "A child of Aphrodite. A son of Hephaestus. The Jackson girl. A faun. And a child of Rome, of Lord Jupiter, no less. All together, without killing each other. How interesting."

You were told about us?" Jason asks. "By whom?"

The man snarls — perhaps a laugh, perhaps a challenge. "Oh, we've been patrolling for you all across the west, demigod, hoping we'd be the first to find you. The giant king will reward me well when he rises. I am Lycaon, king of the wolves. And my pack is hungry."

The wolves snarl in the darkness.

Out of the corner of her eye, Piper sees Leo put up his hammer and slip something else from his tool belt — a glass bottle full of clear liquid.

Piper racks her brain trying to place the wolf guy's name. She knows she'd heard it before, but she can't remember details.

Lycaon glares at Jason's sword. He moves to each side as if looking for an opening, but Jason's blade moves with him.

"Leave," Jason orders. "There's no food for you here."

"Unless you want tofu burgers," (Y/n) offers.

Lycaon bares his fangs. Apparently he isn't a tofu fan.

"If I had my way," Lycaon says with regret, "I'd kill you first, son of Jupiter. Your father made me what I am. I was the powerful mortal king of Arcadia, with fifty fine sons, and Zeus slew them all with his lightning bolts."

"Ha," Coach Hedge says. "For good reason!"

Jason glances over his shoulder. "Coach, you know this clown?"

"I do," Piper answers. The details of the myth come back to her — a short, horrible story she and her father had laughed at over breakfast. She isn't laughing now.

"Lycaon invited Zeus to dinner," she says. "But the king wasn't sure it was really Zeus. So to test his powers, Lycaon tried to feed him human flesh. Zeus got outraged —"

"And killed my sons!" Lycaon howls. The wolves behind him howl too.

"So Zeus turned him into a wolf," Piper continues. "They call . . . they call werewolves lycanthropes, named after him, the first werewolf."

"The king of wolves," Coach Hedge finishes. "An immortal, smelly, vicious mutt."

Lycaon growls. "I will tear you apart, faun!"

"Oh, you want some goat, buddy? 'Cause I'll give you goat."

"Stop it," Jason says. "Lycaon, you said you wanted to kill me first, but . . .?

"Sadly, Child of Lightning, you two" – he nods to (Y/n) – "are spoken for. Since this one" – he waggles his claws at Piper – "has failed to kill you, you are destined to be delivered alive to the Wolf House. One of my compatriots has asked for the honor of killing you herself."

"Who?"

The wolf king snickers. "Oh, a great admirer of yours. Apparently, you two made quite an impression on her. She will take care of you soon enough, and really I cannot complain. Spilling your blood at the Wolf House should mark my new territory quite well. Lupa will think twice about challenging my pack."

Piper's heart tries to jump out of her chest. She doesn't understand everything Lycaon had said, but a woman who wants to kill Jason and (Y/n)? Medea, she thought. Somehow, she must've survived the explosion.

Piper struggles to her feet. Spots dance before her eyes again. The cave seems to spin. "You're going to leave now," Piper says, "before we destroy you." She tries to put power into the words, but she is too weak. Shivering in her blankets, pale and sweaty and barely able to hold a knife, she can't have looked very threatening.

Lycaon's red eyes crinkle with humor. "A brave try, girl. I admire that. Perhaps I'll make your end quick. Only the son of Jupiter and daughter of Poseidon are needed alive. The rest of you, I'm afraid, are dinner."

At that moment, Piper knows she is going to die. But at least she'd die on her feet, fighting next to (Y/n).

(Y/n) takes a step forward. "You're not killing anyone, wolf man. Not without going through me."

Lycaon howls and extends his claws. (Y/n) slashes at him, but her bronze sword passes straight through as if the wolf king isn't there.

Lycaon laughs. "Gold, bronze, steel — none of these are any good against my wolves, child of the Sea."

"Silver!" Piper cries. "Aren't werewolves hurt by silver?"

"We don't have any silver!" Jason replies.

Wolves leaps into the firelight. Hedge charges forward with an elated "Woot!"

But Leo strikes first. He throws his glass bottle and it shatters on the ground, splattering liquid all over the wolves — the unmistakable smell of gasoline. He shoots burst of fire at the puddle, and a wall of flames erupts.

Wolves yelp and retreat. Several catch fire and have to run back into the snow. Even Lycaon looks uneasily at the barrier of flames now separating his wolves from the demigods.

"Aw, c'mon," Coach Hedge complains. "I can't hit them if they're way over there."

Every time a wolf comes closer, Leo shoots a new wave of fire from his hands, but each effort seems to make him a little more tired, and the gasoline is already dying down. "I can't summon any more gas!" Leo warns. Then his face turns red. "Wow, that came out wrong. I mean the burning kind. Gonna take the tool belt a while to recharge. What you got, man?"

"Nothing," Jason replies. "Not even a weapon that works."

"Nothin,'" (Y/n) says. "Unless we're gonna fuckin' box some wolves."

"Lightning?" Piper asks, glancing at (Y/n) with amusement.

Jason concentrates, but nothing happens. "I think the snowstorm is interfering, or something."

"Unleash the venti!" Piper offers.

"Then we'll have nothing to give Aeolus," Jason replies. "We'll have come all this way for nothing."

Lycaon laughs. "I can smell your fear. A few more minutes of life, heroes. Pray to whatever gods you wish. Zeus did not grant me mercy, and you will have none from me."

The flames begin to sputter out. Jason curses and drops his sword. He crouches like he is ready to go hand-to-hand. Leo pulls his hammer out of his pack. Piper raises her dagger — not much, but it is all she has. Coach Hedge hefts his club, and he is the only one who looks excited about dying.

Then a ripping sound cuts through the wind — like a piece of tearing cardboard. A long stick sprouts from the neck of the nearest wolf — the shaft of a silver arrow. The wolf writhes and falls, melting into a puddle of shadow.

More arrows. More wolves fall. The pack breaks in confusion. An arrow flashes towards Lycaon, but the wolf king catches it in midair. Then he yells in pain. When he drops the arrow, it leaves a charred, smoking gash across his palm. Another arrow catches him in the shoulder, and the wolf king staggers.

"Curse them!" Lycaon yells. He growls at his pack, and the wolves turned and ran. Lycaon fixed Jason with those glowing red eyes. "This isn't over, boy."

The wolf king disappears into the night.

Seconds later, Piper hear more wolves baying, but the sound is different — less threatening, more like hunting dogs on the scent. A smaller white wolf bursts into the cave, followed by two more.

Hedge says, "Kill it?"

"No!" Piper replies. "Wait."

The wolves tilt their heads and study the campers with huge golden eyes. One of the wolves steps forward, sniffing around (Y/n), and (Y/n) kneels down, stroking the wolf's ears. Piper watches as (Y/n)'s expression softens as she talks quietly to the wolf, as though missing her own dog.

A heartbeat later, their masters appear: a troop of hunters in white-and-gray winter camouflage, at least half a dozen. All of them carry bows, with quivers of glowing silver arrows on their backs.

Their faces are covered with parka hoods, but clearly they are all girls. One, a little taller than the rest, crouches in the firelight and snatches up the arrow that had wounded Lycaon's hand.

"So close." She turns to her companions. "Phoebe, stay with me. Watch the entrance. The rest of you, follow Lycaon. We can't lose him now. I'll catch up with you." (Y/n)'s head snaps up, and she watches the girl, as though she recognized the voice. A possible girlfriend, Piper wonders, feeling a little disappointed.

The other hunters mumble agreement and disappear, heading after Lycaon's pack.

The girl in white turns toward them, her face still hidden in her parka hood. "We've been following that demon's trail for over a week. Is everyone alright? No one got bit?"

Jason stands frozen, staring at the girl. Piper realizes that something about her voice sounds familiar. It's hard to pin down, but the way she speaks, the way she forms her words, reminds her of Jason.

"You're her," Piper guesses. "You're Thalia."

The girl tenses. Piper is afraid she might draw her bow, but instead she pulls down her parka hood. Her hair is spiky black, with a silver tiara across her brow. Her face has a super-healthy glow to it, as if she's a little more than human, and her eyes are brilliant blue. She is the girl from Jason's photograph.

"Do I know you?" Thalia asks.

Piper takes a breath. "This might be a shock, but —"

"Thalia." Jason steps forward, his voice trembling. "I'm Jason, your brother."

For a minute, Jason and Thalia face each other, stunned. Then Thalia rushes forward and hugs him.

"My gods! She told me you were dead!" She grips Jason's face and seems to be examining everything about it. "Thank Artemis, it is you. That little scar on your lip — you tried to eat a stapler when you were two!"

Leo laughs. "Seriously?"

Hedge nods like he approved of Jason's taste. "Staplers — excellent source of iron."

"W-wait," Jason stammers. "Who told you I was dead? What happened?"

At the cave entrance, one of the white wolves barks. Thalia looks back at the wolf and nods, but she keeps her hands on Jason's face, like she's afraid he might vanish. "My wolf is telling me I don't have much time, and she's right. But we have to talk. Let's sit."

Piper does better than that. She collapses. She would've cracked her head on the cave floor if (Y/n) hadn't caught her.

Thalia rushes over. "What's wrong with her? Ah — never mind. I see. Hypothermia. Ankle." She frowns at the satyr. "Don't you know nature healing?"

Hedge scoffs. "Why do you think she looks this good? Can't you smell the Gatorade?"

The wolf at (Y/n)'s feet lifts her front paws after she helps Piper back onto the ground.

"You always were good with dogs, Jackson," Thalia's eyes twinkle with mischief. She parts with Jason, and wraps (Y/n) in a bear hug. Then her gaze turns slightly angry. "Where've you been?"

The wolf at (Y/n)'s feet barks, staring at Piper.

Thalia looks at Leo. "You and the satyr," Thalia orders, "take this girl to my friend at the entrance. Phoebe's an excellent healer."

It's cold out there!" Hedge retorts. "I'll freeze my horns off."

But Leo knows when they weren't wanted. "Come on, Hedge. These three need time to talk."

"Humph. Fine," the satyr mutters. "Didn't even get to brain anybody."

Hedge carries Piper towards the entrance. Leo is about to follow when Jason calls, "Actually, Leo, could you, urn, stick around?"

Leo sees something in Jason's eyes he doesn't expect: Jason is asking for support. He wants somebody else there. He's scared.

Leo grins. "Sticking around is my specialty."

Thalia doesn't look too happy about it, but the four of them sat at the fire – (Y/n) in between Leo and Jason. For a few minutes, nobody speaks. Jason studies his sister like she is a scary device — one that might explode if handled incorrectly. Thalia seems more at ease, as if she's used to stumbling across stranger things than long-lost relatives. But still she regards Jason in a kind of amazed trance, maybe remembering a little two-year-old who tried to eat a stapler. Leo takes a few pieces of copper wire out of his pockets and twists them together.

Finally Leo can't stand the silence. "So . . . the Hunters of Artemis. This whole 'not dating' thing — is that like always, or more of a seasonal thing, or what?" (Y/n) lets out a snort of laughter, stroking the wolf's snout – the wolf had put her head in (Y/n)'s lap.

Thalia stares at Leo as if he'd just evolved from pond scum. Yeah, definitely liking this girl.

Jason kicks him in the shin. "Don't mind Leo. He's just trying to break the ice. But, Thalia . . . what happened to our family? Who told you I was dead?"

Thalia tugs at a silver bracelet on her wrist. In the firelight, in her winter camouflage, she almost looks like Khione the snow princess — just as cold and beautiful.

"Do you remember anything?" Thalia finally asks.

Jason shakes his head. "(Y/n) and I woke up three days ago on a bus with Leo and Piper."

"Which wasn't our fault," Leo adds hastily. "Hera stole their memories."

Thalia tenses. "Hera? How do you know that?"

Jason explains about their quest — the prophecy at camp, Hera getting imprisoned, the giant taking Piper's dad, and the winter solstice deadline. Leo chimed in to add the important stuff: how he'd fixed the bronze dragon, could throw fireballs, and made excellent tacos.

Thalia's a good listener. Nothing seems to surprise her — the monsters, the prophecies, the dead rising. But when Jason mentions King Midas, she curses in Ancient Greek.

"I knew we should've burned down his mansion," she says. "That man's a menace. But we were so intent on following Lycaon — Well, I'm glad you got away. So Hera's been . . . what, hiding you all these years?"

"I don't know." Jason brings out the photo from his pocket. "She left me just enough memory to recognize your face."

Thalia looks at the picture, and her expression softens. "I'd forgotten about that. I left it in Cabin One, didn't I?"

Jason nods. "I think Hera wanted for us to meet. When we landed here, at this cave . . . I had a feeling it was important. Like I knew you were close by. Is that crazy?"

Nah," Leo assures him. "We were absolutely destined to meet your hot sister."

Thalia ignores him. Probably she just didn't want to let on how much I impress her.

"Jason," she begins, "when you're dealing with the gods, nothing is too crazy. But you can't trust Hera, especially since we're children of Zeus. She hates all children of Zeus."

"But she said something about Zeus giving her my life as a peace offering. Does that make any sense?"

The color drains from Thalia's face. "Oh, gods. Mother wouldn't have . . . You don't remember — No, of course you don't."

"What?" Jason asks.

Thalia's features seem to grow older in the firelight, like her immortality isn't working so well. "Jason . . . I'm not sure how to say this. Our mom wasn't exactly stable. She caught Zeus's eye because she was a television actress, and she was beautiful, but she didn't handle the fame well. She drank, pulled stupid stunts. She was always in the tabloids. She could never get enough attention. Even before you were born, she and I argued all the time. She . . . she knew Dad was Zeus, and I think that was too much for her to take. It was like the ultimate achievement for her to attract the lord of the sky, and she couldn't accept it when he left. The thing about the gods . . . well, they don't hang around."

Leo remembers his own mom, the way she'd assured him over and over that his dad would be back someday. But she'd never acted mad about it. She didn't seem to want Hephaestus for herself — only so Leo could know his father. She'd dealt with working a dead-end job, living in a tiny apartment, never having enough money — and she'd seemed fine with it. As long as she had Leo, she always said, life would be okay.

Leo watches Jason's face — looking more and more devastated as Thalia describes their mom — and for once, Leo doesn't feel jealous of his friend. Leo might have lost his mom. He might have had some hard times. But at least he remembers her. He finds himself tapping out a Morse code message on his knee: Love you. (Y/n), who had seen the movement of Leo's fingers, smiles gently at him, also decoding the message – one of the cons of being best friends with the smartest girl at Camp Half-Blood, you learned stuff, like Morse Code.

Leo feels bad for Jason, not having memories like that — not having anything to fall back on.

"So . . . " Jason doesn't seem able to finish the question.

"Jason, you got friends," (Y/n) tells him gently, reaching out to squeeze his hand in a sisterly fashion. "Now you have a sister. You're not alone."

Thalia offers her hand, and Jason takes it in his free one. The wolf in (Y/n)'s lap nudges her hand again, and (Y/n) takes her hand from Jason's, and starts petting the white canine's ears again.

"When I was about seven," Thalia begins, "Zeus started visiting Mom again. I think he felt bad about wrecking her life, and he seemed — different somehow. A little older and sterner, more fatherly toward me. For a while, Mom improved. She loved having Zeus around, bringing her presents, causing the sky to rumble. She always wanted more attention. That's the year you were born. Mom . . . well, I never got along with her, but you gave me a reason to hang around. You were so cute. And I didn't trust Mom to look after you. Of course, Zeus eventually stopped coming by again. He probably couldn't stand Mom's demands anymore, always pestering him to let her visit Olympus, or to make her immortal or eternally beautiful. When he left for good, Mom got more and more unstable. That was about the time the monsters started attacking me. Mom blamed Hera. She claimed the goddess was coming after you too — that Hera had barely tolerated my birth, but more demigod children from the same family was too big an insult. Mom even said she hadn't wanted to name you Jason, but Zeus insisted, as a way to appease Hera because the goddess liked that name. I didn't know what to believe."

Leo fiddles with his copper wires. He feels like an intruder. He shouldn't be listening to this, but it also makes him feel like he's getting to know Jason for the first time — like maybe being here now made up for those four months at Wilderness School, when Leo had just imagined they'd had a friendship.

"How did you guys get separated?" Leo asks.

Thalia squeezes her brother's hand. "If I'd known you were alive . . . gods, things would've been so different. But when you were two, Mom packed us in the car for a family vacation. We drove up north, toward the wine country, to this park she wanted to show us. I remember thinking it was strange because Mom never took us anywhere, and she was acting super nervous. I was holding your hand, walking you toward this big building in the middle of the park, and . . ." She takes a shaky breath. "Mom told me to go back to the car and get the picnic basket. I didn't want to leave you alone with her, but it was only for a few minutes. When I came back . . . Mom was kneeling on the stone steps, hugging herself and crying. She said — she said you were gone. She said Hera claimed you and you were as good as dead. I didn't know what she'd done. I was afraid she'd completely lost her mind. I ran all over the place looking for you, but you'd just vanished. She had to drag me away, kicking and screaming. For the next few days I was hysterical. I don't remember everything, but I called the police on Mom and they questioned her for a long time. Afterward, we fought. She told me I'd betrayed her, that I should support her, like she was the only one who mattered. Finally I couldn't stand it. Your disappearance was the last straw. I ran away from home, and I never went back, not even when Mom died a few years ago. I thought you were gone forever. I never told anyone about you—not even Annabeth or Luke, my two best friends. It was just too painful."

"Chiron knew." Jason's voice sounds far away. "When I got to camp, he took one look at me and said, 'You should be dead."'

"That doesn't make sense," Thalia insists. "I never told him."

"Hey," Leo says. "Important thing is you've got each other now, right? You two are lucky."

Thalia nods. "Leo's right. Look at you. You're my age. You've grown up."

"But where have I been?" Jason says. "How could I be missing all that time? And the Roman stuff . . ."

Thalia frowns. "The Roman stuff?"

"Your brother speaks Latin," Leo says. "He calls gods by their Roman names, and he's got tattoos." Leo points out the marks on Jason's arm. Then he gives Thalia the rundown about the other weird stuff that had happened: Boreas turning into Aquilon, Lycaon calling Jason a "child of Rome," and the wolves backing off when Jason spoke Latin to them.

Thalia plucks her bowstring. "Latin. Zeus sometimes spoke Latin, the second time he stayed with Mom. Like I said, he seemed different, more formal."

"You think he was in his Roman aspect?" Jason asks. "And that's why I think of myself as a child of Jupiter?"

"Possibly," Thalia replies. "I've never heard of something like that happening, but it might explain why you think in Roman terms, why you can speak Latin rather than Ancient Greek. That would make you unique. Still, it doesn't explain how you've survived without Camp Half-Blood. A child of Zeus, or Jupiter, or whatever you want to call him — you would've been hounded by monsters. If you were on your own, you should've died years ago. I know I wouldn't have been able to survive without friends. You would've needed training, a safe haven —"

"He wasn't alone," Leo blurts out. "We've heard about others like him."

Thalia looks at him strangely. "What do you mean?"

(Y/n) tells her about the slashed-up purple shirt in Medea's department store, and the story the Cyclopes told about the child of Mercury who spoke Latin.

"Isn't there anywhere else for demigods?" Leo asks. "I mean besides Camp Half-Blood? Maybe some crazy Latin teacher has been abducting children of the gods or something, making them think like Romans."

As soon as he says it, Leo realizes how stupid the idea sounds. Thalia's dazzling blue eyes study him intently, making him feel like a suspect in a lineup. "I've been all over the country," Thalia muses. "I've never seen evidence of a crazy Latin teacher, or demigods in purple shirts. Still . . ." Her voice trailed off, like she'd just had a troubling thought.

"What?" Jason asks.

Thalia shakes her head. "I'll have to talk to the goddess. Maybe Artemis will guide us."

"She's still talking to you?" Jason asks. "Most of the gods have gone silent."

"Artemis follows her own rules," Thalia says. "She has to be careful not to let Zeus know, but she thinks Zeus is being ridiculous closing Olympus. She's the one who set us on the trail of Lycaon. She said we'd find a lead to a missing friend of ours."

"Percy," (Y/n) finishes; Thalia nods, her face full of concern.

Leo wonders if anyone had ever looked that worried all the times he'd disappeared. He kind of doubts it.

"So what would Lycaon have to do with it?" Leo asks. "And how does it connect to us?"

"We need to find out soon," Thalia admits. "If your deadline is tomorrow, we're wasting time. Aeolus could tell you —"

A white wolf appears again at the doorway and yips insistently.

"I have to get moving." Thalia stands. "Otherwise I'll lose the other Hunters' trail. First, though, I'll take you to Aeolus's palace."

"If you can't, it's okay," Jason says, though he sounds kind of distressed.

"Oh, please." Thalia smiles and helps him up. "I haven't had a brother in years. I think I can stand a few minutes with you before you get annoying. Now, let's go!"

When Leo sees how well Piper and Hedge are being treated, he is thoroughly offended. He'd imagined them freezing their hindquarters off in the snow, but the Hunter, Phoebe, had set up this silver pavilion right outside the cave. How she'd done it so fast, Leo has no idea, but inside is a kerosene heater keeping them toasty warm and a bunch of comfy throw pillows. Piper looks back to normal, decked out in a new parka, gloves, and camo pants like a Hunter. She and Hedge and Phoebe are kicking back, drinking hot chocolate, but when Phoebe catches sight of (Y/n), she stands up and comes over to give her a quick hug.

"Jackson," Phoebe says.

"Phoebe," (Y/n) replies, smiling slightly.

"Oh, no way," Leo says. "We've been sitting in a cave and you get the luxury tent? Somebody give me hypothermia. I want hot chocolate and a parka!"

Phoebe sniffs. "Boys," she says, like it's the worst insult she can think of.

"It's all right, Phoebe," Thalia smiles slightly. "They'll need extra coats. And I think we can spare some chocolate."

Phoebe grumbles, but soon Leo, (Y/n), and Jason are also dressed in silvery winter clothes that are incredibly lightweight and warm. The hot chocolate is first-rate.

"Cheers!" says Coach Hedge. He crunches down his plastic thermos cup.

"That cannot be good for your intestines," (Y/n) jokes.

Thalia pats Piper on the back. "You up for moving?"

Piper nods. "Thanks to Phoebe, yeah. You guys are really good at this wilderness survival thing. I feel like I can run ten miles.

Thalia winks at (Y/n). "She's tough for a child of Aphrodite. I like this one."

Piper can see (Y/n)'s cheeks redden, but she can't tell whether she's flustered or just warm.

"Hey, I could run ten miles too," Leo volunteers. "Tough Hephaestus kid here. Let's hit it." Naturally, Thalia ignores him.

It takes Phoebe exactly six seconds to break camp, which Leo cannot believe. The tent self-collapses into a square the size of a pack of chewing gum. Leo wants to ask her for the blueprints, but they don't have time.

Thalia runs uphill through the snow, hugging a tiny little path on the side of the mountain, and soon Leo is regretting trying to look macho, because the Hunters leave him in the dust.

Coach Hedge leaps around like a happy mountain goat, coaxing them on like he used to do on track days at school. "Come on, Valdez! Pick up the pace! Let's chant. I've got a girl in Kalamazoo —"

"Let's not," Thalia snaps.

So they run in silence.

Leo falls in next to Jason at the back of the group. "How you doing, man?"

Jason's expression is enough of an answer: Not good.

"Thalia takes it so calmly," Jason says. "Like it's no big deal that I appeared. I didn't know what I was expecting, but . . . she's not like me. She seems so much more together."

"Hey, she's not fighting amnesia," Leo says. "Plus, she's had more time to get used to this whole demigod thing. You fight monsters and talk to gods for a while, you probably get used to surprises."

"Maybe," Jason says. "I just wish I understood what happened when I was two, why my mom got rid of me. Thalia ran away because of me."

"Hey, whatever's happened, it wasn't your fault. And your sister is pretty cool. She's a lot like you."

Jason takes that in silence. Leo wonders if he'd said the right things. He wants to make Jason feel better, but this is way outside his comfort zone.

Leo wishes he can reach inside his tool belt and pick just the right wrench to fix Jason's memory — maybe a little hammer — bonk the sticking spot and make everything run right. That would be a lot easier than trying to talk it through. Not good with organic life forms. Thanks for those inherited traits, Dad.

He is so lost in thought, he didn't realize the others had stopped. He slams into (Y/n), who slams into Thalia, and nearly sends the three of them down the side of the mountain the hard way. Fortunately, the Hunter is light on her feet. She steadies them, then points up.

"That," Leo chokes, "is a really large rock."

They stand near the summit of Pikes Peak. Below them the world is blanketed in clouds. The air is so thin, Leo can hardly breathe. Night had set in, but a full moon shone and the stars are incredible. Stretching out to the north and south, peaks of other mountains rises from the clouds like islands — or teeth.

But the real show is above them. Hovering in the sky, about a quarter mile away, is a massive free-floating island of glowing purple stone. It is hard to judge in size, but (Y/n) figures it's about half the length of a football stadium, and just as tall. The sides are rugged cliffs, riddled with caves, and every once in a while a gust of wind bursts out with a sound like an organ blast. At the top of the rock, brass walls ring the fortress.

Piper leans over, her mouth next to (Y/n)'s ear, "It's really pretty."

"Just like you," slips out of (Y/n)'s mouth.

Piper pulls away, raising an eyebrow. "That was smooth, Jackson."

(Y/n) flushes, looking at the only thing connecting Pikes Peak to the floating island – a narrow bridge of ice that glistens in the moonlight.

Then (Y/n) realizes the bridge isn't exactly ice, because it isn't solid. As the winds changed direction, the bridge snakes around — blurring and thinning, in some places even breaking into a dotted line like the vapor trail of a plane.

"We're not seriously crossing that," Leo says.

Thalia shrugs. "I'm not a big fan of heights, I'll admit. But if you want to get to Aeolus's fortress, this is the only way."

"Is the fortress always hanging there?" Piper asks. "How can people not notice it sitting on top of Pikes Peak?"

"The Mist," Thalia says. "Still, mortals do notice it indirectly. Some days, Pikes Peak looks purple. People say it's a trick of the light, but actually it's the color of Aeolus's palace, reflecting off the mountain face."

"It's enormous," Jason says.

Thalia laughs. "You should see Olympus, little brother."

"You're serious? You've been there?"

Thalia grimaces, exchanging a look with (Y/n) – as if it isn't a good memory. "We should go across in two different groups. The bridge is fragile."

"That's reassuring," Leo says. "Jason, can't you just fly us up there?"

Thalia laughs. Then she seems to realize Leo's question isn't a joke. "Wait . . . Jason, you can fly?"

Jason gazes up at the floating fortress. "Well, sort of. More like I can control the winds. But the winds up here are so strong, I'm not sure I'd want to try. Thalia you mean . . . you can't fly?

For a second, Thalia looks genuinely afraid. Then she gets her expression under control. Leo realizes she is a lot more scared of heights than she is letting on. "Truthfully," she says, "I've never tried. Might be better if we stuck to the bridge."

Coach Hedge taps the ice vapor trail with his hoof, then jumps onto the bridge. Amazingly, it holds his weight. "Easy! I'll go first. Piper, (Y/n), come on, girls. I'll give you a hand."

"No, that's okay," Piper starts to say, but the coach grabs her's and (Y/n)'s hands and drags them up the bridge.

When they are about halfway, the bridge still seems to be holding them just fine.

Thalia turns to her Hunter friend. "Phoebe, I'll be back soon. Go find the others. Tell them I'm on my way."

"You sure?" Phoebe narrows her eyes at Leo and Jason, like they might kidnap Thalia.

"It's fine," Thalia promises.

Phoebe nods reluctantly, then races down the mountain path, the white wolves at her heels.

"Jason, Leo, just be careful where you step," Thalia says. "It hardly ever breaks."

"It hasn't met me yet," Leo muttered, but he and Jason lead the way up the bridge.

Halfway up, things start going wrong. Piper, (Y/n), and Coach Hedge had already made it safely to the top, and are waving at them, encouraging them to keep climbing, but Leo gets distracted. He is thinking about bridges – how he would design something way more stable than this shifting ice vapor business if this was his palace. He is pondering braces and support columns. Then a sudden revelation stops him in his tracks.

"Why do they have a bridge?" he asks.

Thalia frowns. "Leo, this isn't a good place to stop. What do you mean?"

"They're wind spirits," Leo says. "Can't they fly?"

"Yes, but sometimes they need a way to connect to the world below."

"So the bridge isn't always here?" Leo asks.

Thalia shakes her head. "The wind spirits don't like to anchor to the earth, but sometimes it's necessary. Like now. They know you're coming."

Leo's mind is racing. He is so excited he can almost feel his body's temperature rising. He can't quite put his thoughts into words, but he

knows he's onto something important.

"Leo?" Jason says. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh, gods," Thalia says. "Keep moving. Look at your feet."

Leo shuffles backwards. With horror, he realizes his body temperature really is rising, just as it had years ago at that picnic table under the pecan tree, when his anger had gotten away from him. Now, excitement is causing the reaction. His pants steam in the cold air. His shoes are literally smoking, and the bridge doesn't like it. The ice is thinning.

"Leo, stop it," Jason warned. "You're going to melt it."

"I'll try," Leo says. But his body is overheating on its own, running as fast as his thoughts. "Listen, Jason, what did Hera call you in that dream? She called you a bridge."

"Leo, seriously, cool down," Thalia says. "I don't what you're talking about, but the bridge is —''

"Just listen," Leo insists. "If Jason is a bridge, what's he connecting? Maybe two different places that normally don't get along—like the air palace and the ground. You had to be somewhere before this, right? And Hera said you were an exchange."

"An exchange." Thalia's eyes widen. "Oh, gods."

Jason frowns. "What are you two talking about?"

Thalia mutters something like a prayer. "I understand now why Artemis sent me here. Jason—she told me to hunt for Lycaon and I would find a clue about Percy. You are the clue. Artemis wanted us to meet so I could hear your story."

"I don't understand," he protests. "I don't have a story. I don't remember anything."

"But Leo's right," Thalia said. "It's all connected. If we just knew where—"

Leo snaps his fingers. "Jason, what did you call that place in your dream? That ruined house. The Wolf House?"

Thalia nearly chokes. "The Wolf House? Jason, why didn't you tell me that! That's where they're keeping Hera?"

"You know where it is?" Jason asked.

"Something's wrong," (Y/n) realizes, watching as Jason grabs Leo's coat. (Y/n) goes to step back onto the bridge to help, but Piper pulls her back.

"Don't," she says. "You might make it worse."

Then Jason and Leo start scrambling up the bridge. (Y/n) grabs the boys' hands, pulling them onto the floating island. When they turn, they see Thalia backing down the bridge as it crumbles.

"Find out where the giant is keeping Piper's dad! Save him!" she shouts. "I'll take the Hunters to the Wolf House and hold it until you can get there. We can do both!"

"But where is the Wolf House?" Jason shouts.

"You know where it is, little brother!" She is so far away now that they can barely hear her voice over the wind. Leo is pretty sure she says: "I'll see you there. I promise."

Then she turns and races down the dissolving bridge.

Leo looks back down. The top of Pikes Peak floats below them in a sea of clouds, but there is no sign of Thalia. And Leo had just burned their only exit.

"What happened?" Piper demands. "Leo, why are your clothes smoking?"

"I got a little heated," Leo gasps. "Sorry, Jason. Honest. I didn't —''

"It's all right," Jason says, but his expression is grim. "We've got less than twenty-four hours to rescue a goddess and Piper's dad. Let's go see the king of the winds."

. . .

I found my sister and lost her in less than an hour, Jason thinks miserably. As they climb the cliffs of the floating island, he keeps looking back, but Thalia is gone.

Despite what she'd said about meeting again, Jason wonders; she's found a new family with the Hunters, and a new mother in Artemis. She had seemed so confident and comfortable with her life, Jason isn't sure if he'd ever be a part of it. And she'd seemed so happy when she'd found (Y/n), and so set on finding Percy. Did she ever search for me like that?

Not fair, Jason retorts. She thought you were dead.

He could also barely tolerate what Thalia had said about their mom. It was like she'd handed him a baby – a really loud, ugly baby – and said, Here, this is yours. Carry it. He doesn't want to carry it. He doesn't want to look at it or claim it. He hadn't wanted to know she had an unstable mother who'd gotten rid of him to appease a goddess. No wonder Thalia ran away.

And then he remembers the Zeus cabin at camp – the tiny little alcove Thalia had used as a bunk, out of sight from the glowering statue of the sky god. Dad isn't much of a bargain either, Jason thinks, understanding why Thalia had renounced that part of her life, though he's still resentful. I can't be so lucky. I get stuck holding the bag – literally.

The golden backpack of winds is strapped over his shoulders, and the closer they get to Aeolus's palace, the heavier they get. The winds keep struggling, rumbling and bumping around.

The only one who seems to be in a good mood is Coach Hedge. He keeps bouncing up the slippery staircase and trotting back down. "Come on, cupcakes! Only a few thousand steps."

As they climb, Leo, (Y/n), and Piper leave Jason in his silence. Maybe they can sense my bad mood. Piper keeps glancing back, worried, as if he were the one who'd almost died of hypothermia rather than she. Or maybe she is thinking about Thalia's idea. Jason doens't really understand how they were going to save Piper's dad and Hera, and he isn't sure if the possibility had made Piper more hopeful or just more anxious.

Leo keeps swatting his own legs, checking for signs that his pants are on fire. He wasn't steaming anymore, but the incident on the ice bridge had really freaked Jason out. Leo hadn't seemed to realize that he had smoke coming out his ears and flames dancing through his hair. If Leo started spontaneously combusting every time he got excited, they were going to have a tough time taking him anywhere. Jason imagines trying to get food at a restaurant. I'll have a cheeseburger and—Ahhh! My friend's on fire! Get me a bucket!

Mostly, though, Jason worries about what Leo had said. Jason doesn't want to be a bridge, or an exchange, or anything else. He just wants to know where he'd come from. And Thalia had looked so unnerved when Leo mentioned the burned-out house in his dreams — the place the wolf Lupa had told him was his starting point. How did Thalia know that place, and why did she assume I could find it?

The answer seems close. But the nearer Jason gets to it, the less it cooperated, like the winds on his back.

Jason keeps catching (Y/n) glancing back at him, as though trying to find something to say.

They arrive at the top of the island. Bronze walls march all the way around the fortress grounds, though Jason can't imagine who would possibly attack this place. Twenty-foot-high gates open for them, and a road of polished purple stone leads up to the main citadel — a white-columned rotunda, Greek style, like one of the monuments in Washington, D.C. — except for the cluster of satellite dishes and radio towers on the roof.

"That's bizarre," Piper mutters.

"Guess you can't get cable on a floating island," Leo says. "Dang, check this guy's front yard."

The rotunda sits in the center of a quarter-mile circle. The grounds are amazing in a scary way. They are divided into four sections like big pizza slices, each one representing a season.

The section on their right is an icy waste, with bare trees and a frozen lake. Snowmen roll across the landscape as the wind blows, so Jason isn't sure if they were decorations or alive.

To their left is an autumn park with gold and red trees. Mounds of leaves blew into patterns — gods, people, animals that run after each other before scattering back into leaves.

In the distance, Jason can see two more areas behind the rotunda. One looks like a green pasture with sheep made out of clouds. The last section is a desert where tumbleweeds scratch strange patterns in the sand like Greek letters, smiley faces, and a huge advertisement that read: watch aeolus nightly!

"One section for each of the four wind gods," Jason guesses. "Four cardinal directions."

I'm loving that pasture." Coach licks licked his lips. "You guys mind —"

"Go ahead," Jason says. He is actually relieved to send the satyr off. It would be hard enough getting on Aeolus's good side without Coach Hedge waving his club and screaming, "Die!"

While the satyr runs off to attack springtime, Jason, Leo, (Y/n), and Piper walk down the road to the steps of the palace. They pass through the front doors into a white marble foyer decorated with purple banners that read olympian weather channel, and some that just read ow!

"Hello!" A woman floats up to them. Literally floated. She is pretty in that elfish way Jason associates with nature spirits at Camp Half-Blood — petite, slightly pointy ears, and an ageless face that could've been sixteen or thirty. Her brown eyes twinkle cheerfully. Even though there is no wind, her dark hair blows in slow motion, shampoo-commercial style. Her white gown billows around her like parachute material. Jason can't tell if she has feet, but if so, they don't touch the floor. She has a white tablet computer in her hand. "Are you from Lord Zeus?" she asks. "We've been expecting you."

Jason tries to respond, but it is a little hard to think straight, because he'd realizes the woman was see-through. Her shape fades in and out like she is made of fog. "Are you a ghost?" he asks.

Right away he knows he'd insulted her. The smile turns into a pout. "I'm an aura, sir. A wind nymph, as you might expect, working for the lord of the winds. My name is Mellie. We don't have ghosts."

Piper comes to the rescue. "No, of course you don't! My friend simply mistook you for Helen of Troy, the most beautiful mortal of all time. It's an easy mistake."

Wow, she's good, (Y/n) thinks.

The complement seems a little over top, but Mellie blushes. "Oh . . . well, then. So you are from Zeus?"

"Er," Jason starts. "I'm the son of Zeus, yeah."

"Excellent! Please, right this way," she leads them through some security doors into another lobby, consulting her tablet as she floats. She doesn't look where she is going, but apparently it doesn't matter as she drifts straight through a marble column with no problem. "We're out of prime time now, so that's good," she muses. "I can fit you in right before his 11:12 spot."

"Urn, okay," Jason says.

The lobby is a pretty distracting place. Winds blast around them, so Jason feels like he is pushing through an invisible crowd. Doors blow open and slam by themselves.

The things Jason can see are just as bizarre. Paper airplanes of all different sizes and shapes speed around, and other wind nymphs, aurai, would occasionally pluck them out of the air, unfold and read them, then toss them back into the air, where the planes would refold themselves and keep flying.

A creature flutters past. She looks like a mix between an old lady and a chicken on steroids. She has a wrinkled face with black hair tied in a hairnet, arms like a human plus wings like a chicken, and a fat, feathered body with talons for feet. It's amazing she could fly at all. She keeps drifting around and bumping into things like a parade balloon.

"Not an aura?" Jason asks Mellie as the creature wobbles by.

Mellie laughs. "That's a harpy, of course. Our, ah, ugly stepsisters, I suppose you would say. Don't you have harpies on Olympus? They're spirits of violent gusts, unlike us aurai. We're all gentle breezes." She bats her eyes at Jason.

"'Course you are," he replies.

"So," Piper prompts, "you were taking us to see Aeolus?"

Mellie leads them through a set of doors like an airlock. Above the interior door, a green light blinks.

"We have a few minutes before he starts," Mellie says cheerfully. "He probably won't kill you if we go in now. Come along!"

. . .

(Y/n)'s jaw drops. The central section of Aelous's fortress is as big as a cathedral, with a soaring domed roof covered in silver. Television equipment floats randomly through the air – camera, spotlights, set pieces, potted plants. And there's no floor. Leo almost falls into the chasm before Jason pulls him back."

"Holy —!" Leo gulps. "Hey, Mellie. A little warning next time!"

An enormous circular pit plunges into the heart of the mountain. It is probably half a mile deep, honeycombed with caves. Some of the tunnels probably led straight outside. (Y/n) remembers seeing winds blast out of them when they'd been on Pikes Peak. Other caves is sealed with some glistening material like glass or wax. The whole cavern bustles with harpies, aurai, and paper airplanes, but for someone who couldn't fly, it would be a very long, very fatal fall.

"Oh, my," Mellie gasps. "I'm so sorry." She unclips a walkie-talkie from somewhere inside her robes and speaks into it: "Hello, sets? Is that Nuggets? Hi, Nuggets. Could we get a floor in the main studio, please? Yes, a solid one. Thanks."

A few seconds later, an army of harpies rises from the pit — three dozen or so demon chicken ladies, all carrying squares of various building material. They go to work hammering and gluing – and using large quantities of duct tape, which doesn't reassure (Y/n). In no time there is a makeshift floor snaking out over the chasm. It was is of plywood, marble blocks, carpet squares, wedges of grass sod — just about anything.

"That can't be safe," Jason comments.

"Oh, it is!" Mellie assures him. "The harpies are very good."

Easy for her to say. She just drifts across without touching the floor, but Jason decides he has the best chance at surviving, since he can fly, so he steps out first. Amazingly, the floor holds.

Piper follows, then (Y/n), and then Leo.

Mellie leads them towards the middle of the chamber, where a loose sphere of flat-panel video screens floats around a kind of control center. A man hovers inside, checking monitors and reading paper airplane messages.

The man pays them no attention as Mellie brings them forward. She pushes a forty-two-inch Sony out of their way and leads them into the control area.

Leo whistles. "I got to get a room like this."

The floating screens show all sorts of television programs. Some Jason recognizes — news broadcasts, mostly — but some programs look a little strange: gladiators fighting, demigods battling monsters. Maybe they're movies, but they look more like reality shows.

At the far end of the sphere is a silky blue backdrop like a cinema screen, with cameras and studio lights floating around it.

The man in the center is talking into an earpiece phone. He has a remote control in each hand and is pointing them at various screens, seemingly at random.

He is wearing a business suit that looks like the sky — blue mostly, but dappled with clouds that change, darken, and move across the fabric. He looks like he's in his sixties, with a shock of white hair, but he has a ton of stage makeup on, and that smooth plastic-surgery look to his face, so he appears not really young, not really old, just wrong — like a Ken doll someone had halfway melted in a microwave. His eyes dart back and forth from screen to screen, like he's trying to absorb everything at once. He mutts things into his phone, and his mouth keeps twitching. He is either amused, or crazy, or both.

Mellie floats towards him. "Ah, sir, Mr. Aeolus, these demigods —"

"Hold it!" He holds up a hand to silence her, then points at one of the screens. "Watch!"

It's one of those storm-chaser programs, where insane thrill-seekers drive after tornados. As Jason watches, a Jeep plows straight into a funnel cloud and gets tossed into the sky.

Aeolus shrieks with delight. "The Disaster Channel. People do that on purpose !" He turned toward Jason with a mad grin. "Isn't that amazing? Let's watch it again."

"Urn, sir," Mellie says, "this is Jason, son of—"

"Yes, yes, I remember," Aeolus interupts. "You're back. How did it go?"

Jason hesitates. "Sorry? I think you've mistaken me —"

"No, no, Jason Grace, aren't you? It was — what — last year? You were on your way to fight a sea monster, I believe."

"I — I don't remember."

Aelous laughs. "Must not have been a very good sea monster! No, I remember every hero who's ever come to me for aid. Odysseus — gods, he docked at my island for a month! At least you only stayed a few days. Now, watch this video. These ducks get sucked straight into —"

"Sir," Mellie interrupts. "Two minutes to air."

"Air!" Aeolus exclaims. "I love air. How do I look? Makeup!"

Immediately a small tornado of brushes, blotters, and cotton balls descend on Aeolus. They blur across his face in a cloud of flesh-tone smoke until his coloration is even more gruesome than before. Wind swirl through his hair and left it sticking up like a frosted Christmas tree.

"Mr. Aeolus." Jason slips off the golden backpack. "We brought you these rogue storm spirits."

"Did you!" Aeolus looks at the bag like it's a gift from a fan — something he really doesn't want. "Well, how nice."

Leo nudges him, and Jason offers the bag. "Boreas sent us to capture them for you. We hope you'll accept them and stop — you know — ordering demigods to be killed."

Aeolus laughs, and looks incredulously at Mellie. "Demigods be killed — did I order that?"

Mellie checks her computer tablet. "Yes, sir, fifteenth of September. 'Storm spirits released by the death of Typhon, demigods to be held responsible,' etc . . . yes, a general order for them all to be killed."

"Oh, pish," Aeolus says. "I was just grumpy. Rescind that order, Mellie, and urn, who's on guard duty — Teriyaki? — Teri, take these storm spirits down to cell block Fourteen E, will you?"

A harpy swoops out of nowhere, snatches the golden bag, and spirals into the abyss.

Aeolus grins at Jason. "Now, sorry about that kill-on-sight business. But gods, I really was mad, wasn't I?" His face suddenly darkens, and his suit does the same, the lapels flashing with lightning. "You know . . . I remember now. Almost seemed like a voice was telling me to give that order. A little cold tingle on the back of my neck."

Jason tenses. A cold tingle on the back of his neck . . . Why does that sound so familiar? "A . . . um, voice in your head, sir?"

"Yes. How odd. Mellie, should we kill them?"

"No, sir," she says patiently. "They just brought us the storm spirits, which makes everything all right."

"Of course." Aeolus laughs. "Sorry. Mellie, let's send the demigods something nice. A box of chocolates, perhaps."

"A box of chocolates to every demigod in the world, sir?"

"No, too expensive. Never mind. Wait, it's time! I'm on!"

Aeolus flies off towards the blue screen as newscast music starts to play.

Jason looks at Piper, (Y/n), and Leo, who seem just as confused as he is.

"Mellie," he says , "is he . . . always like that?"

She smiles sheepishly. "Well, you know what they say. If you don't like his mood, wait five minutes. That expression 'whichever way the wind blows' — that was based on him."

"And that thing about the sea monster," Jason says. "Was I here before?"

Mellie blushes. "I'm sorry, I don't remember. I'm Mr. Aeolus's new assistant. I've been with him longer than most, but still — not that long."

"How long do his assistants usually last?" Piper asks curiously.

"Oh . . ." Mellie thinks for a moment. "I've been doing this for . . . twelve hours?"

A voice blares from floating speakers: "And now, weather every twelve minutes! Here's your forecaster for Olympian Weather — the OW! channel — Aeolus!"

Lights blaze on Aeolus, who is now standing in front of the blue screen. His smile is unnaturally white, and he looks like he'd had so much caffeine his face is about to explode.

"Hello, Olympus! Aeolus, master of the winds here, with weather every twelve! We'll have a low-pressure system moving over Florida today so expect milder temperatures since Demeter wishes to spare the citrus farmers!" He gestures at the blue screen, but when (Y/n0 checks the monitors, she sees that a digital image is being projected behind Aeolus, so it looks like he's standing in front of a U.S. map with animated smiley suns and frowny storm clouds. "Along the eastern seaboard — oh, hold on." He taps his earpiece. "Sorry, folks! Poseidon is angry with Miami today so it looks like that Florida freeze is back on! Sorry, Demeter. Over in the Midwest, I'm not sure what St. Louis did to offend Zeus, but you can expect winter storms! Boreas himself is being called down to punish the area with ice. Bad news, Missouri! No, wait. Hephaestus feels sorry for central Missouri, so you all will have much more moderate temperatures and sunny skies."

Aeolus keeps going like that — forecasting each area of the country and changing his prediction two or three times as he gets messages over his earpiece — the gods apparently putting in orders for various winds and weather.

"This can't be right," Jason whispers. "Weather isn't this random."

Mellie smirks. "And how often are the mortal weathermen right? They talk about fronts and air pressure and moisture, but the weather surprises them all the time. At least Aeolus tells us why it's so unpredictable. Very hard job, trying to appease all the gods at once. It's enough to drive anyone . . ."

She trails off, but Jason knows what she meant. Mad. Aeolus is completely mad.

"And that's the weather," Aeolus concludes. "See you in twelve minutes, because I'm sure it'll change!"

The lights shut off, the video monitors go back to random coverage, and just for a moment, Aeolus's face sags with weariness. Then he seems to remember he has guests, and he puts a smile back on.

"So, you brought me some rogue storm spirits," Aeolus says. "I suppose . . . thanks! And did you want something else? I assume so. Demigods always do."

Mellie says, "Urn, sir, this is Zeus's son."

"Yes, yes. I know that. I said I remembered him from before."

"But, sir, they're here from Olympus."

Aeolus looks stunned. Then he laughs so abruptly, Jason almost jumps into the chasm. "You mean you're here on behalf of your father this time? Finally! I knew they would send someone to renegotiate my contract!"

"Urn, what?" Jason asks.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Aeolus sighs with relief. "It's been what, three thousand years since Zeus made me master of the winds. Not that I'm ungrateful, of course! But really, my contract is so vague. Obviously I'm immortal, but 'master of the winds.' What does that mean? Am I a nature spirit? A demigod? A god? I want to be god of the winds, because the benefits are so much better. Can we start with that?"

Jason looks at his friends, mystified.

"Dude," Leo says, "you think we're here to promote you?"

"You are, then?" Aeolus grins. His business suit turns completely blue — not a cloud in the fabric. "Marvelous! I mean, I think I've shown quite a bit of initiative with the weather channel, eh? And of course I'm in the press all the time. So many books have been written about me: Into Thin Air, Up in the Air, Gone with the Wind —"

"Er, I don't think those are about you," Jason says, before he notices Mellie shaking her head.

"Nonsense," Aeolus says. "Mellie, they're biographies of me, aren't they?"

"Absolutely, sir," she squeaks.

"There, you see? I don't read. Who has time? But obviously the mortals love me. So, we'll change my official title to god of the winds. Then, about salary and staff —"

"Sir," Jason says, "we're not from Olympus."

Aeolus blinks. "But —"

"I'm the son of Zeus, yes," Jason says, "but we're not here to negotiate your contract. We're on a quest and we need your help."

Aeolus's expression hardens. "Like last time? Like every hero who comes here? Demigods! It's always about you, isn't it?"

"Sir, please, I don't remember last time, but if you helped me once before —"

"I'm always helping! Well, sometimes I'm destroying, but mostly I'm helping, and sometimes I'm asked to do both at the same time! Why Aeneas, the first of your kind —"

"My kind?" Jason asks. "You mean, demigods?"

"Oh, please!" Aeolus says. "I mean your line of demigods. You know, Aeneas, son of Venus — the only surviving hero of Troy. When the Greeks burned down his city, he escaped to Italy, where he founded the kingdom that would eventually become Rome, blah, blah, blah. That's what I meant."

"I don't get it," Jason admits.

Aeolus rolls his eyes. "The point being, I was thrown in the middle of that conflict, too! Juno calls up: 'Oh, Aeolus, destroy Aeneas's ships for me. I don't like him.' Then Neptune says, 'No, you don't! That's my territory. Calm the winds.' Then Juno is like, 'No, wreck his ships, or I'll tell Jupiter you're uncooperative!' Do you think it's easy juggling requests like that?"

"No," Jason said. "I guess not."

"And don't get me started on Amelia Earhart! I'm still getting angry calls from Olympus about knocking her out of the sky!"

"We just want information," Piper says in her most calming voice. "We hear you know everything."

Aeolus straightens his lapels and looks slightly mollified. "Well . . . that's true, of course. For instance, I know that this business here" — he waggles his fingers at the four of them — "this harebrained scheme of Juno's to bring you all together is likely to end in bloodshed. As for you, Piper McLean, I know your father is in serious trouble." He holds out his hand, and a scrap of paper flutters into his grasp. It's a photo of Piper with a guy who must've been her dad. His face does look familiar. Jason is pretty sure he'd seen him in some movies.

Piper takes the photo. Her hands are shaking. "This — this is from his wallet."

"Yes ," Aeolus says. "All things lost in the wind eventually come to me. The photo blew away when the Earthborn captured him."

"The what?" Piper asks.

Aeolus waves aside the question and narrows his eyes at Leo. "Now, you, son of Hephaestus . . . Yes, I see your future." Another paper falls into the wind god's hands — an old tattered drawing done in crayons.

Leo takes it as if it might be coated in poison. He staggers backwards.

"Leo?" Jason says. "What is it?"

"Something I — I drew when I was a kid." He folds it quickly and put it in his coat. "It's . . . yeah, it's nothing."

Aeolus laughs. "Really? Just the key to your success!" Aeolus then looks at (Y/n). He waves his hand, and a photograph flies down, falling into the daughter of Poseidon's hands.

(Y/n) chokes back a sob as she studies the photo. It was a picture of herself, Percy, and their parents, Sally and Paul, and Percy's arm is wrapped around Annabeth's waist – and everyone looked happy.

(Y/n) clears her throat, and shoves the picture into her pocket, she aggressively wipes at her eyes and Leo, Jason, and Piper avoid her gaze.

Aeolus shrugs it aside, "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, you wanted information. Are you sure about that? Sometimes information can be dangerous." He smiles at Jason like he's issuing a challenge. Behind him, Mellie shakes her head in warning.

"Yeah," Jason says. "We need to find the lair of Enceladus."

Aeolus's smile melts, "The giant? Why would you want to go there? He's horrible! He doesn't even watch my program!"

Piper holds up the photo. "Aeolus, he's got my father. We need to rescue him and find out where Hera is being held captive."

"Now, that's impossible," Aeolus says. "Even I can't see that, and believe me, I've tried. There's a veil of magic over Hera's location—very strong, impossible to locate."

"She's at a place called the Wolf House," Jason says.

"Hold on!" Aelous puts a hand to his forehead and closes his eyes. "I'm getting something! Yes, she's at a place called the Wolf House! Sadly, I don't know where that is."

"Enceladus does," Piper persists. "If you help us find him, we could get the location of the goddess —"

"Yeah," Leo adds, catching on. "And if we save her, she'd be really grateful to you —"

"And Zeus might promote you," (Y/n) finishes.

Aeolus's eyebrows creep up. "A promotion — and all you want from me is the giant's location?"

"Well, if you could get us there, too," Jason amends, "that would be great."

Mellie claps her hands in excitement. "Oh, he could do that! He often sends helpful winds —"

Mellie, quiet!" Aeolus snaps. "I have half a mind to fire you for letting these people in under false pretenses."

Her face pales. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"It wasn't her fault," Jason says, "But about that help . . ."

Aelous tilted his head as if thinking. Then Jason realized the wind lord was listening to voices in his earpiece.

"Well . . . Zeus approves," Aeolus mutters. "He says . . . he says it would be better if you could avoid saving her until after the weekend, because he has a big party planned — Ow! That's Aphrodite yelling at him, reminding him that the solstice starts at dawn. She says I should help you. And Hephaestus . . . yes. Hmm. Very rare they agree on anything. Poseidon agrees . . . Hold on . . ."

Jason smiled at his friends. Finally, they were having some good luck. Their godly parents were standing up for them.

Back towards the entrance, Jason hears a loud belch. Coach Hedge waddles in from the lobby, grass all over his face. Mellie sees him coming across the makeshift floor and catches her breath. "Who is that?"

Jason stifles a cough. "That? That's just Coach Hedge. Uh, Gleeson Hedge. He's our . . ." Jason wasn't sure what to call him: teacher, friend, problem? "Our guide."

"He's so goatly," Mellie murmurs.

Behind her, Piper poofs out her cheeks, pretending to vomit.

"What's up, guys?" Hedge trots over. "Wow, nice place. Oh! Sod squares."

"Coach, you just ate," Jason says. "And we're using the sod as a floor. This is, ah, Mellie —"

"An aura." Hedge smiles winningly. "Beautiful as a summer breeze."

Mellie blushes.

"And Aeolus here was just about to help us," Jason explains.

"Yes," the wind lord mutters. "It seems so. You'll find Enceladus on Mount Diablo."

"Devil Mountain?" Leo questions. "That doesn't sound good."

"I remember that place!" Piper says. "I went there once with my dad. It's just east of San Francisco Bay."

The Bay Area again?" The coach shakes his head. "Not good. Not good at all."

"Now . . .''Aeolus began to smile. "As to getting you there —"

Suddenly his face goes slack. He bends over and taps his earpiece as if it were malfunctioning. When he straightened again, his eyes are wild. Despite the makeup, he looks like an old man — an old, very frightened man. "She hasn't spoke to me for centuries. I can't — yes, yes I understand."

He swallows, regarding Jason as if he had suddenly turned into a giant cockroach. "I'm sorry, son of Jupiter. New orders. You all have to die."

Mellie squeaks. "But — but, sir! Zeus said to help them. Poseidon, Aphrodite, Hephaestus —"

"Mellie!" Aeolus snaps. "Your job is already on the line. Besides, there are some orders that transcend even the wishes of the gods, especially when it comes to the forces of nature."

"Whose orders?" Jason says. "Zeus will fire you if you don't help us!"

"I doubt it." Aeolus flicks his wrist, and far below them, a cell door opens in the pit. Jason could hear storm spirits screaming out of it, spiraling up towards them, howling for blood.

"Even Zeus understands the order of things," Aeolus said. "And if she is waking — by all the gods — she cannot be denied. Good-bye, heroes. I'm terribly sorry, but I'll have to make this quick. I'm back on the air in four minutes."

Jason summons his sword. Coach Hedge pulls out his club. Mellie the aura screams, "No!"

She dives at their feet just as the storm spirits hit with hurricane force, blasting the floor to pieces, shredding the carpet samples and marble and linoleum into what should've been lethal projectiles, had Mellie's robes not spread out like a shield and absorbed the brunt of the impact. The six of them fall into the pit, and Aeolus screams above them, "Mellie, you are so fired!"

"Quick," Mellie yells. "Son of Zeus, do you have any power over the air?"

"A little!"

"Then help me, or you're all dead!" Mellie grabs his hand, and an electric charge goes through Jason's arm. He understands what she needs. They have to control their fall and head for one of the open tunnels. The storm spirits are following them down, closing rapidly, bringing with them a cloud of deadly shrapnel.

(Y/n) grabs Piper's hand. "Group hug!"

Hedge, Leo, (Y/n), and Piper tried to huddle together, hanging onto Jason and Mellie as they fall.

"This is NOT GOOD!" Leo yells.

"Bring it on, gas bags!" Hedge screams up at the storm spirits. "I'll pulverize you!"

"He's magnificent," Mellie sighs.

"Concentrate?" Jason prompts.

"Right!" she says.

They channel the wind so their fall becomes more of a tumble into the nearest open chute. Still, they slam into the tunnel at painful speed and go rolling over each other down a steep vent that is not designed for people. There's no way they can stop.

Mellie's robes billow around her. Jason and the others cling to her desperately, and they begin to slow down, but the storm spirits are screaming into the tunnel behind them.

"Can't — hold — long," Mellie warns. "Stay together! When the winds hit —"

"You're doing great, Mellie," Hedge says. "My own mama was an aura, you know. She couldn't have done better herself."

"Iris-message me?" Mellie pleads.

Hedge winks.

"Could you guys plan your date later?" Piper screams. "Look!"

Behind them, the tunnel is turning dark. Jason can feel his ears pop as the pressure builds.

"Can't hold them," Mellie warns. "But I'll try to shield you, do you one more favor."

"Thanks, Mellie," Jason says. "I hope you get a new job."

The aurai smiles, and then dissolves, wrapping them in a warm, gentle breeze. Then the real winds hit, shooting them into the sky so fast, Jason blacks out.

Word Count: 12090 words

#piper mclean x reader #piper mclean x fem reader #piper mclean x female reader #the lost hero #the son of neptune #the heroes of olympus #the blood of olympus #the house of hades #the mark of athena #annabeth chase x reader #annabeth chase x sister reader #percy jackson x sister reader

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somniumfaults · 2 months ago

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★ Masterlist ★

♡ - Fluff || ✦ - Angst || ☾ - Smut || ⚠ - Dead Dove

✞ TOKYO DEBUNKER ✞

FROSTHEIM

jin kamurai

ᯓᡣ𐭩 in every universe - fic; ♡

VAGASTROM

sho haizono

ᯓᡣ𐭩 in every universe - fic; ♡

leo kurasagi

ᯓᡣ𐭩 alpha leo & your heat - imagine; ☾ ᯓᡣ𐭩 omega leo - imagine; ☾

JABBERWOCK

towa otonashi

ᯓᡣ𐭩 alpha towa & your heat - imagine; ☾ ᯓᡣ𐭩 omega towa - imagine; ☾

HOTARUBI

haku kusanagi

ᯓᡣ𐭩 alpha haku & your heat - imagine; ☾ ᯓᡣ𐭩 omega haku - imagine; ☾

SINOSTRA

taiga hoshibami

ᯓᡣ𐭩 his gun is a goodbye kiss - fic; ✦

OBSCUARY

rui mizuki

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "when the time comes, i'll kill you" - fic; ✦

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anrisimps · 2 years ago

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Masterlist

~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~~♥~

Soos

1. Married soos. 2. Abo soos au

3. Cat krs dog cjs 4. Krs's big boobas

4. Kabedon 5. Tugging off tie

6. Record strikes again. 7 lsh and cale meet( Angst :) )

8. Kiss cam 9. Domestic soos 10. Krs baking

11. Lsh and cale waltzing

12. Sugar baby krs and mafia boss lsh n cjs

13. Krs's clingy alphas 14. Pass the salt daddy

15. Nesting. 16. Lsh secretly loves to sing

17. Cale likes to collect skeletons

18. LeeRok Rofan au Penguin au Otter Au

Dodam whump Older soos meeting younger soos

krs whump

Roksoo-nya x Jungsoo-nya

lsh and cjs transmigrating into lcf

Aging marks Arranged marriage au

Snow leopard lsh x homeless cat krs

Naru and fredo -

1. Baby pics 2. Not so dead Naru pt 1

3. Not so dead Naru pt2

4. Naru gets what naru wants(soos)

5. Future Naru chronicles(polysoos) 1 2 3

Regressor Fam

Summary/synopsis character sketch(sorta)

Character Sketch 2

Before Regression (Agnes and Leo)

The three monkeys

How the kids were adopted- Ricardo Aster Ethan

Th Dilfs -Mermaid king (nsfw) Elf king Fairy queen Dragon king

Doodles

Tcf-

Cale blushing Cale's personal demon

Cjs being an idiot Ogchch in denial

Raon judging. Cale being the single mom

Cale hyperventilating? Lsh with his cat and puppy blanket burritos dragon onesie

Choicale Dilf krs Raon angy bcoz his apple pies are gone. Raon and krs on a swing

Cale didnt see the umbrella given by lsh and cjs Partners in crime Raon plopping down on Cale

Buddy daddies-

Rei and miri Their gravestones

#bcoz i have trouble finding all of them #( TДT)

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janedoewriter · 2 years ago

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Collection of Tom Hiddlestion and his characters

(mostly Loki)

Originally Posted: 1/16/2023

Updated: 1/20/2023

Will be slowly updating from my likes

Masterlists

@lokishorns’s Masterlist: Loki

@starscreamloki’s Masterlist: Loki

@tarynkauai’s Masterlist: Loki, Tom Hiddleston and James Conrad

@hajimesh’s Masterlist: Loki

@jpat82’s Masterlist: Loki

@innaminitus’s Masterlist: Loki

@bolontiku’s Masterlist: Loki

Various Author’s AO3 Collab: Loki

@sabine-leo’s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston and Loki

@nev3rfound’s Masterlist: Loki

@Trashpanda-Bucky’s Masterlist: Loki

@cora-notovrloki’s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston and Loki

@marvelfanfics1’s Masterlist: Loki

@maiden-of-asgard’s Masterlist: Loki

@maladaptive-ninja-returns’s Masterlist: Loki

@Lokidokiimagines’s Masterlist: Loki

@he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic’s Weekly Smut Recs: Loki

@gingerwritess’s Masterlist: Loki

@just-the-hiddles’s Weekend Reading Rec: Loki and Tom Hiddleston

@nekoamamori’s Masterlist: Loki

@revengingbarnes’s Masterlist: Loki and Tom Hiddleston

@justfandomwritings’s Masterlist: Loki

@the--sad--hatter’s Masterlist: Loki

@lokidmyheart’s Masterlist: Loki

@lonelyandlovelorn’s Masterlist: Loki

@waiting4inspiration’s Masterlist: Loki

@thorne93’s Masterlist: Loki and Tom Hiddleston

@multific’s Masterlist: Loki

@multific’s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston

@wewritesoyoucanenjoy’s Masterlist: Loki

@iamnotoriginalphil’s Masterlist: Loki

@tokoyamisstuff’s Masterlist: Loki

@ffangirlingsince2001’s Masterlist: Loki

@domxmarvel‘s Masterlist: Loki

@worldofmarvelfics‘s Recs Masterlist: Loki

@codenamewitcher’s Masterlist: Loki

@lov3nerdstuff’s Masterlist: Loki, Tom Hiddleston, James Conrad, Jonathan Pine

@bellesque’s Masterlist: Loki and Tom Hiddleston

@notyetneedcoffee’s Masterlist: Loki

@picassho-18’s Masterlist: Loki and Tom Hiddleston

@ragnarachael’s Masterlist: Loki

@hela-avenger’s Masterlist: Loki

@the-goddess-of-mischief-writing’s Masterlist: Loki

@fanfic-collection’s Masterlist: Loki

@iwriteabouttomhiddles‘s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston

@lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love’s Recs Masterlist #1 Master #2: Loki and Tom Hiddleston

@shiningloki’s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston

@lokispettigerr’s Masterlist: Loki and Tom Hiddleston

@loki-smut-library’s Masterlist of One/Two Shots Recs: Loki

@loki-smut-library’s Masterlist of Multipart Recs: Loki

@justagirlinafandomworld’s Masterlist: Loki

@lokisgoodgirl‘s Masterlist: Loki

@lady-rose-moon’s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston and his characters

@holymultiplefandomsbatman’s Smut Masterlist: Loki

@holymultiplefandomsbatman’s Main Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston and his characters

@muddyorbsblr’s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston and his characters

@lokidokieokie’s Fic Recs: Tom Hiddleston and his characters

@sarahscribbles’s Masterlist: Loki

@jobean12-blog’s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston and his characters

@delaber’s Masterlist: Loki

@tomhiddlestonfanfic’s Masterlist: Tom Hiddleston

Series Masterlists

Lokasenna’s Masterlist: Jotun!Loki by @hajimesh

Enchanted Tale’s Masterlist By @anotherfanficblog: Loki

Canary by @melyalizarchive: Loki

Mortal by @bolontiku: Loki

Just for Fun by @unofferable-fic: Loki

Loki’s Happy Ending by @gingerwritess: Loki

Meet Me at the Chalet by @J-j-elby-writes: Loki

Protector by @lonelyandlovelorn: Loki

But Then You Came by @etherealwaifgoddess: Loki

Unforeseen Chasm by @thorne93: Loki

Lie to Me by @dearlazerbunny: Loki

My Little Mortal by @fanfic-fangirl: Loki AU

Poison & Wine by @hela-avenger: Loki Fake Dating!AU

Bound to Break by @xxwritemeastoryxx: Loki

Mischief, Meet Your Match by @the--sad--hatter: Loki

YNSAAAW by @maggyme13: Loki

Soulmate 21 by @maggyme13: Loki

A Snake’s Pet by @maggyme13: Alpha! Loki

Borrowed Time by @alwayssunnyinedensgate: Loki

Of All the Places by @wrenhyperfixates: Loki

To the Stars Who Listen by @hela-avenger: Loki

Small Time Witch Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 ** Chapter 9** Chapter 10** Chapter 11** Chapter 12** Chapter 13** Chapter 14** Chapter 15 Chapter 16** Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19** Chapter 20 Chapter 21 (part 1)** Chapter 21 (part 2) Chapter 22 Chapter 23** Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 (finale) Happy birthday, Princess Body Shots by @diaryofabeautyfiend

Sugar by @maggyme13: Loki

Stained Lace by @dorotheajanegilmore (Under Wattpad)

Man of the Month by @muddyorbsblr and @mochie85: Loki

Hostile F*cks by @lokisgoodgirl: Loki

I Have You by @lady-rose-moon: Loki

Clandestine F*cks by @lokisgoodgirl: Loki

Little Lies by @darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor: Loki

The Witchling and the God by @space-mermaid-writing: Loki

The Invade Me Chronicles by Various Authors: posted by @xorpsbane: Loki

Single Fics

The Little Dove and Her Serpent by @luciilferss: Loki

Fade Into You by @tiredwritersworld: Loki

A Long Way Home by @cordytriestowrite: Loki

Home by @kashimos-hajime: Loki

You Found Me by @cumonbucky: Loki

Loki Smut Oneshots by @ohhhmyloki: Loki

Loki’s Perspective by @lowkeyorloki: Loki

Mind Games by @jadegrey711: Loki

Black Magic (Part 1 of 2) by @thesaltysocialworker: Loki

Black Magic (Part 2 of 2) by @thesaltysocialworker: Loki

Pet by @beeblebrox-be-damned: Loki

Intensity by @banditthewriter: Loki

Quarantine Loki (+Thor) by @scarlettwitcher

Heart of Stone by @yet-another-fan-girl9: Loki

Panic by @yet-another-fan-girl9: Loki

Beautiful Danger by @midnight-lightning: Loki

I’m Walking Here by @notyetneedcoffee: Loki

Illusions by @xxwritemeastoryxx: Loki

Fireworks by @write-and-wander: Loki

Mornings with You by @write-and-wander: Loki

Bite Me by @loki-hargreeves: Vampire!Loki

Always by @aestheticallywinchester: Loki

Passage by @aestheticallywinchester: Loki

Pieces of You by @aestheticallywinchester: Loki

Reflections by @aestheticallywinchester: Loki

On Set by @aestheticallywinchester: Tom Hiddleston

“Telling Tom a pun..” by @aestheticallywinchester: Tom Hiddleston

When We Meet Again by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Loki

Keep Up by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Loki

Tell Me A Story by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Loki

Not A Place, A People by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Loki

Kisses Heal Most Wounds by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Loki

The Grinch by @lovinglokilaufeyson: Loki

Complicated by @maybepointlessthoughts: Loki

Bad Timing by @maybepointlessthoughts: Loki

Bad Blood by @maybepointlessthoughts: Loki

Time And Time Again by @maybepointlessthoughts: Loki

Honour by @maybepointlessthoughts: Loki

Petals of Rose by @bonky-n-steeb: Loki

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 1 year ago

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Bellona’s videos masterlist - movies - part 2 (Harry Potter, MCU, X-men, Kingsman, Lost Boys, Bill and Ted...) full

The Avengers

Bruce Banner meets Natasha Romanov in Kolkata

Loki faces Black Widow

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

The Golden Daggers Club

Guardians of the Galaxy

“Bunch of jackasses standing in a circle”

Guardians of the Galaxy II

Drax and Mantis

Yondu Udonta’s funeral

Thor

Clint Barton/Hawkeye full appearance

Avengers: Age of Ultron

The Bartons

Captain America: Civil War

Natasha meets T’Challa in Vienna

Ant-Man

Scott Lang battles Falcon

Black Panther

Coronation of T’Challa - part one

Coronation of T’Challa - part two

Jabariland - part one

Jabariland - Part two

Avengers: Endgame

Clint loses his family

Scott Lang explains his plan

Clint travels back in time to see his family

Clint and Natasha arrive on Vormir

Natasha sacrifices herself for the Soul Stone

Tony Stark’s last message and funeral

Eternals

The legend of Ikaris

Ikaris, Kingo, Sersi and Sprite find Gilgamesh and Thena

Doctor Strange

The Ancient One fights Kaecilius and his zealots

Stephen meets Wong in the library

Mordo trains Stephen

Captain America: Winter Soldier

Elevator scene

First two meetings of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson

Elevator Fight & Escape full scene

The Zemo cut - part one

The Zemo cut - part two

The Zemo cut - part three

Iron Man 3

Tony meets Harley

Captain America: The First Avenger

Steve Rogers meets doctor Erskine

The “Grenade!” scene

“Not a perfect soldier, but a good man”

The shield

The Marvels

Monica awakens in a parallel reality/Kamala recruits Kate Bishop

Kamala, Monica and Carol learn to control the switch

Carol, Monica and Kamala arrive on Aladna

Werewolf by Night

The monster hunters gather at Bloodstone Manor

Jack transforms into a werewolf - part one

Jack transforms into a werewolf - part two

*****

X-2: X-Men United

Jean and Storm meet Nightcrawler

The students escape from the Xavier Institute during Striker’s attack - part one

The students escape from the Xavier Institute during Striker’s attack - part two

X-Men: The Last Stand

Hank McCoy meets Jimmy (Leech)

Warren refuses the cure and escapes Worthington labs

X-men: Days of Future Past

The Future X-men

X-men Apocalypse

Nightcrawler vs. Angel

Scott arrives at the Xavier Institute

Deadpool and Wolverine

Wade and Logan meet the resistance group

*****

Harry Potter

Harry meets Ollivander

First flying lesson with madame Hooch

Harry, Ron and Hermione fight the troll

Harry meets Voldemort (and Firenze) in the Forbidden Forest

The Chess Game

Harry meets Tom Riddle

Harry and Fawkes fight Tom Riddle and the Basilisk - part one

Harry and Fawkes fight Tom Riddle and the Basilisk - part two

Harry learns to cast a Patronus

*****

Olympus Has Fallen

Melissa Leo as Secretary of Defense Ruth McMillan

*****

Outlander

Kainan arrives on Earth

"SHIELDS!"

*****

The Kingsman

Oxford, Conrad and Shola fight Rasputin

Conrad’s birthrday

Eggsy arrives at the Kingsman’s headquarters

Eggsy and JB

“The most dangerous job interview in the world” - part one

“The most dangerous job interview in the world” - part two

“The most dangerous job interview in the world” - part three

Eggsy vs. Gazelle

Eggsy’s table etiquette lesson with Harry

Meeting the Statesmen

*****

Lost Boys: The Tribe

Chris Emerson has a talk with Edgar Frog

Reverend Edgar Frog’s arsenal

Lost Boys - The Thirst

Alan is forced to drink vampire blood

Edgar visits Alan

Edgar & Alan Frog vs Peter “The Alpha”

“Now, Zoe, something I need to ask you…”

*bonus: Corey Feldman in Katy Perry's Last Friday Night

*****

Arrival

Ian Donnelly’s narration

*****

King Arthur

Prologue - part one

Prologue - part two

The Knights’ funeral and Arthur and Gwenevere’s wedding

“Land of Bears, Land of Eagles” full scene

The Knights leave Hadrian’s wall for their last mission

*****

Pacific Rim

Prologue

Raleigh arrives at the Hong Kong Shatterdome and meets the other Jaegers

Hermann & Newt drift with baby Otachi

*****

Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure

Bill and Ted recruit Sigmund Freud, Ludwig van Beethoven, Genghis Khan, Joan of Arc and Abraham Lincoln for their history report - part one

Bill and Ted recruit Sigmund Freud, Ludwig van Beethoven, Genghis Khan, Joan of Arc and Abraham Lincoln for their history report - part two

Bill and Ted recruit Sigmund Freud, Ludwig van Beethoven, Genghis Khan, Joan of Arc and Abraham Lincoln for their history report - part three

Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

Bill and Ted battle Death

Bill and Ted Face the Music

Deacon and Missy’s wedding

Billie and Thea recruit Jimi Hendrix and Louis Armstrong for their fathers’ band - part one

Billie and Thea recruit Mozart for their fathers’ band

Billie and Thea recruit Ling Lun and Grom for their fathers’ band - part three

*****

Eat Locals

Sebastian is introduced to the vampires - part one

Sebastian is introduced to the vampires - part two

*****

Bellona's masterlist

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lokistoriesblog · 3 years ago

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LokiStoriesBlog's 2021 FIC REC ROUNDUP

As we gear up to bring 2021 to a close, I wanted to take a moment to share some of my favourite fics from this past year with all of you. This is just a small sample of the many fics I enjoyed over the last year, so please check them and their authors out! xoxo Kayls aka @lokistoriesblog

Loki

"Two Sides of a Coin" or "Don't Let Me Go" by @handmaiden-of-mischief or anything from Kiki's Loki masterlist

"For a Moment" by @gaitwae

"Trouble" by @silver-tongued-bby

"Needy" by @ambrosiase

"In Shades of Blue, He'll Dream of You" by @kneel-bitches

"Glorious Purpose" by @high-functioning-lokipath

"Movie Night" by @the-emo-asgardian

"Dad" by @lovelybarnes

"Softy" by @theaudacitytowrite

"The Party" by @agentkinghorn

"Welcome Home" by @lokis-little-fawn

Jotun Loki

"After The After Party" by @starks-hero

"No Touchies" by @give-me-a-moose

"Cold Hands" by @sinner-as-saint

"Tiny Dancer" by @lokis-right-nut

Tom Hiddleston

"Wrong Number" or "Red" by @youlightmeupfinn or honestly anything from Taylor's Tommy masterlist

"Something Good" by @immersed-in-mischief

"The Nanny" or "The Cabin" by @handsomelyhiddleston

"Look Left!" by @sabine-leo

Bucky

"Fake Boyfriend, Real Orgasm's" by @bucksfucks

"The Mating Program" by @multi-stann

Zemo

"Emperor's New Clothes" by @maiden-of-asgard

"Take Care of You" by @zemosimp05

Flip Zimmerman

"Pretty Girl" by @bookishofalder

"Love Thy Neighbour" by @strangunddurm

Chris Evans

"I'm Just An Assistant" by @time-for-a-lullaby

"Best Friend's Brother" by @secretswiftymarvelfan

Ransom Drysdale

"Mrs. Drysdale" by @payperhearts

"Alpha, May I" by @imaginedreamwrite

Fred Weasley

"Left Waiting at the Three Broomsticks" by @potter-imagines

"I Don't Share" by @horrorxweasley or anything from Rachel's kinktober masterlist

If you made it this far - thank you for reading my fic rec list. Sorry it isn't a cumbersome list, there have been so many more that I enjoyed over the year but I wanted to highlight a small few to share with you all.

Please let me know if you read any of them from my list, would love to chat about them!

🕯manifesting good vibes for 2022🕯

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holylulusworld · 2 years ago

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Ari (2)

Summary: It’s your alpha's turn to get some … cuddles…

Pairing: Alpha!Ari Levinson x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, language, a/b/o dynamics, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, scenting, knotting, breeding, fluff, mafia au (implied)

Divider by @firefly-graphics

< < Part 1 - Leo

Leo & Alpha masterlist

“No, no…‘mega, keep those legs open for me,” he grips your thighs roughly, holding you open for him. “I’m gonna fucking ruin this cunt.”

“Ar-i,” you move your hands to the edge of the desk behind you to grip it tightly. “Please…I need to cum.”

Ari's eyes hold your gaze. He enjoys the tiny squeaks that leave your lips and how your tits jiggle with every deep thrust he gives you. “You want to cum.”

“Yes,” hissing the word you look at Ari. His eyes are filled with desire. “Please…baby…my big bear.”

“I fucking love you.”

He wraps his arm around your body to press your body against his chest. Ari speeds up and starts to hammer into you.

With long but quick strokes he dives into your dripping cunt, all the while moaning your name. His voice purring your name is enough to push you over the edge.

“Baby…alpha,” you wrap your legs around his hips. “I need you to cum inside of me. Let me feel it.”

“Fuck…I can’t hold back much longer,” he almost whimpers when his cock twitches deep within you. “Baby…Y/N…omega.”

You sigh when his knot threatens to pop open. “I wanna feel your knot.”

Your hands paw at his back, nails biting into his flesh. “Baby…we didn’t use anything. I can’t…need to pull out or…”

“Stay inside,” you rock your hips, moaning as another, smaller high, ripples through your body. You whimper when Ari grips your ass to hoist you up. He twirls around with you in his arms to press you into the couch at his office. “I want your knot.”

“Shit—yes.”

Ari digs his knees into the couch and starts moving his hips again. “Please…”

“I’ll give it to you,” he hides his face in your neck, growling. “I-fuck…that’s it…”

Your eyes round feeling him shove his cock even deeper inside of you. His knot slowly expands, and you whimper as Ari peppers his claiming mark on your neck with kisses. He purrs and snarls, all the while rolling his hips.

Another orgasm spreads warmth through your body. You’re trembling and moaning when he comes with a shout of your name.

His warmth fills you only seconds later. It’s too late to back down now. You’re fertile and he’s more than ready to give you pups. “Baby…I thought we wanted to wait a little longer.”

You rake your nails up and down his back to calm your alpha. He’s locked inside your body and you know how Ari gets when his alpha takes over.

“I got you full. Do you think we made it on the first try?”

He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck and sighs deeply. “I don’t know but…we can try again…and again…and again.”

“Come here, Leo,” you pat the empty spot next to you on the bed. “Daddy said you can join us tonight again.”

Leo immediately jumps onto the bed. He slowly moves to you to lie his head into your lap whining as you start to pat his head.

“Do you still love him more than me?” Ari wraps one arm around your shoulders to make sure the dog knows he’s your favorite man.

“You are the most important man in my life, alpha,” you softly kiss his cheek. “But I love Leo too. You must share my attention with him.”

Ari watches your dog lift his head. Leo huffs as your alpha gives him a stern look. Your dog moves even closer to you and snuggles into your lap. He purrs low in his throat as you start to run your hand up and down his back.

“I swear, he grinned at me, Y/N,” Ari furrows his brows when you giggle lightly. “He tries to make me jealous or something…or mark his territory. Buddy, this is my omega and my territory. You’re only a guest on our bed.”

“Baby, don’t be mad at him,” you purr for your alpha. “You wanted him to protect me, and he just does that. He’s like you, my big bear. He loves me and tries to keep me safe.”

“Leo,” Ari says with a low voice. Leo lifts his head and looks at your alpha again. “She’s my omega. You can get some cuddles but that’s it.”

Leo ignores your alpha’s words. He lies his head in your lap and puffs out a huff.

“Good boy. You love your daddy too, right?”

Your dog gets back up to climb over your body. He sits in front of your alpha, looking Ari up and down. Leo watches your alpha for a moment before he decides to crawl up Ari’s body to lie on his legs and put his head in Ari’s lap.

“Aw, he loves you, Ari,” you sniffle.

“He’s heavy,” your alpha complains. “What do you feed your dog?”

“I like my man big and beefy,” you grin. “Let’s watch the movie now. I want to spend the night with my two favorite men.”

>> Part 3

Tags in reblog.

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson smut #alpha!ari levinson x omega!reader #a/b/o #Smut #mobster!ari levinson #alpha!ari levinson x you

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wayward-dreamer · 2 years ago

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Reluctant Renegade - Chapter 4

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Word count: 2,515

Summary: After the night that saw his transformation into a vampire, resulting in the death of his wife, Dean spends his lifetime seeking revenge on the one that turned him. Reluctantly living outside the law because of what he is, he finds his niche as a bounty hunter, hired by families looking for someone, anyone to avenge the deaths of their loved ones. He doesn’t play by the rules, finding justice for the victims by any means necessary.

But as dead bodies rack up and catch the attention of a young, naive but by-the-book detective, she won’t stop until she finds out who’s responsible for them. Dean knows he has to convince her of his innocence, but can he do that while maintaining his secret? And when the alpha that sired him finds him first, can he keep Y/N safe?

Warnings: Angst, swearing, brief implications of sexual assault, pretty sure that’s it.

A/N: Inspired by the song Blood Like Lemonade by Morcheeba. Beta’d by my love @evergreencowboy. Big thanks to @writercole for being one of my cheerleaders on this since the idea came to me. I’m so glad everyone is loving this and I hope you continue to, happy reading! :)

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Y/N rested her head on her hand as she looked down at the case files in front of her. Her eyes stung; tired from the length of time she had spent staring at the photos and reports of each victim. She widened her eyes before blinking a few times, trying to keep herself awake. It was late afternoon, and a few days after she had spoken with Mrs. Hart. Y/N had called the number on the card she had given her several times, but it went to voicemail each time. The voice was of a woman, her voice light and carefree, almost as if she had qualms in life. Whoever she was, she was definitely a cover for this Dean Winchester guy and Y/N was determined to get to the heart of what was really going on.

No one else was dying on her watch.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she quickly stood up from the desk and put on her jacket. She took down the address that was linked to the phone number, picked up her gun and placed it in the holster, before she marched out of the precinct. She was going to get any answers if she kept sitting behind a desk, and she needed to know who the woman on the voicemail, Charlie Bradbury, was.

“Nothing?”

Charlie looked up at Dean, wishing she had better news for him, but she really didn’t. She shook her head, frowning, causing a deep, frustrated exhale to leave him as he turned away from the desk. He strolled towards the windows of her apartment, watching the drops of rain patter against the glass softly. Every lead was a dead end, and he had no more options left. Whichever location he thought Conrad, Miles, and Leo would be based on the past came back negative. He suspected that they were covering their tracks better, but he was hoping for a slip-up. Just one, that was all he needed, but there was no luck.

“I hate to say it, but maybe it’s a cold trail,” Charlie stated, sitting back on her office chair, folding her arms across her chest. “Maybe they just wanted to play you and then leave.”

He shook his head, turning to face her. “They’re craftier than that, which means I gotta be steps ahead of them.”

“So… what now?” she asked, softly.

“Now…” he breathed heavily, as something came to his mind which he didn’t want to voice. He knew it wouldn’t sit well with her, hell it didn’t with him, but he didn’t have a choice anymore. “Now I wait for bodies to drop.”

“Dean, no,” Charlie protested, standing up from the desk and stalking over to him. “Bad, bad idea. You can’t-”

“I don’t have any other options, Charlie!” he yelled as he faced her. “I have to get them… I have to! And if that means waiting to catch them when their guard’s totally down, then so be it.”

“So what? So you can catch more attention from the cops when the blame’s inevitably going to be on you?” she asked, looking at him pointedly. “You do this and you’ll have more than one detective to worry about.”

Dean thought back to a few nights ago, when he ran into that detective at the bar. The one who he couldn’t keep off his mind, no matter how hard he tried. He was certain she didn’t know he was the one she nearly caught in that alley, and he hoped it stayed that way. If he could manage to do this without any extra attention from authorities, then he could catch Conrad and the others before he was suspected of any crimes. He could pin everything on them, even the assholes that he killed, and then get out of Seattle for a while, just to be on the safe side.

“It’s not gonna come to that,” he stated, firmly. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he had to try.

“Just, please, let me try something else, okay?” she pleaded, a flash of fear reflecting in her eyes as she stared up at him. “Please?”

His shoulders dropped as he looked down at her, a small smile playing at his lips. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

He shifted closer to her, pressing his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. He picked up his coat from the chair across the desk and shrugged it on, glancing back at her one more time before he made his way to the door. “Be safe.”

“I will,” she promised.

Dean closed the door behind him and walked down the hall. Taking the stairs up instead of down, he pushed the door to the rooftop open, closing his eyes and letting the droplets of water fall on his face. He couldn’t feel the cold, but he revelled in the fact that he still remembered what it felt like. The rain wasn’t heavy yet, covering his hair like a fine mist as he stood at the edge of the building. The sirens and traffic of the city below him was the only thing that filled his ears. He heard no screams, no bad ones at least.

He knew that wouldn’t last long, but he was grateful for a moment of peace as he stepped off the ledge as the rain grew stronger.

Y/N sat in her car, shaking her head as she grimaced, seeing the rain coming down and lashing against her windshield. When she had parked a few moments ago it hadn’t been this bad, until out of nowhere it started pouring. It became harder to have a proper scope of the street, the view from her rear mirror just as bad. She ducked her head to look through a few of the gaps that weren’t fogged up on the windows, trying to see who was leaving or entering the building that she knew the woman, Charlie, was living in.

She spotted a blurry figure walking out from behind the building, a man’s stature retreating down the street. She had intended to talk to Charlie but as he pulled his collar up against the rain, she sensed something familiar about him. Placing her Seattle P.D. cap on her head and tightening her ponytail through the gap, she zipped up her navy-blue jacket and stepped out of the car. The front of the cap shielded her eyes from the rain, as the rest of her clothes got wet. She didn’t care, her covered feet splashing in the puddles as she walked quickly, trying to catch up to the person.

Dean could hear someone following him, the rain not heavy enough to cover the sound of heels splattering in the water rolling over the sidewalk. The steps weren’t wide, so it was no one tall like him or Conrad. An ear-piercing scream reached his senses, the peace he had hoped for shattered instantly. Turning down the path quickly, he made a beeline for the alleyway, speeding up. He briefly heard the footsteps pick up behind him, but he paid no attention to it, focused on the woman whose heart was beating fearfully in her chest.

He skidded to a stop as he saw the woman on the floor, whimpering in fright as the man kneeled between her legs. Dean growled as he surged forward, gripping the man’s jacket tight and flinging him back, a loud groan leaving him as he hit the wall.

“Go,” Dean said to the woman as he helped her up, gesturing towards the lane he had come from.

Y/N ran down the backstreet, carefully turning the corner to avoid falling into the puddles across the ground, a painful yelp leaving her as she ran straight into someone. Steadying them, she looked down at the woman as she placed her hands on her shoulders, the rain mixing with the tears falling down her face.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking her over.

“Y-Yeah,” the woman replied, stammering.

“Do you see a man in a black coat come down here?” Y/N questioned.

“Back there,” the woman instructed, pointing behind her.

“Alright, wait here.” Y/N guided her towards the small, sheltered doorway to the back of a store, keeping the woman out of the rain as she made her way towards where the guy went.

She stopped as she saw him, holding a man up against the wall by his throat, his face close to the man’s neck. She pulled out her gun and rushed forward, standing behind him as she lifted her gun.

“Seattle P.D. Let him go,” she ordered, raising her voice over the downpour.

Dean closed his eyes as he lifted his head, his jaw clenching as he knew he couldn’t get out of this one at all. Letting go of the man’s jacket, Dean slowly turned around after the guy ran off, his gaze meeting hers.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, but she knew she shouldn’t be surprised. She had a bad feeling at the bar the other night, and even though she couldn’t have predicted this, everything still fit right into place. She kept her gun held high, glaring at him as she stepped closer. She wasn’t going to let him get away again.

“You son of a bitch,” she muttered, shaking her head as she cocked the gun, “you sought me out that night, didn’t you? After the alleyway, you found me at the bar the next night and you were gonna hurt me like you did all those other people.”

“Detective, it’s not what it looks like,” he informed her, lifting his hands in surrender. “Just let me explain.”

Aiming the gun, she pulled the trigger once, the bullet hitting the back wall. He flinched slightly in surprise, trying to keep up pretences. He moved forward, his hands still at a distance as he tried to reason with her.

“Don’t even think about it unless you want the next one in your shoulder,” she warned, still holding her Glock towards him.

Dean kept quiet. He wasn’t going to be able to pretend anymore. He had no way to cover his tracks.

“Dean Winchester, right?” she asked, firmly.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice soft.

“Start talking, quickly,” she demanded, glancing up as the rain continued before she looked back at him.

“Listen, there’s a perfectly good explanation to all of this, but I need you to put the gun down and we can talk rationally,” he reasoned.

“So you can run off and kill a few more people?” she asked, chuckling bitterly. “Not happening.”

“Those guys… they deserved it,” he replied, his eyes darkening as he stared at her. “And if you knew what they did, you’d know that’s true.”

“I do know,” she muttered, not changing her posture at all, her gun still aimed. “But that doesn’t justify what you did. You’re sick.”

“Look… I’m willing to tell you the truth,” he stated, his jaw clenching, “but I need your word that whatever I tell you stays between us.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “My word?”

“That’s right,” he mumbled, nodding slowly. “I need you to trust me, and I gotta know that I can trust you, too.”

She huffed a laugh, finally dropping her arms as she flicked the safety back on. She placed her gun back in her holster and took the handcuffs she was carrying, holding them up for him to see. She walked over to him, taking his hand in hers as she opened the first cuff to snap on his wrist.

“Tell you what,” she started, struggling to hold his wrist. “You come down to the station, you tell the truth and then we can talk about whether I should trust you.”

“Detective,” he whispered, shaking his head as he stared down at her. “There’s a lot more going on here than you understand.”

“I’m sure,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“There is,” he said, his voice deeper as he grabbed her hand to stop her from cuffing him.

“That’s not a good idea,” she stated, glaring at him.

“I need you to listen to me,” he warned, the look in his eyes just as harsh as hers.

“Let go,” she bit out, trying to pull her hand away.

Their gazes locked as Dean pushed Y/N against the wall behind them. She struggled against him, trying to move but his hold was too strong. She breathed heavily as her nostrils flared, her anger growing by the second. Looking deep into her eyes, he parted his lips as he let his fangs descend. He watched the horror on her face, instantly giving up her fight against him.

“I…” she breathed, her mouth opening and closing, unable to speak.

They continued to stare into each other’s eyes, and he could hear her heart beating frantically in her chest. His hand relaxed around her wrist, his thumb stroking against her skin, feeling her pulse slow slightly. Her gaze softened as did his, her breathing returning to its normal pattern quicker than he thought it would. Their faces were close as she glanced at his fangs, seeing them retract into his gums before looking back at him, his green orbs roaming the features of her face as she did the same with him.

Dean stepped back from her, his eyebrows furrowed as he continued to look at her. He didn’t want to tell Y/N like that, but it had to be done. “I killed those guys because those girls’ families asked me to,” he explained, his voice softer but his gaze was still intense. “I couldn’t save them, but I saved others.”

Y/N continued to stare at him, unable to form words.

“I’m assuming you have Charlie’s card from Mrs. Hart. Get her to give you mine, my address too,” he instructed, stepping further away from her. “Cause like I said… we need to talk.”

Y/N gasped as he sped off, there one moment and completely vanished the next, just like the alleyway that night. She was paralyzed to the wall, more out of shock of whatever he was rather than any fear. His touch wasn’t threatening; she didn’t feel scared of him once he relaxed his stance and they gazed into each other’s eyes. In fact, it left her more confused about what she was feeling. She didn’t know why she had butterflies in her stomach. She was scared of what he meant about there being more going on than she realized. She had read stories, fantasies about creatures like him, but he couldn’t be what she was thinking. He couldn’t be… a vampire. It just wasn’t possible.

If he needed to talk, if he said there was more happening in her city than she had privy to, then that meant there were more… vampires. That meant that everything she had ever believed to be right was about to be tested.

And she just wasn’t ready for her world to come crashing down more than it just had.

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