#like its been so slammed by everyone and i was here through the rise and fall of superwholock

[moonshine-nightlight]

Voluntary Sacrifice

inspired by this prompt/setup by @snowkissedmonsters as well as their art

The local werebear is in heat and its become a town concern. You, who's always been fascinated by him and doesn't much to lose reputationally, volunteer to help him through it.

If only he believed you were doing so voluntarily, instead of being forced by the council.

Can you convince him of your sincerity before the full moon rises?

Male werebear x human reader, Heat, NSFW

Status: Complete (One-shot)

Length: 12k

AO3: Voluntary Sacrifice

Prompt:

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

/

“Good luck!”

You stare after Anton, the liaison officer, as he rides away, at a complete loss of what to do now. You’ve felt a headrush of sorts, like sliding down a hill in winter, since you first resolved to volunteer to help Temar and his slamming of the door in your face was an abrupt stop before you even reached the bottom. You cross your arms, telling yourself its because of the mild chill, not out of anxiety or embarrassment.

But you are, so so embarrassed. You don’t know exactly what you thought his reaction to you might be, but stonewalled indifference and complete refusal to even entertain the idea of mating with you wasn’t one of them. Heat licks at your cheeks from the way he’d looked at you, his lip curled in a snarl, something more than even just annoyance in his eyes. You’d felt the urge to shrink right then and there and only surprise kept you frozen upright.

You know you weren’t as young as the other unaffiliated women in town, weren’t as pretty, weren’t as agreeable, but surely he couldn’t smell your infertility or whatever made you feel so out of place with everyone else. What about you had been so offputting he’d not even considered you for a mate? You’d almost hoped that whatever made you so unappealing as a human mate might make you more appealing to a werebear. So much for that.

You’re not one for much dignity as it is, no one to stand on high graces, and you try not to let others’ opinions bother you, beyond where they interfere with your own ability to make your living. But even you can’t bring yourself to try to convince him to mate with you when he so clearly has absolutely no interest. Did you sacrifice what little standing you did have a reasonable and respectable person by volunteering for this only to not even be able to manage it? Was it for nothing?

You had only found the courage to approach him because of the surface-level reason of slaughtered livestock and fear for a person’s injury, but now, now you felt almost responsible for not being able to prevent such an occurrence. All because Temar found you unappealing.

You can’t leave without even saying more than a hasty word to him though. Maybe there’s some other way you can help. You’ve wanted an excuse to get to know him better for years, since you first saw him. Even before that, when someone stopped by your shop with some of the pelts they’d bought from him.

Beyond his attractive appearance being more than enough to draw your attention, he’s lived such an interesting life. The liaison was liberal with his stories and his own accomplishments in the war, but he never short-changed his friend. You also found the stories of people who have crossed him or questioned him entertaining more than scary. His refusal to play along with the petty etiquette of the town was funny, as were people’s puffed up reactions. Perhaps you should have expected this reaction after all, maybe he just doesn’t like humans.

The thought against brings embarrassed heat to your face once more as you remember how he’d looked in the doorway. His beard and mustache, short but full, the scar across his nose, those dark brown eyes. His hair was shaved on both sides, but long in the middle, pulled back into a loose bun and peppered with gray like his beard. Tall as you remember, but stockier—his frame particularly broad in the narrow doorway. You’d always found him especially handsome. There was no question what sort of were he was.

Before today, the closest you’d been was at the general store, behind him line for some flour, putting to rest the rumors that werecreatures only ate meat. His presence had fascinated you, large but contained. Wild but settled. Immovable, but not aggressive. Deliberate. You’d found your mind drifting to thoughts of him that night. Your mind liked to turn the idea of him over, half speculation, half pieced together clues from overheard gossip. When you were particularly lonely or even just particularly cold, it was comforting to know he was on his own too. He seemed to prefer it even. You preferred your solitude most of the time as well—half caught between feeling like an outsider for the inclination, half relieved since that’s where you ended up. You wouldn’t mind another friend who felt so, a bit of company you didn’t need to perform in front of. And it would be nice, to be useful to someone else who had no one.

You know he needs help now, more than ever. The liaison had assured them at the meeting that Temar was making every attempt to contain himself. Which reassured you that you’d not missed a callous trend in his nature, but also made you want to help more—not help with the abstract problem, but help him. The next best solution that had been discussed—and would likely need to be implemented now that it turned out you’d failed, you realize with a sinking heart—was to institute a town wide curfew until this ran its course. But maybe there is still some way you can aid him, even if not by soothing his heat directly.

You stand up straight, pushing off the railing you’d been leaning against, and resolve to at least try to talk to him. After all, you understood his continued solitude, but it felt silly during the meeting, that he wasn’t there to lend his own input. Surely he had the most insight into his situation. He must know what he needed. You raise you hand to knock on the door when it opens before you even get the chance.

“If you ain’t gonna have the sense leave, then get in,” a gruff voice orders.

Your feet are moving before you fully register the words. Relief floods your veins. Well, that was easier than you expected. Perhaps things were turning around.

/

They were not. Any hope you had for some softening of his attitude was quickly dashed.

It had seemed promising: the smell of cooking food, the heat that filled the main room from the large fire, the sound of crackling logs. All ease some of the tension in your bones immediately—not to mention that same deliberate air Temar had, the one that made you feel steady and safe. Safe enough to want what you want, without your usual instinct to hide such thoughts and feelings until you were alone lest others use them to hurt you.

You try to focus on the room itself, from the handmade furniture—you’d have recognized Ben’s work if it was—to the scant decoration. The cabin was simple, unadorned, but solid. It suited him. It made the few personal items he had stick out all the more. The large blanket and rug to make the room feel lived in. The well-cared for hunting gear in the corner. The collection of copper kitchenware, clearly used often.

Nearly as soon as you finished your preliminary survey of his home, he makes it very clear he still did not want you. “No notion of what’s going on in that fool Anton’s head, leaving you on my porch like bottles of milk,” he sighs, looking disgruntled and you fight the urge to apologize. He tucks a strand of hair that escaped his bun behind his ear and your fingers itch to do the same. You clench them tighter behind you, upset at how wild your thoughts are in the face of his rejection. “Fess up, what did they tell you? I don’t know what those old fearmongers at the counsel did to make you come here, but I’ll not hold it against you—only them.”

You tilt your head as you watch him pace over the fire, trying to keep your eyes on his head, not how well he fills out his trousers. You realize belatedly that you must still need to clarify. “There was a town meeting, but I volunteered, like Anton said,” you reply tentatively. He’d heard what his friend said. Right? Maybe that was why he’d refused? Not because he found you so abhorrent.

Temar scoffs. “Anton wouldn’t recognize subtle coercion if it stabbed him the back.”

You frown, starting to get a little frustrated with his seeming inability to hear you properly. “Be that as it may, I can. It’s the truth.”

Temar raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Right,” he says flatly. “Just like five years ago, when I moved here and Miss Ketevan was left on my doorstop around harvest time. She just wanted to offer some apples before high tailing it out of there once her grandfather was out-of-sight. Must have been crying and yelling for some other reason.”

Your frown deepens. The last of your family had died around then and you’d not joined a town meeting for a full year, plenty busy with grief and figuring out how to run the dye shop without any guidance. Keti was a younger than you but had a reputation as a troublemaker so she had been in the gossip plenty. Her grandfather, Carlos, was on the counsel and had seemed to consider her something of an embarrassment.

You thought she’d run off with the milkmaid, not because she was a failed sacrifice to the new werebear neighbor. It does throw into relief some other statements at the meeting. Like Anton’s emphasis on volunteers as he’d stared Carlos’ down, which had led to no one but you speaking up—not even the brothel workers. They’d not said but you knew they feared clients shunning whoever they sent, let alone however they felt about the stigma and fear associated with werecreatures.

 “I have no idea what did or did not happen five years ago, I wasn’t at any of those meetings nor at your house,” you say with a shrug. “Keti’s moved to the other side of the river, according to her sister, and is quite satisfied there. None of which was brought up at the meeting today.”

“What do they have on you?” Temar asks, squatting to stoke the fire, as if you just didn’t want to tell the truth his face. Ignoring everything you were saying while still trying to get answers from you. You liked tell about how stubborn he was in gossip. You liked it less at this moment. “If I can aid you and you can go on home, you’re welcome to ask.”

“They don’t have anything on me,” you reply slowly, trying to match his even tone so he doesn’t think your lying. The embarrassment that comes with volunteering so plainly to mate with him comes and goes in waves, but having to repeat it to him is a different flavor all together. “I am here of my own free will.”

Temar scoffs and huffs. “If you don’t want to tell me then fine.” He heaves himself back to his feet and peers out the window. “Sun’s going down. You can stay here for dinner and for the night. That better satisfy them, because you’re leaving first light in the morning.”

You turn away from his back, staring blindly at the countertop covered in ingredients for dinner. The one you interrupted with this piss-poor intrusion. He was likely just trying to give you an out, an excuse to save some dignity. You should’ve known you’d have no skill at seduction, not that you’d believed you’d need it. You’d hoped he be satisfied enough, in need enough that you’d suffice by being willing and not unattractive. Or so you thought. How pathetic. “I just wanted to help,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

You sigh before walking over to the counter and picking up a knife. “Thank you for your hospitality,” you manage, your voice stiff with discomfort, but unwilling to completely give up yet. “Allow me to assist with the food.”

Dinner preparation is tense, quiet, but a relatively smooth affair. Temar’s already got the chicken dumplings nearly done so you leave that to him and handle the rest.

He only speaks to point you toward where things are when you ask. You’re happy he’s letting you do this much as you’ve more than got the message he’d prefer to do it all alone. You try to concentrate hard enough not to think about anything else.

“These dumplings are delicious,” you say belatedly, after you’ve already scarfed down two of them. They really are, hot and flavorful.

Temar grunts in response and you can’t help but pout, wondering if he thinks everything you say is a lie. You try at some other small talk, but nothing gets more than a yes or no out of him—after the first few, he just makes some vague noise of acknowledgment as he steadily eats through three times the portion of food you got, which had been more than generous. You’d been skeptical of how much he was making until you’d seen how much he was eating.

Did he also have to eat more before winter, like a normal bear? Was he going to sleep through it too? You swear he still came in with pelts, but you don’t really know. You’re more than aware that he’s not likely to give a straight answer if you ask. You ask anyway.

He gives you a look like you’re touched in the head. “No, I don’t hibernate. I stay in more, sleep more since its dark more, but I’m not actually a bear.”

“I know!” you protest, blushing, “but I’ve heard there’s overlap of some kind, forgive me for not being an expert. You’re the only werebear I know by name.”

“You know nothing,” he retorts, words finally bursting from him in a fit of frustration. You’re taken aback, but eager for any information given his recent impression of a clam. “You say you volunteer and yet you don’t know the first thing about werebears, let alone heats. You expect me to think you know what you’re saying you got yourself into when its clear no one explained anything.”

“Well, then you tell me,” you bat back, fed up by now with being treated as a criminal for even entertaining the notion you might be a suitable mate for him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have called me a liar even if I’d written a book on werebears and their heats.”

As his way seems to be, he ignores you to keep focus on whatever incorrect train of thought he has stuck in his head. “Even if you’re ignorant, didn’t your family object? Doesn’t someone have sense or self-preservation?”

You glare. Of all the—. “No—” you reply hotly before he cuts in.

“I thought that was something y’all paid attention to,” he drawls, waving with his fork. “ Fraternizing with the werecreatures is still a no-no right?” He leans forward, eyes bright, like a predator finally spotting their prey. “Is it them that the council is leaning on?”

Unfortunately for him, its a false sighting. “Don’t have any,” you reply bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. “They died. About five years ago.”

You wonder if he’ll make the connection and to your surprise, he seems to as his brow furrows. “I see.” He leans back in his chair as if surrpised to notice he’d moved at all.

“Besides, I’m grown,” you’re annoyed you even have to remind him. He’s treating you like a child, ignoring you, calling you ignorant, making you out as a liar. Like a fool. You’ve long resolved not to let anyone treat you like a fool. “I make my own choices.”

He scoffs in that same manner that’s truly getting under your skin. “Right. How could I forget.”

“I don’t know,” your voice is sharper than its been all evening. “Seeing as I keep reminding you.”

Discomfort creeps into his frame and he looks down at his plate to mutter, “What even made them come up with this plan? Was this Anton’s idea?” He warms up to this new wrong idea—it was Jessaly on the council who had mentioned “heat soothers” seconded by Carlos. Anton only stepped in to mention volunteers. “Because if so, I’ll be having words with him next chance I get, strong words. I anticipated an order to leave town or to be taken to jail or a fight. I’m surprised the council even risked the chance for cubs.”

That last part completely derails you from your planned support for Anton. “Oh,” you can dismiss that concern easy, so you don’t hesitate to, “I can’t have children.”

That stops him completely, freezes him in his chair. “What?”

His reaction surprises you. “I thought…” You thought he could smell the infertility on you. You thought that was part of why he’d refused, like the others. If he couldn’t tell, you still didn’t think he’d have a reaction like this, like everyone else. “I can’t. My monthlies stopped only a few years in and a doctor confirmed the nature of the issue. It’s noted in the records because my engagement to—” You don’t even want to say his name, for all you don’t blame your former fiance. You hadn’t even been that excited about the marriage, but the reality of no marriage ever, well, that had been more of blow the coming years dealt to you. You manage a shaky smile. “No risk of children with me.”

You meet his eyes valiantly and he stares back. You hope you’re right when you don’t see any blooming realization that you’re broken, that you’re any more undesirable, but you’ve long given up trying to tell. Still his focus makes you babble, “I don’t want children anyway.” That at least is the truth and the reminder steadies you. You thought you’d gotten over the worst of this self-recrimination years ago. You were happy not to have that burden, that expectation, that danger in your life. You just want Temar to think well of you, and this always changes how people perceive you, no matter how much you wish it didn’t. That is what truly gets under your skin. Your shoulders drop some tension as your smile softens, becomes more genuine. “Better me than someone who did. It worked out for the best that way.”

If only it meant no partner, no chance for sex beyond work at the brothel—which you were not interested in despite them asking—or  visiting one, which you have in years past. Or the affairs some of the less reputable had tried for in the past. They always made it clear in the end, even if you were alright with the infidelity—it was only because you were ‘safe’ that they wanted you.

“Neither do I,” he says, causing you to look up at him. His expression turns defensive as he clarifies, “That doesn’t mean anything anyways. Still the most foolish idea I ever heard.” He stands up abruptly to refill his plate with a fourth helping.

You eat the remainder of the meal in silence.

Finally, your plate is clean and your belly is full. You manage to take Temar by surprise by snatching up his plate in addition to yours, bringing them over to the wash basin before he could do some himself. You’re determined to do something useful while you’re here and he’s feeding you.

Maybe all lack of eye contact was for him and not you. Maybe you’ll have better luck staring at the water. “So, is there anything you’ll actually let me do to help?”

Another huff, almost a growl of frustration, and Temar replies, grit in his tone, “I told you I ain’t taking a mate just because the town’s made my heat their business this year.”

You don’t even bother arguing the point again and consider his words. You hadn’t thought about other years. There’d never been notice of it so you assumed it wasn’t actually an annual event. What made this year so different? Instead of asking, you return his own volley. “I heard you. I didn’t mean that, though I must mention that the town is only involved because it has become their business this year.”

Temar doesn’t answer, but you can feel his gaze on your back. Being the focus of his attention is electrifying. “Other than having a mate,” you remind yourself outloud. “Are there other things that I can help with? Measures to be taken, information to be shared. Anything?”

There’s silence behind you before he stands up from the table, the scrape of his chair loud. You hope to the gods he’s actually doing something, thought of something in response to your question rather than just leaving. Although technically, you suppose, that would also be a response to your question.

You methodically scrub the dishes while you listen to him move about the main room of the cabin. He sits back down at the table, bringing something with him. You can’t dry this tankard any more thoroughly so you turn around to see if he’s simply ignoring you or not.

He’s bent over something on the table, a piece of paper? You frown and walk over to get a closer look. As if he can sense you, once you’re close enough he points one thick finger at the paper. “Who’s land is this?”

You frown as you study what you realize is a map of the town. Unlike most you’ve seen, it doesn’t have roads or even real buildings on it. Abstract symbols represent structures—you think—and the town center and main street buildings are one big marker. Nothing indicated for individual stores. It takes another minute to realize the outlined shapes covering the map are the property lines, not buildings, roads, or rivers, though some overlap with where you know those to be. Leave it to a werebear to have a map of the town by territory.

“If you don’t know—” he says, huffing per usual.

“Apologies if I need more than a minute,” you huff back, more than fed up and far more assured after the time spent with him that he has no plans to kick you out tonight. “I’ve never seen a map like this.”

He quiets down and you manage to follow your memory of the road out to… “The Meskal’s Farm, Evanna and Leon.” You also manage to make the connection, although you’re not sure he meant for you to. They’d been the most recent farm that had suffered from slaughtered livestock.

Temar brings over a slate with some notes in chalk already written out. He’s got shorthand notes, similar to those on the map, but all unlike any you’ve seen before. He jots down what must be their name above some already existing notes. You squint, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers. “Two ewes and one lamb,” you correct, hoping you decoded right.

He freezes and you hold your breath for annoyance or anger, but instead he merely erases one number and writes in another. “I assume this was discussed with the council?”

“Yeah,” you see no reason to beat around the bush. As you continue to squint at his notes, leaning over his broad shoulder to see better. “The Oche’s steer had to be put down, but they salvaged the meat. Anton reassured them it was edible and bought some himself so the rest of the town followed suit.”

“Still, I’ll be paying my debt, it just might take some time,” Temar replies gravely. “I’ll not have anyone say I don’t pay what I owe or think I don’t owe it, like some uncivilized beast.”

“I can pass that along,” you offer, still reaching for some way to contribute, to help. His integrity touches your heart, makes that urge to give aid stronger. Anton had something vague to the affect, but the town had little confidence in Anton’s assurances. You have confidence in Temar’s.

“I would appreciate that,” he sounds a little belligerent, a little abashed.

You smile, happy to have found anything useful to do and lean in again, to study his map more closely. You mentally map out the other families who had damage and notice they’re all in a line from his property west and against the forest. He does seem to be attempting to keep to limited area. How much control does he have? Could you help corral him somehow?

You reach to point. “Is this the river or—” You start to lose you balance from the awkward angle you’re at. Your other hand reaches for the next closest thing to steady yourself—Temar’s shoulder.

Next thing you know you’re knocking into the table and he’s standing several feet away, a snarl on his face. “Don’t.”

You’re stricken by the vehemence from a such a small, almost-touch of his person. It had been too easy to forget he disliked you so, is so offended by your very presence. “I’m sorry!” It’s as if he thinks you were attempting to trick him. You hasten to clarify, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t trying—”

Temar leaves the room before you even finish speaking.

/

Temar braces himself before he goes back in the main room, his forehead pressed against the solid wood of his walls.

He’s hoping he’s gotten used to your scent, built up a tolerance, but knows it’ll only have gotten stronger for each moment you’ve been here. Gods know he’s only become more susceptible to it. How anyone in all his life has such a bewitching scent, he’ll never know.

The second he’d opened his front door, he’d wanted to drag you inside and never let you out. The beast inside instantly proclaiming Mine. Only mine. He’d barely heard anything Anton said over the roaring in his ears. The slam of his door had been as much panic defensiveness as it had been frustrated aggression.

The line between those two does seem to blur most during heat.

You stayed out there, looking so lost and somber on the porch, lip caught between your teeth as you thought. He’d had to get you to stop before he took over the task for you. An early sign of heat madness surely because of fucking course it was far worse having you in his home. Where his beast said you belonged. Where you could say all the words he was salivating to hear as truth even though he knew them to be false.

Those council assholes would pay for putting him through this torture. Temar knew he was a werebeast and yet this was inhumane even for his kind. He tried to find a proper target for his aggression, but you’d given him nothing to work with, persistent in your tale. As if a kind, quick-witted, pretty thing like you would ever subject yourself to a beast like him unless you felt you had no other option.

Distractions haven’t been helping, trying to keep his eyes off you was impossible to sustain, and stonewalling didn’t ever seem to deter you for long. It’s as if you were perfectly designed to get past all of his defenses. There are still so many hours until sunrise—if Temar’s even going to last that long, even be able to let you go at that point. After you’d seeped into his home, his life. You seem to fit so well.

You play at being kind like a master actor and he hopes that’s not all a front. You’re smart, independent, but oh so willing to help. Duress, he reminds himself, you’re here under duress. The fuckers in town must have forced you here somehow. He can’t believe how low they’ve stooped, taking advantage of your lack of family, of your infertility to make you into a sacrifice. The perfect sacrifice.

His beast still wants to try to breed you, undeterred by logic, but it’s his human head that’s unfairly tempted by the knowledge. When he’s in his rational mind, he stands by what he said. The risk of children, others with his condition, his ostracization from society is something he’d never condemn an innocent soul to suffer. Not mention he likes his solitude, likes only being responsible for himself and only answerable to himself. It’s why the council involving itself is so frustrating. Its why the idea you might be here of your own free will is so appealing. Lack of such a child-bearing risk is even more appealing, more alluring than he’d ever realized it would be. Than it had any right to be. Why are you so damn perfect for him?

Clearly distance was not helping. Perhaps it was even making his beast stronger, without you to look at him and, for all your knowledge of his nature, expect a rationale man to look back.

Temar walks back into the main room, feeling like a man condemned, only to immediately regret his choice as he rigidly locks every muscle he can to prevent his beast from pouncing. He’d thought you’d stopped trying to seduce him with your faux willingness and pretty eyes. Your soft, steady kindness…

Even he’d admitted to himself once alone that you likely hadn’t meant anything by hovering so close, by trying to steady yourself on him. Your fall onto the table, not to mention the complete startlement on your face from his reaction. But what the fuck is this?

“What are you doing?” he asks through clenched teeth, hoping the beast inside isn’t giving away the feral lust coursing through his veins.

“What?” You look up, surprised he’s back, but there’s no embarrassment in your face. If anything, your expression smooths back to usual faster than he feels it has a right to. “Oh, I hadn’t realized how wet my apron had gotten from the dishes, sorry about the wasted water.”

“Why have you removed it?” Temar’s voice was strangled as the words passed through his lips. Ordinarily, he knows it would barely register with him, but you removing any article of clothing has his beast pulling at the chains he’s trying to use to keep it inside where it belongs.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to dry off,” you reply, brow furrowing in confusion as you dab at yourself with part of the folded-up apron. Temar can see the damp stains where the water had soaked through the light green fabric underneath. “Besides, I don’t want to catch anything, sitting around in wet clothes. It’ll be dry by morning if I leave it by the fire.”

Temar’s mind is already overrun by the reminder he’d invited you, like the numbskull he is, to stay the night. You’re unlikely to sleep fully dressed. You’ll take more than just your apron off in his home. You’ll strip down to your chemise. He can see the edges of it under your dress—white cotton poking out. Nothing more under that except soft skin—skin he isn’t allowed to touch.

Temar tries to combat the pleasing images of you splayed naked in his bed with images of your bruised and bloody from his claws, his strength, his carelessness. They’re impossible to sustain with you so hale and unbothered in front of him. The comfort of his den discourages such violence from his thoughts, his heat poisoning his mind against him. You aren’t here by choice, he reminds himself.

It’s hard to believe when you cross his room with self-assured confidence, bending down to arrange your apron by his fire, acting as if you’ve no fears to worry you. Your hair is ruffled from either the dishes or taking off your apron and you pat at it absentmindedly. Temar wants it spread across his sheets, his pillow, mussed and messed by his hands while he claims you for himself. The town clearly doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t value you what they have. He’d treat you right. He’d make sure you loved being his.

With a shake of his head, he blinks and the image before him resolves to you seated on a chair, delicately rebraiding your hair. He can’t keep his eyes off the swift movements of your fingers. Temar imagines what it would feel like if you did the same to him, this simple careful, everyday task. You look up at him from under your full eyelashes, looking perfectly innocent and not a creature pulled from his greatest nightmares and most sincere dreams. “So do you have a plan for managing however many days are left? Have you gone into heat in previous years? How did you manage then?”

The flush that blooms on your face is endearing and attractive. Temar wants desperately to know what you’re thinking when you say ‘heat’. You’ve avoided saying the word nearly the entire time you’ve been heard. Temar knows the rumors that fly about the human population about werebeasts, about heats, he’s overheard it all. From eating human mates to potent fertility and everything in between. Which ones have you heard? Which do you believe in? Likely none of the violent ones or you’d find the prospect far more intimidating than whatever bullshit the council is using to coerce you.

“Temar?”

“You’re right, I’ve already managed to work out a solution on my own, making you presence doubly wasteful.” You flinch at his words and every instinct screams at him to sooth you, to take it back—whatever is needed to make his mate stay. Temar turns rather than continue to watch your reactions to his harsh words. Despite knowing its necessary, it hurts to see your hurt and only encourages the beast to want to soothe, to steal your mind from any hurt by drowning it out with lust and heat. “Follow me.”

“You’ll sleep here,” Temar points out, continuing to refuse to look back at you or his bed for that matter.

His control would surely shatter if he saw you so close to it. He imagines how easily he could push you down on the furs and sheets until he had you spread out like a feast for him and him alone. How he would savor you. How he wouldn’t let you up until he was more than satisfied. A glutton of lust.

The cold metal of the door knob jolts him out of his thoughts. “I’ll be out back.” The crisp air, the brisk breeze, blow your scent from Temar and clear his head. He nearly sighs with relief as he walks off to the right, purpose in his steps, a reminder of his duty as he follows the familiar path.

“Here.” Its clear no matter where you thought he was leading you “pit” was not on the list. Your eyebrows lift nearly to your hairline as you stare down, allowing him precious seconds to gaze at you without a mask of stoicism or frustration, only naked hunger.

“You asked where I weathered heats of the past?” Temar neglects to mention that the first couple years in town rendered his heats short and taxing. Just a handful of nights around the late summer full moon, when the first chill to the air heralding the coming winter. Between his beast’s discomfort with new territory and his own war memories haunting him, his heats were not a concern. It’s only last year that his heat was how it used to be in his youth.

Wild. Hungry. Enduring.

This year is worst yet, not only because of the tight grip it has on him and how he can tell, despite more than a week in, that he has days to go, but also due circumstances outside of his control.

You’re smart enough to spot it. “Did something happen to this…?”

Temar puts you out of your awkward misery. “There was a flood after that storm a couple weeks ago. It dislodged that tree and a wall collapsed.” He’d hoped his heat wouldn’t return with the vengeance it did and so had put off excavating. “In the end, the den took longer than I thought to rebuild, to dig deep enough again. Still not sure I have,” he confesses when you look at him with such open, receptive eyes.

You frown and squint down at the den and Temar doesn’t like the reminder of how dark it’s getting. This entire evening has been a distraction, from the knock on his door, to the meal, to now. He ought not neglect the den any longer, not let his beast draw this out until it can overpower his conscience.

He puts down the ladder, hands grateful for something to do besides itch to settle on your hips. “I’ll be needing to get everything out of here, before the moon finishes rising.” Temar descends as quickly as he can, jumping the last few feet and turning to survey the den.

It was nicer before, he thinks with some dismay, some shame at you seeing such a bare hole in the ground. It’s primarily filled with tools for digging and fortifying, none of the minimal furs and blankets that should be givens for a den. The roof had been damaged when the tree fell in so he hopes it doesn’t rain. Temar resigns himself to waking up covered in dew. It’ll still be better than waking up covered in blood, even after verifying it was all from livestock.

“Temar?” His name on your lips draws his attention back up, like a flower to the sun, like a fish to water, like blood to a bear.

“Can I help you clear it out?” Temar just stares at you, part of his mind still surprised you’re here. Still here. Still offering to help. Help him. You cross your arms again and Temar wishes it didn’t look so good on you, the way it pushes up your chest, makes your arm muscles more prominent. What sort of shop did you say you had again? “Look, I’m another pair of hands, ain’t I?”

“Technically,” he allows, speaking without thinking. All his thought concentrated on your form above him, ripe for the plucking.

You seem to take that as permission and start climbing down the ladder. Temar turns so quickly to avert his eyes from your ass that he forgets to forbid you from coming down. You touch down lightly and Temar reluctantly faces you again, a puppet on the strings of his inner beast, to soak in the sight of you in its den.

The cabin belongs to Temar, the man. The den belongs to Temar, the beast.

Something of that must come across on his face as you pause, one hand on the ladder. “Does it break a rule, for me to be down here?”

A den is a personal, sacred space, with only those closest allowed entry. The beast does not allow you to lie. “No.” A prospective mate is more than a natural allowance. It’s expected.

You nod with satisfaction. The beast preens in approval at your persistence, at your ease in its den. “Then I’m helping. What’s next?”

Wordlessly, you point to the table with the hand tools.

“All of these?” you ask, even as you begin to gather them.

Temar turns away, unable to watch you ascend, and focuses on the final wheelbarrow he needs to move out, the planks he’s using as ramps he’ll need to remove. “Gotta get everything out of here so it don’t get broken.” Also so he can’t use it to escape. When he’s more beast than person, the use of tools doesn’t come naturally, but he’s relentless. Safer to keep them out of reach. That’s the real challenge—keep himself out of reach.

“Right.” There’s a pause while you move around behind him. Temar tries to focus on the feeling of the smooth wood of the wheelbarrow handles, the shudder of the wooden planks below as he moves it out of the den. “How come the walls are like this?”

You must be gesturing to the flat stones embedded in the dirt walls. “Harder to climb, although I haven’t had time to finish the back wall that collapsed yet. Claws don’t do well on smooth stone. A lot if the grout needs to be redone. Something for tomorrow.”

“Smart,” you say, sounding impressed.

Temar grunts in response, trying to focus on pulling the crude ramp out of the den and not on puffing up at your approval. Not seeing how else he might earn your esteem, might otherwise impress you.

“What’s it like,” you ask, quietly but clearly. Temar had been wondering if you’d ask. Waiting. “When…”

You trail off so he’s not sure if you meaning being a werebear or being one in heat. He supposes the answer isn’t terribly different. “Simpler, harsher, more vivid,” he says, “Less control when in heat than the rest of the time. In the army, we were trained to control the transformation, taught how to keep our minds more intact—it doesn’t work like that for heat. Getting locked up is how it was dealt with even there.” Not that they lasted long back then for anyone.

“I’ve heard of the loss of control.” You don’t specify if you mean in general or in heat, but Temar supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Perhaps this would be a good time to remind both of you what’s at stake, how dangerous Temar is in heat to anyone vulnerable around him. “Just a beast at that point.” Temar doesn’t look you in the eye as he keeps talking, heading back down into the den now the planks are out and it’s the only way down. “Can’t understand human speech. Can barely tell human from animal. No reasoning with me. I’ll do what I want when I want to. Damn anyone else.”

Not that you’re as intimidated as he wishes you were. “What about other weres?”

“Aye.” Temar doesn’t mind confirming that, not when he knows it can’t encourage you. “Thats a mite different. We can handle each other better, can find that sliver of common ground. Family can calm you, your own territory, and of course, if you’ve got everything you want, you won’t go roaming for it. Won’t get angry and frustrated you can’t find it.”

“That all the time, or just in heat?” He can still hear the shyness in your voice whenever you say heat, but its obvious your curiosity is too great. Temar surveys the den while he considers his answer, hands you left over plates and cutlery from his noontime meal, eaten down in the den while he worked furiously to get it ready for tonight. He’s careful not to let his fingers brush yours, not to look you in the face, lest he see some fear there that hadn’t been before. Lest the beast see a lack of such fear. Temar truly felt caught between a rock and hard place.

He can see the question you’re dancing around and cuts to the quick, praying you’ll be sensible and leave since he wouldn’t be able to make you anymore. He’s not sure he even could back on the porch. “Its dangerous for any human to lay with a werebeast. Injury from strength or claws or teeth is impossible to prevent. Even if you’re mates.” He reminds himself as ruthlessly as tells you. It was rare, but it happened. Heartbreaking accidents. “Even if you’ve known each other for years. Someone in my troop had killed their husband in a heat frenzy once.”

“Not always though,” you reply, too hopeful by far, too logical not to notice the exaggeration. “It can’t be or weres would have died out.”

“No, not always,” Temar allows. “The tendency towards multiple children in a litter helps. But usually longer held relationships fare better. If the were isn’t in a bad mood, isn’t stressed—if the partner cooperates right.”

He hands you the last item that needs out and once you get to the top, he says, “Pull up that ladder, now.”

You pause, standing stock still and for a second he wonders if you’ll even listen. Temar’s not sure he has the strength to ask a second time.

“Sure.” You pull up the ladder.

His human mind eases at that, at the sight of you more than seven feet overhead, out of reach. His beast disagrees, seething in displeasure and unfulfilled lust. Naturally, you can’t leave well enough alone and sit down, legs dangling into the den. He knows he could grab your ankle at this, yank you down and—

Temar turns to study the den once more. It won’t stick in his mind with you clouding his judgment the way you are. He narrows his eyes, forcing himself to assess if its deep enough, the walls defended enough. “I still need to get the cover fixed, if that damn blacksmith ever manages to be around when I stop by. The back wall needs to be stoned, but if I try to climb it like it is, it’s just as likely to crumble which’ll keep me in just the same. It’ll do. It had better more than satisfy those bastards on the council.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it will.” You shrug, as if you’d forgotten about them. “Will you let me visit? After I leave in the morning—” you add swiftly as if to cut off a correction Temar for once wasn’t offering. “In case there’s anything else I can help with? I meant it when I said we could help each other out. I admit I do not relish the chore of fetching all fuel for my fire in these coming months and perhaps I can provide something for you? I’m a skilled weaver in addition to my work with dyes. If you would not be opposed?”

How can you forget the council so easily? Dismiss them offhand like that. Why do you speak of ‘after’ so lightly? As if you expect to see him again, as if that’s something you might want. Temar’s thoughts turn in circles once more over your duress. He must remember you cannot be here by choice. It’s getting harder by the minute. By each minute you sit on the edge of his den, not a care in the world. Not a notion of his steadily deteriorating self-control. His lack of giving any indication of his growing need has gone from helpful to sinister, a wolf in sheep’s clothing no longer trying to reassure, but to lure closer its prey.

“Perhaps,” he manages to say.

You continue to talk, but the words’ meaning slip through his fingers. The change is pushing itself on him while he wiles away a few more minutes in your presence. Just to try to burn off excess energy, Temar turns to push one of the stones in better, to align it flat with the rest of them. Except… he can feel your eyes on his back while he does so.

Your scent to spikes.

He wheels around, wildly, and belated realizes the height you’re at, brings your loins far more to a height with his nose than ever before. Did his display of strength inspire something of lust in you? His beast roars for you once more at this indication of receptiveness.

The moonlight colors your hair, emphasizing your etherealness, the wonder at your very presence. How much Temar wants to hold you in his hands, claim you for his own. How much he wants to bring you down to earth, push you under him and take his pleasure from you.

He takes a step closer and it feels like the first sprung leak in a dam. The first domino to fall. The spark of fire on dry, dry tinder.

“R-un.”

In retrospect perhaps the most provocative thing Temar could have done was instigate a chase. Actually, the most provocative was definitely you listening and running.

You pull your legs up swiftly, battling your skirts to get your feet under yourself with a haste that surprises even yourself. Only one word and a glimpse of those glowing eyes, and you’re dashing for the cabin. Adrenaline pours into your veins as you the image of the fur rippling out over Temar’s body as he gave that last command fills your mind. 

In retrospect, the fur had been spreading steadily since you’d taken away the ladder without you fully registering it. His voice had been changing, although that you’d noticed plenty. The lower tone was a little harder to make out, even more pleasant to listen to, stirring up those lascivious thoughts that hadn’t left your mind since the town meeting was called. You swear his muscles had swelled too. The way they had moved beneath his shirt, which fit tighter with each minute that had passed. You’d felt spellbound, even though you swear that’s not a rumor associated with weres, and unconcerned by said compulsion.

Given the seriousness with which Temar gave the order as well as his earlier apprehension, you feel guilty for the mad sort of excitement rather than fear that courses through you. A roar, harsh and throaty, comes from the den behind you. It's one of rage and frustration. A beast that’s just realized it's been trapped. That it can’t get to what it wants. A loud thud follows. A growl of continued frustration hurries you on, feet pounding the ground as you run. You can almost trick yourself into thinking you hear your own name mixed in with the next roar that comes from where you’ve left Temar behind.

Due to your haste and unfamiliarity with Temar’s land and the fallen gloom, you end up missing the door along the back of the cabin and re-enter through the front. You lock that door with shaking hands and a pounding heart. The sounds of nature, of wind, of the echoes of Temar’s growl, are replaced by quiet solitude and the crackle of the fire, still burning in the hearth. You attempt to catch your breath. You try to let the mundane familiarity of the cabin and the silence calm your nerves. It’s not working very well.

You’re not sure what prompted his yell or his roar. Temar had said if he had everything he needed, he wouldn’t want to go searching for it, so it must have been his inner beast’s continued frustration at the lack of a desirable mate, which you continue to attempt not to take personally.

You’re still keyed up from the experience and seeing him actually start to transform, which still held some magic to you having never witnessed such a thing before, as well as all your interactions with him this evening. Temar seemed somewhat open to the idea of being friends, which was nice, you remind yourself. He is still immensely fascinating to you—this night has only made that more apparent. He feels less onerous to be around than some of your other acquaintances. He doesn’t put up any fronts and you feel like you don’t have to either. Even when he was clearly frustrated or angry—which you believe is exacerbated by whatever physical and mental toll his heat is putting on him—he never raised his voice. Temar only ever physically moved away from you, not towards you. 

Speaking of physicality, he was so strong. The way he moved, carried, and shoved the tools out of his den had been impressive. The skill and strength it must have taken to make it in the first place, from the manual labor of digging it out, to stonework, to the manner of transportation in and out were all impressive. You’ll have to make sure to stop by Nicolas’ forge tomorrow to ensure Temar can get his roof fixed. But for now, your mind’s eye lingers on how his muscles had flexed, how easily he might be able to move you about, lifting you, arranging you to best please him.

You shake your head to try to rid yourself of such thoughts when none of them are going to come true. Temar is the one who’s having a hard time, not you here in his home. He hadn’t complained about the den, but you can tell it must be a far cry from what it was before the damage, it saddens you to think of him out there and alone. You long to comfort him, even though you know he doesn’t want your comfort. His roar had only proven his frustration and unhappiness, how unfulfilled he must be, stuck in the pit. You swear you can still hear yet another roar mixed with your name. 

You take another look around the room and sigh, finding it far less interesting without him present. You’re still wound up from today’s jostling ship ride of events. Your hormones are out of balance after plans and hopes of helping Temar through his heat. While ending your night alone in Temar’s cabin, in his bed, while he’s stuck out in a hole in the ground isn’t where you expected or how you wanted the night to end, you suppose it's better than him still out in the woods where he might cause more damage or hurt someone.

Your hands go to your buttons as you start to undo them. An early night is in order. Just because Temar doesn’t want you, doesn’t mean you have to go unsatisfied. Your outer clothing drops to the floor, leaving you in your underthings. Draping the cloth over the couch, you wonder if he might be able to smell what you get up to in the morning. Would it be cruel to leave such a trace behind? you wonder as you slip over to the bedroom door. Or would it be your due after his refusal?

Something to worry about in the morning. You’re too hot and bothered to care much now. You turn the knob and enter the dark room. Your eyes just barely adjust enough to make out the outline of his large bed of furs when you’re pushed back against the door, slamming it shut. 

An almost subsonic growl fills the small room as you look up and up to meet glowing yellow-green eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, even faster than it had when you’d been running only a few moments ago. A cloud moves from in front of the full moon and the beast that Temar must be now looms over you.

Heavy hands—or are they paws now?—pin you to the wall, one spread over your sternum and the other engulfing your hip. Your hands reflexively reach out and curl around his arm, fingers sinking into dense, soft fur. With the hand pressing against your chest, you barely manage to make a sound more than a surprised inhale, anything else compressed by Temar’s savage strength and your own shock. 

Fight or flight seems to have tried to kick in only to unexpectedly leave you both at ‘freeze’ while you stare one another down. The moonlight illuminates his face, throwing into relief the complex mix of man and beast Temar now is. The same black salted with gray that had been evident in his beard is now more evident in the thin layer of fur covering his face. His jaw is larger to accommodate the sharp teeth and prominent fangs now present. His mouth is open as he pants and huffs, eyes fixated on you. You can still see the man in the beast, but he’s more than he was only moments ago.

You hold perfectly still as Temar leans down and starts to huff and sniff at your neck, shifting his fingers as he does so. You can feel his claws snag in the looser weave of your chemise as he does so. Has he always smelled like the forest? you think in a shocked haze, like the pine trees and the freshly turned earth with an undercurrent of musk. He growls into your neck while you stay pinned like an insect on a card, unable to do anything else when confronted by the reality of his transformed appearance, of his touch when he had recoiled from you so vehemently before.

You jolt when he manages to do more than growl, when you realize it isn’t your imagination that puts your name on his lips. Heat sears through you to hear the need in his voice, the demand, by the idea that you’ve managed to make such an impression on him that he managed to speak at all. Then those lips cover your own in an uncoordinated but wanting kiss. Instantly, your mind is wiped clean of rejection, and disinterest, and undesirability. Those ideas can’t exist in tandem when he kisses you like he’s starving. 

When you break apart, you breathlessly gasp out his name, a hand cupping his jaw. You suck in shallow breaths, as if you only just stopped running, as if he’d been chasing you since he’d told you to run. You tremble with shameless lust at being sought after specifically—he hadn’t just been demanding after vague wants but for you.

He manages your name once more, tongue and jaw and teeth making the word hard to understand except that all your senses are straining for him, desperate for anything to help you understand him, to understand this change. “Mate.” 

You don’t know if it's a question or not, but it's all you’ve been offering since you first showed up on his doorstep. “Yes,” you reply breathlessly, suddenly more desperate than ever in his hold. Desire burns through you for him. You tug futilely at his jaw, push desperately against the massive paw on your chest to reach him. “Temar. Mate.”

You don’t fool yourself into thinking your strength is what moves him, but perhaps your words do manage to penetrate his mind because he presses his lips to yours once more, immediately deepening the kiss. He fucks into your mouth with filthy promise. Your head is held between the door at your back and him, hot and massive, crowding you, boxing you in, cutting off any escape. Escape is the absolute furthest thing from your mind.

His grip on you strengthens, the hand on your sternum moving to bracket your neck. His thumb rests lightly against the column of your throat, the claw drawing a line of danger on your collarbone. His fingers hooked over your back, their claws digging into the meat of your shoulder. They haven’t broken your skin but you know they could, the sting of them makes you want to arch both away and into them. 

You tremble as you realize how securely and sinfully caught you are by this werebear, by Temar. You know that he could hold onto you like this for hours and nothing you could do would be able to force him to let go. You never want him to. Instead you melt in his hold. His hand pinning you by your hip is likely the only thing keeping you on your feet and not just a pool of lust at his.

His need is evident given the way his hips rock against your own. The press of him against your whole body is unlocking some hidden need in you and you attempt to push back, to rut against him in return. You feel desperation growing in your bones, in the heart of you, something wild and wanting that can only be sated by him. Temar rumbles his approval, moving more deliberately against you until a growl of frustration escapes him.

When he pulls back, readjusting his hold on you, you open your mouth to protest, to say something, anything to get him back. It’s reflexive after how this night has gone, but unnecessary now. Temar picks you up with no apparent effort, only impatience, and tosses you onto the bed. 

You land with an oof, scrambling to think around the rolling heat that moves through your body threatening to drown you at such a display. You’ve barely made any sense of yourself after being flung through the darkness when he’s dropped low and moved on top of you. His movements are strong and decisive as he pushes your chemise up. He noses his way between your thighs, spreading them apart to make room for him. You barely have time to consider being embarrassed about being exposed, at how wet you know you are, when his wide tongue, inhuman roughness obvious, covers your cunt.

Your yelp of surprise turns into a long drawn out moan as he licks at you, vigorously, hungrily. He places a massive hand on each of your thighs, claws stinging just enough to quicken the pulsing need between your legs. You twitch and shiver as he pushes your legs further apart to accommodate his bulk. Your heated skin finds the remaining fabric bunched around your waist too much and you hastily try to shuck it the rest of the way off as fast as you. It's the most uncoordinated you’ve ever felt due to the manner in which Temar is concentrating on sucking your mind out of your head via your cunt.

Free at last of the uncomfortable and restricting garment, you reach down, fingers threading into Temar’s wild mane of hair on instinct alone. You don’t kow if you’ve even stopped moaning since his tongue attached itself to your cunt. Simultaneously, it's too much and not enough and all you can do is try to hang on for the ride he’s determined to take you on. Sweeping you down into the heat of feral lust with him. 

One of his hands leaves your thigh to clamp down across your stomach and hold down your hips. Your fingers tighten as he holds you in place to take what he wants from you. His unwavering focus is on eating you out, so starving for you that for now even the beast is content with your taste, leaving his hips rutting against the bedding. 

Temar wrings sounds from you know you’ve never made before. You never want anyone else to even try. Fuck, so good, you think. Or maybe you say aloud because you swear he grunts his approval and his tongue somehow manages to reach deeper. 

The black pad of his thumb rubs your clit perfectly and you scream you shatter. He growls triumphantly as he greedily drinks down every last drop of your release

You feel unspooled and languid, molten in your pleasure. Temar too seems satisfied with the meal he’s made of you for now as he pulls back, licking his lips. His fingers tighten their hold on your hips as your only warning before he flips you over. Dazedly, automatically, you try to brace yourself. He grunts in approval at how he has successfully maneuvered you onto your hands and knees. Right where you wanted to be ever since you first understood that he was in heat without a lover. Since you realized you wanted to be that lover.

One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke up your spine and you shudder at the feeling of calluses, iron strength, and claws. Instinctively, you arch into the motion, wanting to encourage him to touch you as much as possible. You’re so grateful you’ve already tossed your chemise gods know where. “Please,” you gasp out.

He rumbles with approval and as if having heard your unarticulated thoughts, drapes himself further over you. He pulls you against the cradle of his hips with one firm motion eliciting a squeal from your lips. It's evidently not close enough, as he wraps his fingers around your shoulder and pulls again until he can rut his cock against where you feel oh so empty. 

With you where he wants you, Temar releases his hold on your shoulder to lurch you both forward, him bracing you both with that hand on the bed. It leaves you clearly trapped under him. You close your eyes to savor the position and you’re struck by the image you two would paint, were you able to see. Perhaps that should be more intimidating or even frightening than it is, but you like the heavy weight of him, the power evident in his body as he cages you in. 

The ache between your legs only grows more acute. “Temar,” you plead, attempting to move your hips against him despite the hold he still has on one of your hips. The gnawing hunger and persistent emptiness are starting to hurt, desire buzzing along your every nerve. 

“Mine,” Temar proclaims as the head of his cock finally catches perfectly and he starts to drive into you. The stretch and ache of him causes your moan to fracture under the strain. It’s been so long, but you're so wet it almost doesn’t matter. He’s so thick, so long, you’re losing all sense of anything outside of where the two of you are joined. The last few inches cause a pleasurable burn as you clench around him. Gods it's been too long since you were filled like this, if you’ve ever even had someone with his girth before. 

Temar growls contentedly once he’s fully seated inside you and you gladly take the precious few seconds to adjust. Soon enough, he pulls nearly all the way out of you causing a desperate whine to build up in the back of your throat until he thrusts back in, ripping a ragged sound from your throat that might resemble his name. 

He picks up speed with each movement of his hips, getting surer and stronger each time. You feel your whole body move and jolt with his each and every thrust. Your hands scrabble fruitlessly at the bedding under you, trying to brace yourself or get a grip but you can’t, uncoordinated and weak from your previous orgasm as well as the overwhelming way Temar is fucking you. 

He’s going to ruin you and you’re going to thank him.

His control seems to be fraying the longer he’s inside you. You can see the claws tipping his fingers get longer where they dig into the bedding and you can feel the way they dig into your hip. The pain is the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure of him finally hitting that perfect spot inside. You can feel your inner walls flutter from the sensation. Temar must like that because he groans and makes a noticeable effort to strike that same spot repeatedly.

The unrelenting attention pays off immediately as you can feel your need wind tighter and tighter while your mind empties of thought except for the sensation and heat Temar is bringing forth from the depths you. The continual barrage of his cock finally shoves you over the edge of pleasure once more and you obligingly shatter.

He groans as your clenching around him seems to be all he needs to let go. He hilts in you one last time and you feel him come hard. He fills you up with his seed, warmth spreading, and continuing to make little half thrusts, as if trying to make sure it stays deep within you. You’re still coming down from your orgasm but the sense of satisfaction expands in your chest now that Temar’s reached his peak too.

You close your eyes, limp underneath him, but more content than you’ve felt in ages, in perfect harmony with your werebeast mate.

At some point, you feel him tip you both over onto your sides, though he keeps his cock firmly seated within your heat, keeping you full. Temar’s rumble is full of satisfaction and he engulfs you in his hold, making it clear neither of you are separating anytime soon.

You don’t know how long you lay there on your side, blissfully fuck out, still full of him. You don’t care. You enjoy floating in the hazy afterglow. Eventually he slips out of you, pulling a gasp from you and a whine from him. He nuzzles against you, as if to comfort you. You’re too boneless and witless to do anything more than nuzzle him back. 

At some point you do notice him start to move against you once more. His large hands are running along your body, as if committing it to memory. It’s not until he starts to focus on your nipples, rubbing his thumb in increasingly tight circles. Desire starts to zip through your sluggish veins and you whine, twitching in his loose hold. He seems to appreciate your reaction, nudging your head with his until you turn it to face him better. He catches your mouth in a consuming kiss, more coordinating than any previously but just as hungry. It's deep and filthy and leaves you vibrating for me.

His hand covers your cunt, still swollen and wet from your combined cum, in addition to the desire within you he’s stroking back up into a blaze.  Your sensitivity causes your hips to stutter as you’re caught between wanting more and being too tender for it. He loses interest in using his hand once you’re pushing towards him more than you are moving away. Pulling you down his body once more, his fur causing goosebumps to ripple across your flesh until you’re back where Temar at least seems to think you belong: in the cradle of his hips.

“Oh! Temar, you—mm, o-oh,” you attempt to say something to address the reignition of his desire, but before you can, his stiffening cock has managed to press against your cunt just right, moving through your lingering wetness and the spend that’s leaked out of you since said cock last left you.

“Mate,” he intones, lust certainly back into his voice. He pulls you up off the bed, securing you to his chest with the hand still clutching your chest. You’re not sure his other hand he's left your hip since it settled there. “More.”

“I, yes,” you reply, trying to pull yourself back together. Of course while in heat, he’d want to—you cut your own thoughts off with a surprised moan as he pushes back into you. Your fingers clench in the sheets as your sore, but slick muscles allow him back inside. The overstimulation is giving your head a rush. 

Luckily, this time Temar seems more deliberate and rhythmic with his thrusting rather than frenzied and desperate. His other hand resumes kneading your chest and rubbing against your stiffened nipple. The change in angle seems to keep him from going too fast and luckily requires none of your strength. In fact, the sensation of him fucking you while you lay limp in his grasp is quickly bring your own lust back at a dizzying pace you don’t expect.

He shifts and the angle gets even better, causing you to moan loudly in encouragement. You sag against him, your bones feel liquid from the way he’s been relentlessly thrusting within your cunt. His grunts and your pants fill the room. You’re still so hot, with sweat rolling down your back only to be absorbed into his fur. The sensation ensures you never forget who and what is taking you. You glory in it, in knowing he chose you.

You feel like he’s determined to fuck you until you can’t see straight, can’t move and you’re beyond willing for him to try. 

Gods, he’s going to make you forget your own name.

Something curls deep in you, winding around itself with each passing second he continues moving within you. He hunches forward, just enough to press against you, to change the angle some minuscule amount, and that spring releases. You fracture around him. As before, that appears to be all he needs to push as deep as he can and spill his seed in you one more time. The sensation of his release, of the desperate way he continues to try to fill you are the last things you remember before the pleasure pulls you under.

-/-

In the morning, or given the angle of the sun, the afternoon when you wake after a sleep longer than an hour, Temar surrounds you still. You’re in no rush as you take the time to regain your bearings and take stock of your aches. Without opening your eyes you can tell he’s looking at you. “Regret?” you ask simply, stock still in his hold, voice scratchy from overuse. You lost count of how many times aTemar fucked you last night. It's all a blur of heat and desire.

“No,” Temar rumbles, adjusting his hold. “Mine.” The added growl behind the words even in his human form sends a shiver down your spine and reignites the ache in your muscles in the most pleasing manner. 

It's more than you were hoping for, and yet you can’t help but ask, cautiously, “For the rest of your heat?” Some small part of you is still expecting to be sent on your way far sooner than you’d like to be. 

“I suppose you’ve convinced me,” Temar replies, the amusement in his voice unable to stay hidden under his put upon reluctance. “If you’ve made this foolish choice, I suppose I’ll let it stand—for now.”

“You may be stubborn, but I think we can agree I won this battle,” you point out. You finally blink your eyes open for long enough to look over your shoulder and meet his brown ones. He looks indulgent when you cup his cheek. “What makes you think you’ll fare better in the next one? I’m not sure I want for this to end with your heat.”

“I thought you’d say something of the sort,” Temar replies with a roll of eyes. He nips at your ear and pats you on the hip. “We can discuss after your bath.”

You hum, pleased immensely by the prospect. “See? Perhaps it’s you who is mine after all.”

---

Extra thanks to everyone who followed along with the original posting! all your comments and tags and asks were super encouraging!!

[cinnamooniee]

❝𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭 [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 3]- 𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞❞

characters: high school dropout and barista JK x high school student female reader

genre: fluff, angst(?)

warnings : none

word count: 2 797

Previous Next

A cup of cinnamon coffee, the warmth of its embrace concealing the sharp bite that lingers. The bitter spice of conflict, the sting of harsh words, rises at the start. Yet, as the journey unfolds, the sweetness of an unexpected companion stirs the cup, softening the edges. But no warmth lasts forever. The comforting heat fades as reality returns, cold and unwavering, leaving only a faint, lingering bitterness at the end, a reminder of the storm that waits at the door.

After the grind of exams, today felt like a rare breath of calm, a rare moment you could actually savor. You were about to head out to the coffee shop—maybe catch up on your own reading or indulge in something non-school-related for once. As you pulled on your jacket, a slight smile crept onto your face at the thought of seeing Jungkook again, though you quickly brushed it away.

Just as you reached for the door, your mom’s voice cut through the peace.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in that way that made you feel ten again.

You sighed, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Just out for a bit. I’m done with exams, so I thought…”

“Done with exams doesn’t mean done with responsibilities,” she interrupted, her tone clipped. “Your sister could use some help, and this house doesn’t clean itself. You’re the oldest—you should know better.”

It took everything in you to keep your voice steady. “Mom, I’ve been working nonstop for weeks. Can I have one night where I don’t have to worry about everything?”

Your dad chimed in from the living room. “You should be setting an example for your sister, not just running off whenever you feel like it.”

You bit your lip, glancing at the hallway. “I can’t be here all the time, doing everything.”

“And what exactly are you doing that’s so important?” your mom asked, her voice heavy with disapproval.

Something in you snapped. After all the late nights, the endless studying just to keep everyone happy, the weight of it all pushed up against you until it all just… released.

Without another word, you grabbed the door, practically slammed it shut behind you, and stormed out into the evening chill. The sound of the door slamming echoed in your mind, as if your own action had stunned you. You walked quickly, head down, still buzzing from the shock of what just happened.

Your hands shook as you walked, each step pounding out the anxiety twisting in your chest. What had you just done? The reality of it hit hard: you’d never slammed the door, never talked back like that. Your parents would be waiting for you when you got back, and you knew they’d be furious. There’d be no calming explanation, no compromise.

In a daze, you reached into your pocket, switched off your phone, and stuffed it deep into your bag. You needed space from them, from the constant demands. You needed somewhere to go—somewhere that didn’t remind you of everything you felt you couldn’t handle. Without thinking, your feet took you toward the coffee shop, a quiet wish in the back of your mind that he’d be there tonight.

When you arrived, you pushed open the door, the familiar scent of coffee and pastries wrapping around you like a comforting hug. You spotted him behind the counter, busy but looking just as warm and inviting as always.

“Hey!” he called out as you approached, his face lighting up with genuine delight. “You made it! I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again.”

“Is it busy?” you asked, your voice a bit shaky, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Nah, it’s pretty chill tonight. I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his focus still on you. "Want anything?"

You hesitated, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spreading in your chest. “I’ll just have a hot chocolate, please.” It felt safer than saying coffee today, considering your fragile state.

“Coming right up!” he said, turning to prepare your drink. You watched him move, the way he worked with such ease, the sound of the espresso machine humming in the background.

As he handed you the steaming mug, your fingers brushed against his. The contact sent a jolt through you, and you couldn’t help but smile shyly. “Thanks.”

Jungkook leaned against the counter, watching you with a curious expression as you took a seat in front of the counter.". “So, how did the exams go?”

“Good, I think? At least I hope so,” you replied, taking a sip of the hot chocolate, letting the warmth spread through you. It was comforting, just like being here.

“You think? That’s what everyone says,” he teased lightly. “I’m sure you aced them.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you said, your smile faltering as you thought about the earlier fight. But Jungkook didn’t seem to notice; he just kept looking at you, his expression softening.

“So, what are your plans for winter break?” he asked, changing the subject effortlessly.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your hot chocolate. “Probably just catching up on schoolwork. You know how it is,” you said, trying to keep the mood light.

“Schoolwork during winter break? That doesn’t sound like much fun,” he chuckled, the sound soothing your frayed nerves.

“I know, right? But my parents—” You cut yourself off, realizing you didn’t want to go down that road.

“Hey, it’s your break. You should enjoy it,” Jungkook encouraged, his eyes earnest. “Life’s too short to stress about grades all the time.”

“How about you? I mean- when do you get off your shift?”

Feeling bold, you added, “I’d liketo hang out after you’re done.”

He raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You really want to spend more time with me, huh?”

“Is that so surprising?” you shot back, your heart racing a little at your own audacity.

“Not at all! I’d love to hang out.” He glanced at the clock behind the counter and then back at you. “I still have a while left. Maybe another hour?”

“Okay, I’ll wait! I mean, it’s not like I have anything else to do,” you said, your pulse quickening with excitement.

“I’ll make sure to save some time for you,” he promised, and with that, he returned to his duties, but you could still see him stealing glances your way as he worked.

As you settled into a comfortable silence, your heart felt lighter, the earlier heaviness fading away. You pulled out the small book you bought a few weeks before to distract yourself. But the clock seemed to tick slower than usual as you waited, your mind swirling with thoughts of the conversation to come. After what felt like an eternity, Jungkook finally finished his shift. He wiped his hands on his apron, flashing you a bright smile. “Alright, I’m all yours”

“Finally” you laughed, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “What now?”

“Let’s go for a walk. The rain’s stopped, and I know a nice little park nearby,” he suggested, his enthusiasm contagious.

As you stepped outside, the crisp evening air hit your face, invigorating and refreshing. The streets glistened under the streetlights, remnants of the rain from earlier creating a dreamy atmosphere.

Jungkook led the way, and as you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. He seemed carefree, animatedly talking about everything and anything—his favorite music, the latest movie he had seen, even his plans for the winter break. You couldn’t help but take a moment to really look at him. The way his dark hair fell over his forehead and the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed all captivated you. You couldn’t help but wonder about him. How old was he, really? He mentioned dropping out of high school, but that was all you knew. It felt strange that you hadn’t asked before; it was as if you had been so caught up in your own world that you hadn’t taken the time to learn about his.

“Hey, Jungkook?” you started, feeling a boldness surge within you again. “How old are you?”

He glanced at you, surprise flickering across his face. “I’m nineteen. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “I just realized I never actually asked. You dropped out of high school, right? When did that happen?”

He nodded, his expression shifting slightly. “Yeah, I dropped out last year. It just wasn’t for me, you know? I wanted to focus on music and other things.”

“Music?” you echoed, intrigued. “Are you in a band or something?”

“Not exactly,” he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I play guitar and write songs, but it’s mostly just a hobby for now. I work here to pay the bills.”

“That’s really cool,” you said, genuinely impressed. “I had no idea you were into music like that.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s just something I do on the side. I’ve always loved it,” he replied, his voice softening. “What about you? Besides school, what are your passions?”

"Not much honestly, I guess i'm still figuring that part out.."

“Want to grab something to eat? There’s a great little diner just down the road,” he suggested, his voice light.

“Sure, I’d love that!” you replied, trying to keep the excitement from spilling over.

.° ༘☕⋆🖇₊˚ෆ

You slid into a booth, and Jungkook took a seat across from you, his expression animated as he scanned the menu. “What do you recommend?” he asked, looking up at you with a grin.

“Honestly? Their burgers are amazing, but I’m a slut for breakfast food at any time of day. You can’t go wrong with pancakes,” you replied, feeling more relaxed.

“Pancakes.. that does sound nice. I’ll get those too,” he said, waving over a waitress to place your orders. As you waited, you took a moment to appreciate the easy flow of conversation. Jungkook spoke animatedly about his love for cooking, sharing anecdotes about the worst dishes he had attempted to make.

But as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself glancing at the clock on the wall. It was just past 6 PM, and a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach. You had left home at 4 PM, and you could already imagine your parents fuming at home, waiting for you to return. The earlier argument echoed in your mind, a reminder that you were likely to hear about it for the rest of the night.

“What’s up? You look a bit tense,” Jungkook noticed, tilting his head slightly, concern etched on his face.

“Just… thinking about home,” you replied, trying to brush it off. “You know how it is; parents worry and all that.”

He nodded, but you could tell he sensed there was more to it. “Yeah, I get that. My mom used to worry about me all the time. She still does, honestly,” he said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

You chuckled lightly, appreciating his attempt to connect. “It’s tough sometimes, isn’t it? Balancing what we want to do and what our parents expect from us.”

“Totally,” Jungkook said, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed. “But hey- you deserve to enjoy your time off. It sounds like you’ve worked really hard.”

“Thanks,” you said, grateful for his support. But despite his words, the clock seemed to taunt you as you kept checking the time. Each glance made the anxiety grow—a pit in your stomach reminding you of the fight you had before leaving home.

When the food finally arrived, you forced yourself to focus on the moment. The pancakes were fluffy and warm, and Jungkook’s eyes lit up when he took a bite.

You laughed, feeling a small weight lift from your shoulders as you joined in on the meal. You both chatted about favorite foods and your go-to comfort dishes, sharing laughter over silly stories and the ridiculous things you both had tried to cook.

.° ༘☕⋆🖇₊˚ෆ

In that moment, you felt a rush of warmth but also a wave of guilt. You had to get home soon, or else you’d really be in trouble. The clock ticked to 6:35 PM, and the knot in your stomach tightened further. The longer you stayed out, the more upset your parents would be. The thought of their disappointment and anger sent a shiver down your spine

“Um, I should probably head back soon,” you said reluctantly, glancing down at your plate as you took a few more bites. “My parents might start to worry.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Jungkook replied, a hint of disappointment in his tone. “But I’m really glad you came out tonight. You should do it more often.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Definitely.”

As you finished your meal, you felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you. On one hand, you loved spending time with Jungkook, but on the other, the reality of your home life loomed over you like a storm cloud.

After settling the bill, you stood up, and Jungkook followed suit. “Let me give you a ride” he offered, his voice firm with a hint of determination.

You hesitated, biting your lip. The thrill of riding with him was tempting, but the thought of your parents seeing you with a boy on a motorcycle sent a wave of anxiety crashing over you. “I can’t… my parents are home. If they see me with you, they’ll freak out.”

Jungkook’s expression shifted to concern, but he quickly smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “How about I drop you off a block away? That way, they won’t see us together.”

You considered it for a moment, the risk weighing heavily on your mind. The idea of riding on the motorcycle again was exhilarating, and it might just work. “Okay, that could work,” you replied, feeling a pit grow in your stomach.

As you stepped into the cool evening air, the chill hit your face, invigorating yet laced with nerves. He handed you the helmet, and you fumbled to put it on, adjusting it so it sat securely on your head. After climbing onto the motorcycle behind him, you instinctively wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

“Ready?” he asked, looking back at you, his playful demeanor still intact.

You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the nerves. “Yeah, just… a little nervous, I guess.”

He nodded slowly, his playful grin replaced by a serious look. “I get it. It’ll be fine. I promise I’ll take it slow.”

With a roar, the motorcycle came to life, and you felt the rush of wind against your skin as he revved the engine. The world blurred around you, but your thoughts were far from the thrill of the ride. Each passing block felt like a countdown to impending doom.

Your heart raced—not from excitement, but from the gnawing fear of what awaited you at home. What would your parents say? Would they be furious? You could almost hear their voices echoing in your mind, the lectures waiting for you like a storm ready to unleash.

The streets blurred past you. You felt the weight of your earlier argument pressing down on you with every turn, and the pressure built inside your chest. You glanced over your shoulder at your house, each meter increasing your dread. Would your little sister understand why you were late? Your parents? The prospect of facing their anger felt like a noose tightening around your neck.

As you entered your neighborhood, a wave of panic hit you. “This is it!” you said, your heart pounding in your chest as he slowed down. The familiar street came into view, but instead of relief, all you felt was dread.

“Here we are!” he said, easing the motorcycle to a stop a block away from your house. You could see your home glowing warmly in the distance, but it felt more like a prison than a sanctuary.

“Thanks for the ride, Jungkook,” you managed to say, your voice slightly breathless, but the words felt empty.

“Hey! Wait a second!” he called, his tone playful yet serious.

“What?” you asked, half-expecting another comment about your house.

“Just… take care, okay? I mean it,” he said, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the tension in the air. “And text me later tonight, alright? Just so I know you survived your parents.”

You smiled weakly, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest at his concern, even though your stomach churned with anxiety. “Yeah, I will,” you replied, the promise feeling heavy. You weren’t sure if you could reassure him, let alone yourself.

As you stepped onto the familiar path to your house, the warmth from your evening with Jungkook lingered, but the dread of facing your parents loomed heavily over you.

Once you walked inside, the familiar chaos of your household enveloped you. Your little sister was sprawled out on the couch, engrossed in a show, but your parents were right there in the kitchen, their voices rising in an argument.

“Where have you been?” Your mother’s voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and accusing.

[fruitjoos]

my mistake, my apologies

art donaldson x tashi duncan x patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick were fooling around behind their backs but tashi is sick of you acting like daddy’s perfect little princess. so she snaps, revealing your dirty little secret

warnings cheating, suggestive

Your stomach twisted, the pain sharp and relentless, a dull ache spreading through your gut like something inside was tearing you apart. The air felt heavy, too thick to breathe, as if the room was closing in on you.

Your heart thudded wildly, each beat louder than the last, threatening to burst out of your chest and leave you exposed, bleeding for everyone to see. Tashi's voice cut through the haze, her breath ragged with fury, her chest rising and falling like she was holding back the urge to scream.

"Tell him," she hissed, each word dripping with venom. "Tell him how you've been fucking Patrick after class. Lying about study hall." Her lips curled, her eyes narrowing as she watched you, daring you to deny it. "Tell him how you lied about having your period because Patrick already had his fill for the day."

Heat flushed through you, burning your cheeks, your entire body suddenly too hot as shame and anger fought for control. You clenched your jaw, trying desperately to keep your face still, to hold onto some shred of calm while everything was crumbling around you. But Tashi's words struck deep, each one a knife, twisting with every syllable she wrapped with her tongue.

Art sat there, silent, his eyes darting between you and Tashi, confusion clouding his face.

He looked over to Patrick, who sat motionless, his mouth shut tight, his gaze fixed on the floor. His silence was the worst part, his refusal to look at you said more than words ever could. And still, you couldn't bring yourself to look away from Tashi.

Art whispered your name, almost like a question, but you ignored him. You couldn't let this spiral any further. You had to fight back, somehow, anything to keep the walls from caving in.

"She's lying," you spat, your voice harsher than you intended. "She's just a jealous bitch who doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about." You felt the words pour out of you, reckless and biting. "She's a pathetic freak who's obsessed with her stupid tennis matches and hates that no one wants to be around her."

Tashi didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled a slow, satisfied smile, the kind that said she knew she had already won. The sound of her low chuckle made your skin crawl. The silence that followed her laughter was suffocating, like the air had been sucked outof the room. Patrick's silence, his refusal to speak, sealed your fate. He didn't need to say anything. Art knew just from the sight.

"Tell him," Tashi repeated, her voice a mocking whisper now, almost playful in its cruelty.

Art's voice came out soft, weak. "Tashi, just leave her alone. You don't know what you're saying." He wouldn't look at her, his eyes downcast, his voice shaking with pleading.

Tashi's eyes sharpened as she turned her gaze on him, her smile fading. "You're a fucking idiot, Art," she spat, the words landing like a slap.

The annoying buzzing light above flickered erratically, its steady hum beating in time with the pounding in your head. Each flicker felt like a countdown, ticking down the seconds until you snapped, until there was nothing left.

You couldn't stay here. You couldn't breathe in this room with the weight of their stares crushing you.

"I don't have to take this,” you muttered, pushing back from the table, your chair scraping loudly against the floor as youstood. The room blurred as you stormed toward the door, your steps quick and unsteady, the sound of your heartbeat drowning out everything else.

Patrick's eyes followed you, but you couldn't face him. You couldn't bear the look you knew would be there. Art scrambled up after you, but he didn't call out, didn't try to stop you. You heard the door slam behind you, followed by the soft patter of his footsteps as he tried to keep up.

You reached your dorm room, your breath unsteady, your hands trembling as you left the door open behind you. You heard Art enter, the quiet click as he closed it softly. The silence between you stretched out, thick and suffocating, the tension in the air so heavy it felt like it could crush you both. Your mind raced, but all you could focus on was the sound of your own uneven breathing, the way your chest felt tight, like you couldn't get enough air.

Art finally spoke, his voice low, fragile.

"You're not on your period, are you?" He didn't look at you as he asked, his gaze fixed on the floor like he couldn't bear to meet your eyes.

The words hit you like a punch, and for a moment, you couldn't speak. You swallowed hard, your throat dry, your mind spinning as you tried to find a way out of this, but there was nothing left to say. Slowly, you shook your head, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

Art let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and broken. His shoulders slumped, and for the first time, he looked truly defeated.

"Okay," he muttered, more to himself than to you, a small, disbelieving chuckle slipping through his lips as if this was all some sick joke. But there was no humor in it. No relief.

Just pain.

You reached out, desperate to stop him from walking away, from leaving you here alone with the mess you had made. "Art, please," you whispered, your voice cracking as a sob escaped your throat.

He shook his head, pulling his wrist from your grasp, his face contorted with pain. "My chest physically hurts," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his composure, but his tears betrayed him. "I can't... I can't do this right now."

With one last look, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and painful thoughts.

[whiskeynwriting]

Do simon and bones ever get that night where they don’t have to be quiet?? And maybe simon loses himself and goes completely feral trying to pull as many noises from her as possible that make his brain melt?? 🥺

Ohhh anon. Yes, yes they do.

Love Is a Sin (Part One)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

◆

Word Count: 12.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Smoking, mention of war and military lifestyle, use of weaponry, dirty talk, mask kink, size kink, tiny praise kink, cockwarming (kinda?), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, fluffies and vulnerability, secrecy, protective Ghost (I yearn). Lmk if I missed anything! 

◆

A/N: Enjoy part one my babies! Part two gets a little darker... I'm so excited.

◆

Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

It’s not often that you find yourself here, this is actually your first genuine invitation. Any other reason was to simply grab materials for a craft or files from a desk. And whenever you did that, it was by yourself. Because when the boys were in here, those doors were locked tight, their voices a muted drone in the halls. No one was allowed access into the debriefing room unless given specific clearance from Price. 

“Grab a seat.” The man of the hour speaks, motioning toward the table. 

They’re already gathered around the captain’s spread of plans, all three of them. And when Price speaks to you, each and every one of their heads turn, eyes and brows moving with bewilderment. None of them knew you were attending this meeting, not even Ghost. 

His eyes, above anyone else’s, widen. No one moves for a moment, not until Simon stands. Rising to his feet, he towers over every man, brows narrowing before he turns, grabbing one of the folding chairs leaning against the wall. With a quick jerk of his hand, the chair unfolds into its natural position. And then, he’s setting it down beside his own seat, lowering himself once again.

Johnny cocks an eye at his somewhat gentlemanly act, and although it’s done with sweet intention, you can practically feel Simon’s aversion to your presence. You knew this would upset him. 

“Uncharted territory.” Price declares, a single, thick finger slamming down onto the map. “And that’s why we need her.” That finger is then directed at you. And as each man turns their head, you don’t feel intimidation, but pride, swelling within you.

But your partner, on the other hand, finds his insides rotting with disapproval. They knew where they’d be going, they knew what they’d be risking, but they had no idea they’d have to bring you. But aside from Simon, everyone there seemed thrilled. 

“Finally get to see what yer all about.” Soap grins, giving you a rather rough pat on the back. 

Gaz smiles, leaning onto the table with his forearms. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“Damn right.” And when you look up, Price is beaming with pride. He brought you to the base for a reason; he always knew you’d be a reliable member. “She’s the best we’ve got, and we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

All this talk and Simon’s head hasn’t turned once, his eyes fixed completely on you. His stare is almost blank, lost, void of emotion as he begins to dissociate from this. Before you, only his family had gotten so close to him. And even now, you’re more important to him than they ever were. He’s never let himself get so wrapped up in this type of thing, an actual relationship. And now he’s going to be bringing you with him? He’s never even so much as trained with you. You’re not ready for this, and neither is he. But your unpreparedness is clearly developing in different ways. 

“Ghost.”

Snapping his gaze toward the captain, he jostles his head. “Yeah?”

“We’re gonna need your head in the game for this one.”

“Always.”

And just like that, you’re running through the plans. No man’s land, disputed ground between your team and the enemy. Many squadrons have been deployed and just as many have died. With the team specializing in infiltration, counter-terrorism and covert assignment, they were the next group to be tasked with the mission. This wasn’t going to be a simple assignment. 

But honestly, you’re not here for any of that. You don’t specialize in any type of infiltration or counter-terrosim techniques. Right now, you’re a medic, and with the zone they’re invading, Price wants you on deck in case anyone gets hurt. They have a better chance of making it through if they have someone that can quickly wrap up a wound. It also helps that you have experience in the field, but both physically and mentally. Before becoming a medic, and now lead medic at the base, you specialize in close quarter combat and weapons tactics, traits Price found just as valuable. He knows you won’t hold them back.

Simon knows all of this, he knows better than anyone just how good you are at this. But you’ve never experienced this kind of warfare, and he doesn’t want you to witness it. He also doesn't want you to witness the kind of man he is during it. 

“We’re due to set off tomorrow evening. We’ll use the cover of night to be dropped in over the mountains, where we’ll then hike. It’s about a twenty kilometer trek from there to the safe house. There, we’ll get our rest, reconvene and set out for the building.” 

Sliding his finger to one portion of the map, he displays the safe house’s location. Continuing to move, he then shows just how close the targeted building is. 

Price’s voice dips dangerously low when he explains, “Only eight kilometers away.”

“How is it a safe house if it’s that close to enemy lines?” Soap asks, twisting his face in confusion. 

“The enemy has yet to infiltrate that forest, they know nothing of its ground or the layout. They wouldn’t risk crossing uncharted territory just to explore a piece of land they aren’t interested in. Besides, the house is surrounded by landmines and snares, something we’ll need to pay attention to and avoid.”

With emphasis on his last word, those deep baby blues then drift to Gaz, who’s trying to duck away like some embarrassed tortoise. “I know, I know.” The team remembers Gaz’s mistake far too well, tossing a rock to test the space before nearly blowing himself to bits.

“Any other questions?”

About a million, though he doesn’t say it. They all revolve around you, anyway. 

“Right.” Slapping a hand against the table, he then stands. “We’re clear to move out tomorrow evening, eighteen hundred hours. Am I clear?”

“Clear.” The three men proclaim in unison, prompting you to jump slightly in your seat. And Ghost chuckles.

“C-Clear.” You repeat, feeling foolish doing so by yourself. 

Price grins, giving you a cheeky wink. He knows you’ll fit in given the right amount of time. “Night lads.” Your captain then states, giving you a nod. “And lass.” 

*

*

*

Everything feels thick and heavy - your clothes, the air, the shaft invading your most intimate space. His sighs are full of spearmint and tobacco, hints of his cologne floating up to your nose. Every sense feels invigorated, the emotions of embarrassment and exposure melting away just from being in his presence. Simon calms you, he grounds you.

“Christ,” His breaths come out in humid puffs, seeping out through the top crack of the window. It intermingles with the nighttime air, the darkening atmosphere as it fades to dusk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” 

Bulky arms wrap around your midsection, one hand dipping down to fist your ass. It’s then that you feel him pulse against your walls, prompting a delighted sigh from your throat. 

“I think I know.” Your sultry voice responds, hips moving gracefully over his pelvis. But your breaths are still heavy, enjoying the cool breeze that occasionally drifts in. And those heavy wafts of air soak into his neck when you lean in, running your lips over his ear. “I think I know exactly what I do to you.”

Those sweetly sinful words give the allusion of rough and quick sex, all teeth and tongue and torn clothes. But that’s not what this is about, not right now, not at all. It’s passionate, sensual, but slow and needy, too. Your motions are relaxed, Simon’s hands encouraging the gradual roll of your hips. And when you’re not speaking to him, or him to you, you’re lifting yourself up to his mouth. Here, the tips of your tongues touch, just barely dancing together as you tease one another, before inevitably falling back down to mouth tenderly at his neck.

“You’re so fucking good,” He praises, thick fingers pressing into your backside as he pants briefly. “Give me more, oh, god… more.”

Rocking his hips upward, he meets your sensual rolls, finding unison with you. From the moment you crawled onto his lap in the backseat of his Jeep, his eyes were on you, on your pretty face and every expression you make. Even now, he reaches out, cupping your cheek and bringing you down to him with a gentle force that screams Simon. 

His mouth consumes your own, his entire tongue sliding inside while his moan vibrates down your throat. It’s then that he twitches against your delicate channel, gasping into your mouth, breathing in your air. Holding you down on his lap, he forces you to still, now choosing to thrust up. 

“Simon,”

“God,” He groans, shoving himself up into your center over and over again. And at this point, it’s a familiar feeling, the sensation of being overly full, stretched to your limit and still wanting more. “Love it when you say my name.” 

Leaning backward against the seat, he urges you to put your weight on his chest, planting his feet on the floor of the car to gain better leverage. Here, he punches himself into your sex, reveling in the way it squeezes hotly around him.

“Fucking C-Christ.”

The Jeep rocks from the force of it, your collective moans spilling out into the nighttime air. But neither of you are worried. You’d found this spot to be particularly secluded, even from the constant patrols. Parked amongst the trees with the car off, at nearly midnight, seemed to be your new routine. It was the closest you could get to feeling free.

“Take it off.” Your Lieutenant then requests, one hand lifting to your chest. 

He palms you roughly, slowing the action down as he then decides on a tender rub; he wants to show you how gentle he can be. So, while considering both his actions and words, he moves carefully, speaks gently. “Can I see?”

“Mhm,” With a wide grin, you nod, glancing down to undo the front of your quarter zip. The easiest way to give him access is to guide your sports bra up and over the tops of your breasts, exposing yourself to him. 

“Oh,” Ghost groans, ducking his head into the crook of your neck. “Lovely.” He says it as his hand returns, doing his best to not let the material of his glove scratch you too rough. 

Your lover’s touch has grown quite accustomed to your feminine features, your smooth skin, your most delicate places. Instead of running over it with quick motions, his thumb touches your nipple gently, just barely rubbing tiny circles into it. And he listens to your breath, too. The lungs give everything away. 

“Baby, please…”

“What d’you want, love?” Mumbling into your neck, he kisses it, loosening his grip and allowing you to move again. And instantly, you do, wrapping your arms around his neck and bouncing down onto him. 

“Oh, fuck me.”

Now that your shirt is open, it leaves you vulnerable to the roughness of his tac vest. And it scratches you harshly, zippers and velcro scraping across your sensitive skin. But in truth, you like it. It’s almost like another mark he can give. 

“Fuck, those whimpers… that’s gonna make me bust right inside.”

Regardless of your place in the woods, you still have to keep yourself quiet. You and Simon have yet to have a night where you can fully be yourselves, where you can fully indulge in each other. This has been the closest thing to it. 

“S-Simon,” Your voice is light, airy and shaky. And you’re clinging to him for dear fucking life, because not only has he matched your fervent pace, he’s exceeded it. “Baby.”

“Take it,” He nearly growls, “Take it in your tight cunt.”

The muscles lining your insides flutter from his words, from his brute force. Sex with Simon was always so passionate, so intimate; it was a different type of experience. And you’ve fully leaned into it since the first night you got to experience him.

“Fucking hell, princess, I can feel it. You’re gonna cum on me.” And he really can; your velvety center pulsing around him, around the thick intrusion repeatedly splitting you open. 

But the way he says it almost embarasses you, and he chuckles when you duck down to hide your face from him. Smooshing your cheeks against his neck, your quiet grunts come with his every thrust. 

“C’mon, baby.” He coos with a grin, encouraging you. And something about Simon using the word baby makes you absolutely swoon. “Like it when you cum on me… you know that.” 

It’s then that you finally give in, a sense of pleasure bursting from your lower pelvis and reaching into every limb. The entire sensation is a true release, mentally and physically. Both of his hands find your backside as he rides you through it, squeezing harshly while your pelvis ruts over him, your entire body trembling. 

“That’s it…” Eyes rolling back, he drops his head against the seat’s headrest. But his hold on you hasn’t given up just yet. 

His own euphoria shoots from his insides when your fingernails find him, digging into his skin. Your slender digits scratch at his neck, at the tendons between his throat and shoulder, and it just fucking sends him.

Ghost has gotten quite comfortable releasing inside you. The two of you had forgone condoms fairly quickly. And in the beginning, it was due to the rush of things, the need to have the other right then and there, or at least, as soon as you could. But now, it’s for the feeling, the intimacy. There’s really nothing else like it. In truth, he always hated the latex barrier when it came to you.

Shivering briefly, you release an affectionate breath, a shaky inhale before cuddling into him. Used to this reaction by now, both of those bulky arms wrap around your back, holding you against his chest. He finds it endearing, your need for closeness, especially as the two of you come down. 

Smoothing a hand over your head, he kisses the top of it, rumbling to you in that deep, entrancing voice, “You’re so good for me.”

And he means it in more ways than this. Truly, you bring out the niceness in him, whatever amount of it he has left. The longer you and Simon stayed together, the more you connected, the more you felt like you could really do this. Your relationship could be sustainable, and you could be vulnerable. 

Every chance Simon got, he took to your side. In the training yard, he’d lift weights adjacent to your station. In the cafeteria, he always saved you a seat next to him. And in the debriefing room, he pulled up a chair for you beside him. And while the two of you were busy gravitating towards each other, your teammates were busy with eyeing your movements. It was starting to look suspicious. 

“You alright, love?”

Even when he’s done, and his breaths have steadied, he rests inside you. He did this often, especially when you rode him. While your need for closeness was expressed with words, his was expressed with actions. And this action, was one of his favorites. 

“Mhm,” Grinning, your eyes shut, your body weight resting comfortably on his chest. Removing your arms from around his neck, they instead loop around his wide midsection, hugging him. 

He’d been trying to ignore the issue at hand, the issue that’s only an issue to him. And while you riding him was more than a good enough distraction, now, he was now in his head again. Feeling you wrap your arms around him softens something inside his heart, and now more than ever, he wants to keep you protected. 

With a small grunt, he shifts, arms lifting behind your back. Listening closely, you can hear the velcro separating on his hand, and then the drop of a single glove onto the seat to your left. Simon’s warmth then envelopes your chest, the slow drag of his naked hand across your breasts. He caresses them fondly, before focusing on the right.

“Didn’t get to enjoy these much.” Your soldier murmurs, cupping your tit and pushing it up toward his waiting mouth.

Lips, warm and wet, wrap around your nipple, sucking softly on it. His palm is warm, fingers pressing into your smooth flesh. It’s his favorite part of you, after all. He knew it before even seeing their bare skin. 

“Hm…” Reaching up to the back of his head, you release a relaxing breath. Your head drops back as you cradle him against your chest, feeling the passionate massage he begins to give them. “Love this, Si…”

“Mm,” He moans in response, eyes closing as he enjoys you. 

He feels surrounded by you, and you by him. Resting like this together feels so special, almost sacred. You crave it. A profound sense of longing fills you, and you feel foolish, because he’s right here. He’s here with you and still, you can’t get enough. 

Sliding your hands around to his cheeks, your head turns as you lean in. Lips press sweetly to his second skin, the black fabric covering his temple. And it makes him chuckle quietly, kissing the slope of your breast. 

“Like my mask?”

“Mhm,” Your lips curl into a devilish grin while pressing against him, holding his head even closer to you. 

“Do you…” With a deep breath, he lifts his head, eyes finding you. “Do you ever wish you could see my face?”

With this question, you still, looking at him with a quietly shocked expression. Swallowing, you think before speaking, knowing that your words need to be respectful and calculated. But it only takes one for a decent response that can also be truthful.

“Yes.” 

Just barely nodding, Simon’s heart pounds inside his chest. Now that he knows this, he feels like he’s disappointed you. 

“But I know you don’t want to show me.” You continue, surprising him. “And that’s okay.”

And you think this is the most innocent those deep brown eyes have ever looked. His brows raise beneath the mask, taken aback by your reaction.

“It really is, Si.” And your sweet smile capitalizes on your sentiment. 

Your presence in Simon’s life, the grace you give him, it all still astounds him. Some six months later and still, you continue to bring purpose to his life every single day. He hasn’t quite realized it, but that’s exactly how he sees it.

Without another word spoken, his hand rises to the back of your head, bringing you down for a passionate kiss. Your own hands slide down to his jaw, petting lightly at the blonde stubble he has. And you count yourself lucky he’s even let you see that. 

“Want a smoke with me?” Simon asks against your lip, nipping at your lower one when you grin. 

“Sure, baby.”

Shifting onto one side of his hip, he grabs the pack and lighter from his pants pocket before settling back onto the seat. With one item going to his lips, the other is held up to you, quick to be taken by one of your hands. It’s endearing when he does this, silently asking for a bit of help, even if it’s as small as this. 

His face, the features you’ve been allowed to see, light up from the small fire. The quiet sizzle of the joint hums in this small lull before he takes a breath in, fingers grabbing the end. Turning, he releases the smoke into the air, feeling your hand drop the lighter onto the seat beside him. And while this hushed pause should resemble a sense of peacefulness, it prompts a certain worry inside you. 

“Si?”

“Yeah?” When his eyes return to you, they’re squinted slightly, eyebrows furrowed. But not in anger or annoyance. What’s bothering him?

“Are you okay?” Lifting your hand, you lay it over his cheek, fingertips brushing over that black mask. “You seem…quiet. Quieter than normal.” And your small poke at him makes both of you grin. 

With a sigh, he lifts the cig, offering it to you and then watching you take it. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes when he says, “Don’t know how I feel about you tagging along, sweets.” 

Without meaning to, he questions your abilities, the same abilities you’ve trained for years to gain. But you take his comment better than he expected. 

“Yeah?” You chuckle, raising a brow as you tease, “Afraid I’ll show you up?” Another puff and you’re handing it back to him, curious about what’s going on inside that skull. 

“Nah, it’s nothing like that.” Casually, he shakes his head, inhaling on his pass. “Place we’re going is… it’s not a place for you to be.” 

“I know it’s dangerous, Si. That’s why I’m going, so I can help you guys.” You knew it, you fucking knew he’d have an issue with you coming. You just weren’t sure how deep that worry was. 

And now, he’s silent for a minute, a long minute. Looking away from your gaze, those deep eyes wander to the window, searching for the right words to say. Something along the lines of… “Just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Awe…” Again, you’re teasing, poking fun to avoid the real conflict. Neither of you want to have a serious conversation, not when your entire life is one giant critical discussion. But you have to admit, you like seeing this side of him. 

Leaning in, you nuzzle his temple, your voice turning quiet and sweet. “I like it when you’re soft with me, big boy. Makes me feel like you care.”

“‘Course I do.” 

And when you snuggle even further into him, his eyes close, a heavy breath released from his nose. It’s a silent response, his body reacting to your genuine adoration for him. He makes sure to keep his head still, wanting you to continue the loving motion. And you do, reveling in the way his arm returns to circle around you. 

It’s not about him doubting you, it’s about him protecting you. He knows you can handle yourself, and he found that incredibly attractive when you first met. But now? He just wants to keep you safe, make sure you stay on base and never have to see combat again. But Price was the one to call the shot this time. 

On the other hand, Ghost is also worried about the team. Specifically, he’s worried about them discovering your relationship. No one knows about the two of you except for Johnny, and neither of you want anyone else to find out. And if you somehow get hurt out there, his emotions are sure to expose themselves. There’s not a single chance his affection for you won’t show, his angry and possessive nature sure to shine through. After that, they’re bound to figure it out. 

“I’ll be with you,” Comes your gentle response. “How could I ever get hurt when I’m with you?”

Sweet, he thinks. But it’s not enough to reassure him. 

*

*

*

The helo ride is easy, nothing that gives you jitters in any sort of way. The only thing you wish was different, was the view - there isn’t one. The entire ride is done with complete cover, not a window in sight as you all sit in the far back, strapped to your seats and waiting to be told otherwise. 

Johnny had insisted you hunker down with him, he honestly wants to get to know you a bit more. Especially now that you’re dating his best friend. He also wanted to distract said friend; Simon needs to keep his head on straight. But Ghost wasn’t having any of that. Not because he was worried Soap would make a move, but because he promised himself you wouldn’t be leaving his side for even a second throughout this trip. 

While sitting beside each other, you find yourself wanting him, yearning for his touch, to lean against his shoulder or even hold his hand. But the closest you two settle for is the touching of your knees. Around the boys, you manspread just like them. So, while leaning back in your seat, you do just that. And of course, Simon doesn’t move an inch. He likes your need for touch, it matches his quite nicely. It might even make him smile beneath his mask. 

“Drop point,” Price announces, “Comin’ up fast.”

And upon command, the four of you release your buckles, standing to correct your straps. Simon eyes you from his peripheral as you adjust your vest, leaning down to check the pistol in your thigh holster and then the one secured to your stomach. He finds it attractive, watching you train your knowledge of weapons. But he shakes those thoughts out of his head. Right now, he’s making sure the way you’re loading them is correct. 

Hovering above the designated location, each of you approaches the sliding door. Once Price tosses the rope down, he’s the first one on it, landing on the ground with a firm thud and immediately securing the area. Then, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. You’re last, and it’s for your best interest. It gives you the advantage of watching them, taking notes on how to do this. And when you finally secure your gloves and grab hold of the rope, you look to them on the ground. But it’s not the team you find. Grinning, your eyes immediately lock, his trained on you beneath that stoic mask. He’s standing at the bottom, staring up and waiting for you. And all he wants to do is tell you to stay, or at the very least, catch you. But all he can do is watch as you slide down, restraining himself from wrapping his arm around you once you’re on the ground. 

His Reckoner gear is menacing, though his attire usually is. The black jacket matches the shawl slung loosely around his neck, draping down onto his chest. Shielding him from the rapidly growing winds is his outfit’s hood, tight around his head and mask. You find yourself favoring this look, so dark and mysterious. It’s how you first saw him when you met. And you’re dressed similarly, your entire outfit made up of black and gray canvas, a scarf around your neck and gloves on your hands, with your own hood up, too. 

Only a small part of you tries to separate yourself from him, but it doesn't reach surface level, not even close. Regardless of wanting to hide your relationship, you stick to each other like glue. Taking his position at the rear of the group, he makes sure to keep his strides in line with you, matching your pace expertly as you continue forward. 

The silence between you is comfortable, familiar, and again, you find yourself longing for him. With a devious thought creeping into your mind, you let your hand fall to your side, wandering further enough to swipe your pinky across his thumb.

“Think you’re ready for this?” A deep, Scottish accent suddenly asks. 

Jumping sharply, your hand instantly flinches away from your lieutenant. “W-What?”

“Bit jumpy, there?”

Smirking, you roll your eyes, hands grabbing the straps of your vest. “I’m just fine, Johnny.” And then, you nod, feigning an air of smugness. “What about you?”

“Born ready, sweetheart.”

Ghost huffs. “Born a pretty boy.” But even he’s grinning as he says it. 

“Fuckin’ grump,” Soap teases, walking backward and just ahead of you two so he can continue talking. “We’re only an hour in.”

“And still needing to secure our position.” Dad - Price, snaps, reminding Soap to keep his voice down.

At this, Johnny’s eyes widen, his body jerking around before jogging forward to catch up with the rest of the group. You chuckle at his reaction, but Ghost doesn’t make another sound as you continue. He’s too busy with his own thoughts to converse with you.

Flurries of snow buzz around your covered heads, sticking to the fabric of your scarves, the hairs of your eyelashes and the scruff on the boys’ chins. It brings about a certain childlike bliss, a winter wonderland in the midst. Smiling innocently at the beautiful landscape around you, those joyful emotions soon dissipate alongside your captain’s voice. 

“Ice ahead.” He declares, signaling for the rest of you to ready yourselves. And with a deep breath, that’s just what you attempt to do. 

“Grab your ice axe.” Simon murmurs, twisting around to grab his own.

“I know.” You sass, reaching back for the tools in your pack. 

Easily, he dismisses your attitude. All he wants is for you to be prepared, adding on, “A bundle of rope, too.

Approaching the mountain, you ready yourself. Almost as if staring a beast in the eye, you stand flat on your feet, staring up at the vast landscape. It’s intimidating, this imposing piece of nature. Familiar winds sweep across the rocky edges, brushing the snow from its various levels. And beneath it lay thick layers of ice, sheet after sheet sliding down the summit’s side. 

“You and I can go first, get to the top fast as we can.” Simon decides, planting a hand on your lower back and ushering you toward the front of the group.

“Why?”

“Let’s go.” Easily, Simon pushes his way forward, right beside you. 

His added attention to your every move is noticeable within the group. And honestly, it’s starting to irritate you. To an extent, it’s insulting, especially in front of the other men. But you need to focus on the task at hand, and that doesn’t include any of your emotions about him.

Reaching up, a small grunt is released as you swing your pick, digging it into the ice. And once Simon is sure you have your footing, he starts up right alongside you. He’s below your stance and slightly to your right, watching your steps while trying to keep his own in check. But to his surprise, you’re doing fairly well for your first time. The burn in your muscles is nothing compared to the determination to prove Price right. He won’t regret bringing you on this mission. 

However, repeatedly hoisting your body up while trying to find your footing is becoming increasingly difficult as you go on, gravity beginning to weigh heavy against your body. Every step is met with a disgruntled groan or grunt, with Ghost’s echoing below you. Eventually, you start to hear the rest of the team’s noises, each man climbing up at their own pace. 

“You alright, lass?”

“Ye-ah,” Comes your breathy response, releasing an airy laugh. “This isn’t so h–hard.”

You’re speaking as you climb, with every other word coming out between some type of guttural noise. And further beneath your feet, Johnny laughs in return.

“McTavish, watch your footing.” Price chides, his voice hurried and a bit frantic. It startles you. “McTavish!” 

Breaking open your seemingly sound world is the sudden cracking of ice, your eyes going wide. The sound of frozen water splitting between the five of you echoes along the summit’s climb, and soon after, your teammates’ yells, too.

“Soap!”

Glancing down, you barely have time to react before Ghost is barking at you. “Head up!”

Instantly, your head snaps upward, breaths labored as worry consumes you. Your ears ring with the sudden spike of adrenaline forcing blood through your veins, heart pumping from the appearance of your base instincts. 

“Keep going!” He continues to shout, “That’s an order, Bones!” 

With everything in you, you want to look down, especially when you hear the boys’ continuation of panicked shouts. But beside you, Ghost’s movements pick up, your own now excelling forward, too. 

Simon’s chest heaves beside you as he scrambles up the side of the mountain, your movements now just as fast. Stab after stab, you hurl your arms upward against the ice, forcing the axe into the thick sheets. 

“S-Simon.”

“Keep going.” Is all he says, all he’s able to say.

And in the blink of an eye, you’re at the top curve. Simon hauls himself over the side, immediately leaning over the cliff’s edge to reach for your hand. 

“Take it! Take it now!”

“Price!” Gaz yells in the distance, a heavy thud heard at the bottom of the cliff.

“John.” You barely whimper, thinking the worst has come. 

The firm grip of your lieutenant’s hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, yanking you up and over the edge. You land on your stomach with a hard unff, Simon’s hand now settling over your lower back. He can’t see anything, a thick dusting of snow covering the lower half of their climb. For a moment, he thinks about yelling, but chooses to flick on his comms instead. 

“Price?” He questions into the mic, eyes searching frantically for any one of them. “Soap?”

“We’re here.”

“What the bloody hell happened?” 

“Wrong, wrong move.” Johnny huffs through the link. “Ice cracked, Price fell. Me shortly after; Gaz was still close to the ground.” 

“Anyone hurt?”

“Just a bit.” Price finally answers, and this is when you move to sit up. But Simon’s firm hand on your back keeps you down. “I’ll be fine, just a sore back.”

“Orders?” Now that he knows no one is severely injured, he needs to know the team’s next moves. He is second in command, after all. 

“Simon?” Again, you try to push yourself up, but the pressure he applies becomes firmer, his fingers curling into your jacket.

“Stay.” He demands, his voice dark and stern. If you were anyone else, you’d think it was a warning. 

“We’ll have to trek around, but…” Trailing off for a moment, the captain finishes with, “It’ll add a day to our hike.”

A moment of silence passes, and Simon leans away from the cliff, settling beside you. Finally, he lets you up, turning his head as he watches you gather your bearings beside him.

“Hike on,” Price decides. “Secure the safe house, we’ll be a day behind. This path is lost.”

“No reconvene?” Ghost clarifies, wondering if the team should get their heads on straight after being separated like this. And upon this suggestion, Price grows silent in thought.

“Setting up camp would be smart. Give us a rest, some time to calm down and gather ourselves.” He finally agrees, then declaring, “We’ll stay for the night; right thinking, Ghost. We’re to be up and moving no later than dawn, am I clear?”

“Clear. I’ll expect your comms in twenty-four.”

“Affirmative. Bravo Six, out.” 

With that, Simon stands, your eyes trailing up his large figure while he adjusts his gear. Labored breaths continue to form within your lungs, now stung from the harsh winter air.

“What’s going on?” 

“We’re heading off on our own.” Your partner confirms, brushing the snow from his pants. 

“How are they? Is anyone hurt?” The comms transferred to his earpiece, you were only able to hear his responses. 

“Nothing severe, they’re choosing a different path. It’ll add a day, but Price wants us to continue on.” Tilting your head, your curious expression prompts further information from him. “We’ll make camp for the night though, give us time to rest.”

“And then what?”

“We’ll locate and secure the safehouse, wait for them to arrive.” Leaning down, he holds a hand out, helping you up once you take it. “You alright?”

Now that you’re alone, he grabs your shoulders, rubbing them for both comfort and warmth. “You’re shivering.”

“Just cold.” Shrugging, you brush it off as just that, feeling chilly. Though, it’s partially due to shock, and Simon knows it. It’s been more than five years since you were last in the field; maybe you weren’t fully ready for this. 

“You’re alright, love.” Guiding you to his chest, he sighs, holding the back of your head. “No one’s hurt.” 

All you do is nod against him, pulling up your big girl pants and shoving aside your emotions. He’s right, everything’s fine, just a small bump in the road. 

“We should make camp.” He suggests, the surrounding scenery darkening as he speaks. 

Your current location is far enough away to make a small fire and not draw any attention from the targeted enemy. So naturally, it’s the first thing Simon does, right after finding a small patch of brush for you to set the tent. It’s a small thing, just barely big enough to fit one man. But neither of you mind squeezing inside together. You don’t have sleeping bags, but what you do have are Mylar thermal blankets. Which will have to do, and are actually useful in these situations. 

“Bones.” Ghost quietly calls, and when you look over your shoulder, you find him huddled near the fire. He then jerks his head to the side, beckoning for you. “Cm’over here.” 

While rubbing your hands together, you make your way over to him, sitting down by the little fire he’s built. It’s enough to bring you warmth, though, the pulsing embers doing wonders for your frozen appendages. 

“Any better?” 

“A little better.” With your hands outstretched toward the flames, you nod, eyes trained on the wispy bits of fire floating through the wind. 

Upon your response, he scooches closer, positioning himself behind you. Here, he spreads his legs, laying them on either side of your own and pulling you in between them, right up against his chest. You smile as he drags you back, allowing him to hold you between his legs. His cold, covered chin then finds your shoulder, both arms wrapping around your midsection.

Rumbling to you quietly, he asks again, “Any better?”

The smile on your face burns brighter than the fire. “A lot better.”

Shifting slightly, you relax into his body, basking in the fact that you can so openly cuddle up together. And when he feels your entire weight fall into him, he hums, kissing your shoulder through the mask. He’s become such an affectionate man around you. 

Inside, your heart beats for him. Thinking back to the scenario on the cliff, you replay Simon’s protective acts in your head. His verbal directions, both before and during the event, his physical motions of pulling you up to safety and then keeping a hand on your back.

“Si?”

“Hm?” He returns, mouth full of a protein bar. While you ponder your question, he hands you one, too. 

“Why did you hold me down? By my back?”

He chews his food much slower now, thinking. Never before has he thought through his responses so thoroughly before meeting you. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing; he’s quite frightened of it, actually. 

“Didn’t know if anyone was hurt.” He eventually returns, and you’re confused until he finishes his statement. “Didn’t want you seeing something like that.” 

And while you appreciate the meaning behind his actions, it prompts a certain fear within you. He can’t continue to fight your battles for you, not when you’re out in the field. He has to be himself, not a modified version just because you’re here. He can’t be Simon, he has to be Ghost. And still, you can’t help but feel grateful for him, all of him.

“Thank you.”

*

*

*

The day was cold but the night was frigid, your thermal blankets doing little to shield you from the frozen hell you were in. What helped build heat beneath the metallic blankets, though, were your bodies. It was Simon who suggested it, and you didn’t think twice once he did. There was nothing sexual behind it, only concern and genuine care. 

As soon as you were at his side, huddled within the tent, his arms snaked tightly around your stomach. Naked beneath the crinkly cover, Simon hugged you to his body, not only for heat but for comfort. His masked face easily found its way to your neck, body curling around yours like a protective outer shell. And in this way, he warmed you, inside and out. 

Feeling Simon’s naked body served to bring you a sense of relaxation you didn’t think you’d find on this mission. Being able to sleep beside him was also an incredibly relieving act you didn't think you’d get to experience while deployed. Now that it’s just the two of you, you’re free to bask in each other’s company, reveling in the sweet way your souls connect. It’s not just about physical attraction for you two, not anymore. What you have is chemical. You’ve become each other’s best friend - companions; it’s just natural for you to be together. Even like this, pressed against each other in complete nakedness without an ounce of sexual intention in the air, it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, not for either of you. Those bulky forearms nestled right beneath your breasts, feeling the smooth curves lay against him. And his flaccid length pressed against your backside, his strong hold keeping you nice and close throughout the night. Neither of you cared. There wasn’t room for insecurity between the two of you, not after all you’ve been through. 

“You’re my girl.” Simon whispered to you, mask lifted just enough for him to kiss your ear. 

His eyes were closed as he spoke, body tired and sore and lulling him to sleep. But not before murmuring, “You’re mine; mine to keep.” 

But that was last night. This morning isn’t so sweet.

While Simon continued to display his ever-growing and extremely doting personality, the weather was still acting like a petty bitch. Wild winds surged through your small camp when you awoke, gathering your things once dawn hit the sky. Simon stamped out the fire, you packed up the tent, and off you went.

“How much farther is it again?”

“About twelve kilometers.”

The dramatic groan you exude makes his lips curl beneath the mask, eyes turning to witness your adorably irritated face. 

“C’mon,” He teases, that smirk revealed through his tone. “You can make it.” 

“Can I borrow your mask?” You then ask, a grin curling on your lips. 

Rolling his eyes, they land on you, an unamused expression swirling within them.

“Look, you’re being stingy with it.” Continuing with your charade, you then add, “It’s freezing out here. My cheeks are getting all chapped.”

At this, he huffs out a single laugh. “Looks pretty damn cute to me.” 

It’s interesting, you think. All of this started with you making fun of his mask, and now, you adore it. You adore him.

Both of you are thankful for the common knowledge of swift and silent movement as you trek on through the harsh, mountainous terrain. The quicker you get there, the quicker you’re able to rest. Price mentioned that the cabin even had heat and running water, a true reprieve for you all. At least, for the time being. Besides, you can’t get too carried away just yet. You still have to secure the area before enjoying it. 

“Looks to be a bit easier from here.” Ghost announces, coming to stand on top of a ridge you haven’t yet arrived at. But when you do, you’re met with flat, snowy terrain. 

“Thank god.”

“C’mon, hasn’t been that hard.”

And he’s right. Aside from that icy cliff incident, this hike has been a piece of cake. Nothing to complain about on your end, really; messing with Simon was just fun sometimes. He always fell for your antics, too. Something about you acting weak and frail just made him want to care for you. And that’s something you’d never protest. 

Walking with you was nice and easy; you understood him and his preference for silence. It’s a trait you both shared. Why speak if there’s nothing to be said?

“Have we got a plan?” Simon then says, deciding this is something that should definitely be said.

“About?”

“The safe house, how we’re going to secure it.”

“Well, I don’t really have any experience in searching for and disarming traps. I think that’s on you, buddy.”

“Yeah?” Buddy, it makes him chuckle. “And what will you do?”

“Cover your six?” It’s a suggestion; you can still be helpful. “I can scope out the treeline, make sure Price was right about enemies not crossing over the lines.”

“Sounds like a plan, love.”

And what a good plan it was. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine as soon as you arrived at the safe house, finally reaching your destination in the early evening. Either you just work well together, or you were simply eager for some rest. Likely both. 

“Scanning.” Keeping your eye on the surrounding treeline, you speak into your comms, listening to Ghost rustle through the brush not too far off in the distance. “Movement.”

“Friendlies?” Ghost immediately returns, fidgeting with something on his head. You can hear it through your small speaker, assuming he’s handling a trip-wire. 

Upon further inspection, you release the tight breath you’d been holding. “Deer.”

“Copy.” He returns, going about his given task.

Knowing you have his back makes his job that much easier. And if he’s being completely honest, seeing you with a gun in your hand, your expert eye skimming the treeline, it was attractive. Turned him on, actually, as much as he needed to focus he just couldn’t help it. He admires your work ethic. Even when he had watched your body climb up the sheets of ice, he admired it, eyeing the way your muscles twisted and flexed beneath the canvas of your pants, the way he could see right up between your legs. It’s a wonder he didn’t get even a semi while climbing. But he’s thankful you hadn’t distracted him to that extent. 

“Clear.” Simon grumbles into the comms, “Moving south.” 

Shifting in the trees, you stay adjacent to him, watching his figure from behind. You’re ready to face any possible enemies, but are thrilled to find this portion of the job has been just as easy as the rest. 

“Clear.” He then repeats, finalizing his task. “Moving in.”

Desperately, he wants to relax, find his way inside and just be for a moment. Price said there’d be heat and running water, and Christ, is he looking forward to that. 

“Bones?”

“Copy.”

“You following?”

“Coming in.” You confirm, walking up from behind, your position still crouched and eyes zeroed in on the treeline. 

Walking into the clearing toward the small home, you almost feel naked, exposed. Every step you make is in Ghost’s footprint, following his every movement to avoid the traps. And once Ghost is on the wooden steps at the front, you glance over your shoulder, taking one last look at the perimeter. 

“C’mon,” Simon almost coos, fatigue seeping into his voice. “We’re clear, love.” 

Typing in the code Price had given him, Simon unlocks the door and with a harsh nudge, makes his way in. The house is made up of one central room, a side bedroom, bathroom, and small kitchen space. In the living area is a single couch, and further in the bedroom you see a mattress. Hopefully something to help Simon’s back. 

“Might hear a bit of noise,” Simon says, walking off toward the kitchen. “I’m kicking on the furnace.”

“That is fine by me.” Breathing out a sigh of relief, you let your body fall onto the couch, dropping your pack to the floor. “I could use some warmth.” 

An abrupt thud rattles the baseboards as the rusty furnace burns to life, a small whoosh of dust fluttering from the vents. The soot briefly filling the air disturbs your lungs, a small bout of coughs overcoming you. But for Simon, it does nothing, his mask guarding him from any of the pollen-like pollution. 

Casually, he strides your way, plopping down beside you on the couch. He sits alongside a long and raspy sigh, his body right against yours as he wraps his arms around you. Apparently, one of his favorite things to do.

“C’mere,” He says quietly, pulling you to lean back against his chest. And he enjoys it when you snuggle into him, resting against his firmness. 

Placing his fingers beneath your chin, he lifts your head, and when you turn to meet him you discover his bare lips. They’re dry and chapped, both of your mouths as they press together, but neither of you really care. You’re yearning for each other, and very suddenly aware that you have an entire cabin to yourselves. And as Simon holds your face with his gloved hand, his kisses become sweet, sensual slides and meetings that make your heart beat. 

“How are you?” He asks in that deep, rumbly tone, still full of genuine care. 

“Tired,” You breathe out with a short laugh. “Sore.”

“Mm,” Your love nods, gifting you with another small kiss. It’s short and sweet, the gentle stamp of his lips. “Why don’t you have a shower with me?” He’d eyed the bed in the backroom, too, thinking about how wonderful it might feel to lay down in it after washing yourselves clean. But in this moment, that’s not at all what you’re thinking about.

Is he going to let me see his face?

You’re shocked he even asked, you never thought you’d get an opportunity like this with him. And so, with your eyes flickering up to meet his, you nod. “Okay.” 

“Won’t be too luxurious,” His voice rumbles across your skin, dark eyes staring down at your charming little face. “Grimy shower, no soap. Just enough water to wash the sweat off our skin.”

Sleepily, you smile. “That’s good enough for me.”

*

*

*

The strength he continues to use even beneath the weight of fatigue is astounding. You’re not quite sure how he has it in him, but he holds you up from behind, cradling your body in his arms. And it’s not like you weigh much, but it still impresses you. There’s not much Simon does that hasn’t impressed you.

Warmly, the water cascades down your body, droplets rolling over the hills and valleys of your skin. And it’s so pleasurable that you moan, eyes closing as your head tilts back to rest against him. Briefly, it frightens him, his eyes dipping down to your relaxed face. He’s reassured by the small flutter of your lashes, a display of respect for him. Before getting in, Simon told you not to look at his face. And while it made your heart sink, you really should’ve known better than to expect that from him.

On his end, this is just as nice, if not even more. With his mask off, he uses one hand to run down his face, then ruffling it through his short hair.

“Simon?” You ask, feeling him reach up, brushing water through his locks. 

“Mm?”

Still temporarily blind, you ask him, “What color is your hair?”

That deep laugh bounces off the tile walls, and it makes you smile, heart beating with a certain affection you’re not yet ready to admit to him.

“What color do you think it is?”

“Well, your stubble is blonde, and your happy trail…” Grinning, you reach behind you, fingers petting at the damp patch of hairs leading down to his groin. 

“Blonde.” Simon repeats, both hands returning to your hips.

Leaning down, his head tilts, lips brushing your cheek as he says, “That’s what I am.” 

For a moment, when you feel his hands roam, you assume it to be sexual. But it isn’t, not at first anyways. While you bask in this new knowledge, Simon washes your body, hands running over your shoulders and arms, your stomach, your hips and thighs. 

“You’re tense.” That grumbling voice says, rubbing your shoulders. “Give you a proper rub when I bring you back to base.” And the way he says it makes you swoon, something about his wording making you feel cared for, protected.

“You’d do that for me?”

For a flash, you consider the danger of your situation. You’re both living in a fantasy right now, showering together for the first time, enjoying each other’s company while you’re supposed to be guarding the safe house. But apparently, Simon’s quite sure of the absence of any danger. 

Shifting slightly, your Ghost’s broad palms rise to cup your tits, groaning softly into your ear as his head dips down to your neck. Here, his lips work over you, kissing you sensually beneath the warm spray. 

“‘Course I would.” 

When you sigh, your head falls back a bit further, truly exposing your neck. And this gives him the perfect opportunity for his dominant hand to lift a little higher, fingers encircling your neck. A spike of adrenaline hits your blood, your pulse jumping when it happens. You keep your eyes from flashing open, instead flashing him your grin.

“I want you, sweetheart.” Simon openly admits, his firmly toned body pressing against your back. “While there’s no one around… no one here but you and me…”  

“Baby,” Reaching back, you use one arm to wrap around his neck, fingers combing up through his hair. It sends a tingle down your entire spine, feeling his full head of hair for the first time. “I want you.” 

“Just us, alone…” He’s trailing off, voice murmuring beneath the shower’s loud stream. “Pull as many pretty sounds from you as I like.”

Chuckling, you return with, “How are you not exhausted?”

“I’m never too tired for you.” He easily responds, “Cheesy, but it’s true. I want every second I can get with you.”

It’s really strange to you, seeing your relationship now versus the start of it. At the beginning, Simon was cold, completely cut off from any outside communication, and that’s how he liked it. He didn’t have anyone close to him, and so, he didn’t have anyone to lose. A man free of commitment, free of any domestic responsibility; tied to his military base, and nothing more. But then you showed up, and made him feel things he never wanted to experience. It was something he blocked out, but his defenses weren’t strong enough to daunt you. And now, instead of avoiding your affections, he returned them tenfold every time he could. 

Another pull in your chest, muscles tightening, stomach fluttering. You want to tell him, be open and honest just as he’s pushed himself to be with you. But you don’t know if this is the right time, you don’t know if there will ever be a ‘right time’ with him. 

But before you can fully process that, Simon finishes washing your body and his, wiping away the sweat and grime of the past couple days. He even snakes a hand down between your legs, bringing water to rinse you while pressing his lips to your ear.

“Turn it off.” Gentle breath brushes over your skin, both broad palms on your hips as you bend over to do it. “Stay here.”

There aren’t any towels in the cabin, there isn’t much of anything, really. But he moves out into the living room to grab a random blanket from the couch, returning to wrap you in it. 

“All we have.”

“That’s okay.” Your smile is sweet as you stare up at him, now with his mask on again. He’d dried himself briefly before coming back to you, and now, he guides you to the bedroom. 

“C’mere,” Turning you around to face him, Simon sighs, lifting his mask. “Give me those lips.”

Easily, he pushes forward, guiding you down to the bed as he distracts you with his mouth. The blanket lays open around you as it happens, revealing your naked body to him once again. And on either side of your head, those strong forearms hold your soldier up, his mouth delicate as he begins to consume you. 

One large hand finds its way to your thigh, parting your legs. With gentle eagerness, he settles between them, lowering himself to kiss your neck. 

“So beautiful,” He murmurs, eyes closed as he shakes his head. “Even through all this, through the hike and weather.”

“Shut up.” You return, laughing playfully at his words.

“I mean it.” Simon instantly responds, voice gruff as he speaks to you in that lowered tone. “You’re the only woman to ever do this to me.”

Your loving lieutenant speaks with a sense of urgency, voice breathy and raspy and full of the deep accent you adore so completely. Truthfully, it’s the most emotional confession he’s ever given, and it stuns you to your core. In your eyes, he might as well have told you he loves you. It’s likely the closest you’ll ever get to it.

“Simon…” Reaching up, your hands cup his cheeks, wishing now more than ever to see more.

“You mean something to me…” He admits, slowly moving down your body.

As he creeps down your frame, your hands pull away from his face, feeling his own explore you in the most intimate way. Both of them secure to your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze before his lips find them. He’s soft with it, mouthing at the delicate bends of your body. 

“A perfect treat,” Ghost grins, lips curling over your skin. “All for me.”

That devilish smirk only grows wider when you spread your legs for him, watching with bated breath. Simon always made this such an event, laying you out on any surface or bed and making you wait for his every move. 

“Just look at that,” Your sharp inhale makes him hum in admiration, using his thickest digit to thumb at your glistening lips. “Those creamy juices just leaking out of your cunt…”

“Simooonnn,” Thrusting your hips up, you huff dramatically, tossing your head back onto the bed. “Please.”

Usually, he’d laugh, but he doesn’t want to drag it out this time. He wants to indulge in you while he can, before anyone else shows up. And so, he fully parts your lips, tongue laying out to swipe through them. His breaths waft heavily across your center, smooth lips engulfing your sex. He sucks on you, already slurping up the combination of your slick and his spit. Steadily, he strokes you with his tongue, digging it deep inside your warmth. But then he’s pulling himself back, using both hands to spread your legs, pulling apart your sticky lips.

“Christ, I love this.” His voice is thick, eyes unwavering from the space between your thighs. Licking through these delicate petals… right down into that hole.”

Lifting himself ever so slightly, he laps at your clit, tongue circling the hood as he toys with it. The way your hips quiver gifts him with encouragement, with confidence. He knows your body, and he’s going to use that knowledge against you. 

“Come on, babe. Make those beautiful noises for me.” Reaching forward, he grabs onto the meat of your ass, squeezing it in hand. “There’s no one here to listen but me, just me…”

“Ngh,” Arching your back, you cry out for him, both from the force of his hand and the way his tongue flicks against the peak of your sex. “Fuck.”

“Come on.” His breathy encouragements continue to flow, his lips soft and wet as he licks through you. “Moan for me.”

“B-Baby, yes…” 

He’s sucking on you, lips smacking against the wetness of your cunt as he basks in its taste. The more you writhe beneath his face, the firmer his grip on you becomes, until you’re unable to move yourself at all. Your hips still, crushed comfortably beneath his weight as both of those veiny forearms settle overtop them.

“Yes.” Reaching out, you wish so desperately to be met with the wonderful sensation of his golden hair. But alas, it’s that goddamn mask. Fingers curling tightly into the fabric, you cling to him, chest puffing out sultry gasps into the dusty cabin air. “I, I ca…”

“More.”

“Simon,” 

While mumbling against your skin, Simon’s deep, dark eyes flutter up to your gorgeous face. His hands dig into your hips, fingers pressing into the muscles that make you so delicious. Every time you’re near, whether it’s sexual or otherwise, he adores the way you say his name. The way you call for him, reaching out for protection, for friendship, for love. You reach out to him for love, he knows it. 

Massaging you with his hands, Simon’s grunts vibrate through your legs and hips, his mouth insistent. And when you meet his eyes, meet that possessive, predatory gaze, you’re done for. The entire sensation of it rushes through your body, opening up and completely letting go. Your back arches, jaw dropping as you listen to him mouth at your quivering cunt like it’s a feast. Heavy grunts and humid breaths, the wet sound of your juices mixing with his spit. Your hips shake from it, lungs constricting from the euphoria tightening your veins. 

“Si-imon!” Eyes pinching shut, you revel in it, hands pressing to the back of his head as you reach out for more of his touch. But it’s as if you can’t bring him any closer than he already is.

He lets you hold him, lets your body roll through the motions. But it takes everything in him not to immediately crawl over your body and capture your lips. So, he continues to lick you, letting himself get lost in the taste of it, the smell of it. Shoving his tongue inside, he can feel your hole quiver around him, can feel the way his taste buds react to your cum.

“Baby, baby.” Simon’s tongue swirls around your clit, menacing orbs trained directly on you once again. “Baby…”

And all at once, he’s on you again, lifting himself from between your legs and reaching out to wrench your jaw open.

“Give me those fucking lips.”

Crashing his mouth to your own comes alongside his heated moan, the sound of wet gasps and hot breaths instantly filling the air. He’s pressing himself into you, crushing you comfortably beneath his weight. And the hand he has on your cheek only further secures its grip, keeping your mouth open for him.

“You want me?” He always loved to hear you say it.

“Yes, yes baby, please.” When he pulls away enough to speak, your hands shoot up to his cheeks. “Simon, please.” But then you see him pause, the glimmer of a smirk pulling on his lips. Those deep, mocha orbs stare down at you as he waits. He wants to hear you say it, and you know it.

“I want you.”

If it were any other situation, Simon might’ve held back, might’ve made you repeat a few more words just to really get himself going. But he’s already throbbing against your leg, precum leaking onto your skin since the moment he laid you on the bed. The rest of them could be here any moment, likely in the morning but you never know with Price. He has to take advantage of this while he can. 

Leaning on that decorated forearm, Simon’s free hand lowers to his shaft, gripping the base. With his eyes dipping down, he takes a beat to lick his lips and catch his breath. He’s hot, swollen, his pleasure pulsing as it slides across your outer lips. And you pull him in while he does it, mouthing at his neck and trying your damnedest to keep his skin free of any visible sin. 

“Such a perfect pussy…” He whispers, sliding his entire length in.

It stretches you, prompting your legs to widen as you take him. The sight of this makes the corner of his lips quirk, a devilish glint in his eye twinkling from your submissiveness. 

“That’s it,” A rough sigh is punched from his chest when he’s fully seated, when the firm drag of his cock slows to a dull throb between your legs. 

Through the carnal desire clawing through his chest, he pauses, heart beating fondly from the way you nuzzle against his skin. It’s intimate, it isn’t just lust. And as soon as he comes down a bit from that blind passion and excitement, his arms encase your head, cradling you in them. 

“Sweetheart,” Brushing the tip of his nose across your own, he draws your attention. Your soft breaths make you seem so small, and in contrast, him so large. You put so much trust into his hands. 

Dipping down, Simon kisses you, distracting you with the sweet press of his lips while retracting his hips. Driving his pelvis forward again, he listens to your shrill gasp as it escapes your throat, fingernails already digging into his skin. Repeatedly, he seeks your warmth, pleasure flowing through his system as you give him this tempting sin. That’s really what it is to him; love is a sin. 

But he takes every bit of it like a man that’s been promised to hell.

Steady and continuous is the pace of his hips, pelvis slapping between your open thighs. Repeatedly, he breaches your entrance with a girth you’ve desperately missed, his entire body pressing into you. And now that he’s inside, that free hand lifts, eyes watching your bouncing chest before grabbing at it. He paws at your seductive curves like it’s the first time he’s ever touched them, mouth finding the slope of your shoulder and neck as he kisses your skin with wet, parted lips. 

“This is just what I need,” Simon groans, growls. “You’re just what I want. You know that, don’t you?”

The moans you once kept silent now burst from your lips, grinding your hips up in time with his thrusts as best you can. Grasping for his shoulders, you feel yourself go weak, the fat head of his cock hitting you deep.

“You know that, right?” He repeats, fondling your chest with firm grabs. But when you still don’t answer, he grunts out his disapproval, head lifting to dig his covered nose into your cheek. And you know better than to not answer him. 

“Yes, Simon…” It comes out as a sigh, eyes fluttering open to see those deep, endlessly brown eyes. 

And it makes him grin, chuckling breathily. You’re drunk on him. 

“Good.” He mumbles against your lips, the hand on your chest now sliding down your side. It follows the dip of your waist and hips, smoothing over the side of your ass until he reaches your thigh. And then he’s grabbing you, hauling your leg further up on his waist, and in turn giving him access for a harsh smack. 

“Pretty girl… you’re mine.”

“Simon.”

“Look at me.” Grabbing your jaw, he turns your head in his direction. And the force of it snaps your eyes open, staring up at your enormous soldier. “Look at me when you say my name.”

“Simon…”

Emotion swirls inside your chest until you feel like it’s about to burst, dire need and complete infatuation taking over your body. He’s all consuming, something you can't and wouldn’t ever want to run away from. It’s clawing at you from the inside out, your care for him, your genuine adoration. And you don’t want to say it because you’re sure he won’t react too nicely, he won’t accept it, but you can’t help it. You really can’t, and all at once, you’re saying it.

“Simon, Si, I love,”

Briefly, he stutters, both his hips and lungs. But he keeps going, he’s sure that’s not what you’re saying. It’s not what you should be saying.

“I love you, Si.” 

The embrace you hold with him couldn’t be more intense, your chests pressed together as your arms loop tightly around his neck. Something inside him feels like it’s breaking, cold heart cracking with something akin to warmth. If he had the chance, he would’ve begged you not to say it. You don’t need to fall for him like that, not in this way, not in this lifetime. It hasn’t been kind to him, and he, in turn, hasn’t been a kind man. Any semblance of good intention left in his body has been given to you and… he figures that’s it, isn’t it? Is that what love is? Giving someone everything you have? Every piece of good you’ve been made with?

“Bones,” Simon eventually returns, hips slowing until he stills. Resting in this lull with you, he can practically feel your anxiety, your vulnerability. You’ve given him everything you have, too. “I… do.”

“You don’t have to say it.” Comes your instant, tiny squeak.

Out of either vulnerability or insecurity, his head finds your neck, stuffing its way into concealment. “I do.” He says again, squeezing you with his entire body. “I do.”

With a firm sigh, he decides to give this to you; you deserve this - he’s going to give this to you.

“I love you… too.” 

“Baby, you really don’t have to say it.” You can practically feel the uncertainty seeping through his skin as he clings to you, seeking security. Stroking the back of his head, you hold him, wrapping your legs around his waist, too. 

“I do.” He continues to repeat, now nodding. “I love you.”

*

*

*

“Are you joking me?” Soap practically scoffs, a look of disgust crawling across his face. 

“Sorry?” Ghost returns, generally unphased as he inhales another drag of his cig.

“Could you be more obvious?”

At this, Simon’s face turns stern, snuffing out the joint on the couch’s arm before dropping his hand to your leg. A simple gesture of yes, yes I can. 

You’d woken up in Simon’s arms, limbs tangled together beneath a worn and tattered scrap of fabric one might call a blanket. Counting yourselves lucky, you opened your eyes to an empty cabin once again. The team hadn’t arrived just yet. 

It took some convincing, but you finally got Simon out of bed and dressed. You didn’t want to draw any suspicion should they walk in on you like this. And so, you settled together on the couch. While you laid down, snuggling your feet onto his lap, Simon pulled out another cigarette. It was relaxing, not only being alone but sharing this habit. 

The morning was cold but comfortable enough for you to fall back asleep, body resting easily on his sturdy lap. It humored him, seeing just how tired this mission has made you; and you’re only halfway through. But while you were fine spending your time getting some shut eye, Simon was having difficulty fighting his natural instincts. Now that you’ve said it, admitted it, he’s worried. The place you’re in is dangerous and admitting something so precious makes the situation that much more stressful. It also makes him that much more protective. 

And so, while you laid resting against him, Simon pulled out his pistol, resting it against his knee with the barrel pointed towards the front door. If anyone were to come in here, they’d have to go through him first. 

Lucky for him, though, it turned out to be the boys.

“Lieutenant.” Price nodded, watching Ghost return the gesture.

Lowering the gun, Simon watched as Price and Gaz made their way into the bedroom to set their things down, leaving Soap with the two of you. And that’s when he voiced his concerns, that deep Scottish scoff making itself known.

“Real discrete.” He comments before hearing the captain shout from the room.

“Bit messy in here.” Price remarks, “Messier than I’d last left it. You two do some good sleeping in here?”

“Nah,” Ghost returns with a grin only Johnny can see. “Slept out here, Cap.”

When you hear Simon’s booming voice, you finally wake again, meeting the azure eyes of your friendly sergeant. “Hey, Soap.”

And he can’t bring himself to be any bit annoyed with you. “Hey, gorgeous.”

It’s meant as a friendly compliment, of course, but Ghost squeezes your calf, nonetheless. 

“Alright,” Price booms, stomping into the room. “Let’s circle up. We’ve got plans to discuss.”

Already, he hates this. The entire atmosphere has shifted from light and lazy to dark and perilous. Simon can feel his heart rate increasing, his breaths deep and dragging. The mere thought of you in the field makes him want to jump up and wrap you in his arms, drag you away and hide you somewhere safe. What he hates even more than the possibility of that happening is the fact that he allowed it, he’s allowed this to happen. It wasn’t exactly his call to make, but he would’ve made it, and he didn't. 

He’s made his bed, and this time, he’s got to lay in it. 

So, without much choice, he watches his men regroup in front of him, with his partner sitting up to join in. Price tosses out the maps, Gaz whips out the compass, and Johnny’s already pulling out snacks. Pulling down his mask, Simon releases a harsh sigh, nothing that really draws anyone’s attention, though. He’s pretty much always cranky, and with you here, that trait has grown tenfold. 

When Simon reaches for your hand on the couch, your eyes widen. What the hell is he doing? But before you can react, and before anyone else has a chance to see, Johnny tosses a protein bar at the lieutenant. 

“Johnny, what the fuck?”

“Don’t be dumb.” Johnny scolds outwardly, scowling at his closest friend. 

Price can feel something lingering in the air, an awkward silence, a secret. But he pushes it away. Glancing between his teammates, he clasps his hands together. 

“Alright, let’s get to it, then.”

Here we go.

[ensnapemysenses]

Imagine Sirius's have a younger sister who finds sister HOT! Like practically drooling over him during every meeting and Severus being unaware because let's face it he can be oblivious to affection. Everyone finds it hilarious but Sirius is one word away from flipping out. -L

L, I know you sent this so long ago but I've been working on it and I FINALLY finished it! Not my best work but at least it's something! And yes I just had to make a little reference to Snupin

Warning: cursing, mentions of sex but nothing too explicit, some brotherly angst from Sirius, glimpse of dom Snape, not proofread

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” Sirius snarled, teeth bared. “I don’t understand what you see in that treacherous fiend.” His dark eyes flickered yellow as they trailed after the greasy-haired man until he was out of sight. 

The Order meeting hadn’t even started yet but hostility was on the rise. It was in the air, present in the guests' little huffs and puffs, and even in the bare bones of the house itself. Interwoven with its rich and equally dark history the Black family manor wasn’t a welcoming place to be. The dimly lit and depressing atmosphere seemed to have a grip on everyone who had the privilege to cautiously open its doors. 

“Meetings about to start. You finish up in here and I’ll go on ahead,” you huffed, slamming down the bowl of snacks you’d been preparing and pushing past him in pursuit of the man who had left the room before you, Severus Snape. 

Sirius absolutely despised Severus and no amount of sibling love between the two of you could dissipate the anger that only blossomed when they were close. It was odd really, whenever they seemed to catch wind of the other, the two men were immediately at each other's throats. Feral, raw anger pulsed through their veins with a mere glance. In fact, his hatred of the reclusive potions professor with the sharp tongue was so severe that you were convinced he would one day lose it and Avada Kedavra him on the spot. He’d gotten the first part of the spell out of his mouth with the second on the tip of his tongue far too many times than you’d like only to stop short by your pleading. No matter how much the two of you fought, you couldn’t lose your brother to Azkaban again. Not after finding out he was innocent. 

Sirius’s feelings about Severus did nothing to dissuade your own. This was one fight among siblings that you were willing to put up with. With his deep voice and mysterious existence you couldn’t help but be drawn to Severus no matter how much your big brother pleaded with you to leave him alone. Severus was terrible news. And as a confirmed death eater, you couldn’t argue with his warnings but you didn’t care. Dumbledore, Molly, and even Remus were convinced of his true motives in taking down the one whom he had once called master and that was enough for you. 

Though he sat silently apart from the brief moment when he had to report on what the death eaters were up to, your eyes rarely left his dark-clothed and lithe frame. He didn’t seem to notice though, his eyes stayed trained on whoever was speaking at the moment and his toes never left contact with the floor as if he were bracing himself to sprint out the door at a moment's notice. He always did that, bolted out the door the second the meeting ended, and you’d barely been able to say a word to him much less get him alone. 

“Eyes on the prize, eh? You’ve rarely looked elsewhere,” Remus chuckled, nudging your arm. Since he was one of Sirius’s best friends, Remus was kind of like an older brother to you and you knew all too well that he thought you having a liking for Severus was hilarious. “You know Severus and I hooked up while in school a few times. I can give you a few pointers.”

“Remus! Stop it! I know you’re lying!”

“Ask him yourself,” he replied smugly. Remus shrugged and with a smirk diverted his attention back to the meeting. 

“Quiet down with the chatter,” Sirius commanded, jumping to his feet and pacing around the room. “Now, unless anyone has anything of value left to add, I say this meeting is over. You will all receive details about the next one as soon as it is decided.”

“Catch that mouse before he scrambles away,” Remus chuckled. “Go on now! He will be out that door in no time.” 

Sure enough, Severus had his hand on the doorknob by the time you caught up with him. He jolted in place at your sudden appearance next to him.

“May I have a word with you?” 

“I must be going the Dark Lord…”

“He is surely aware of your current status at an Order meeting, Severus. A few extra moments will go unnoticed and could help you live up to your reputation.”

“Ah Severus, off so soon?” Sirius asked, sauntering between the both of you and throwing his arm over you. “Not bugging my sister are you?” 

“He will be off as soon as I have a word with him… in private.” 

“That’s not necessary,” he said moving to the side as Tonks let out a curse when she tripped over the rug on the way out the door. “Let’s move away from this crowded area, shall we?”

“Black, your presence is not required,” Severus warned. “Your sister asked to speak to me and me alone.” 

“I think that whatever my sister has to say to you she can also say in my presence. Right, sis?” he hissed. 

“Fuck off, Sirius,” you scoffed. “Severus, would you mind stepping upstairs to my room where it’s a bit quieter?” 

“Lead the way,” he said, his cheeks turning a profuse shade of red. You thought it was quite cute to see him flustered as you escorted him to your room. 

“So,” you started sitting down on the edge of your bed. Severus took the chair, sitting on the edge waiting for the torture of forced socialization to end. “Remus told me…”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “I don’t care what that lunatic said —”

“So you did fuck him, huh?” you giggled, coming to rest on your knees before him. You couldn’t help but smile when he shifted unconsciously closer to you. “How do you fuck Severus? Are you a needy little bitch? Do you whine and beg?”

“I’ll show you just how I fuck,” he hissed, his eyes darkening. 

You couldn’t walk for a week after he was done with you and Sirius, having enchanted your room, heard every single thing. He hasn’t spoken to you since but you don’t care all you can think about is Severus fucking you again. 

And Severus? He thought the whole thing was splendid and has every intention of fucking you after the next Order meeting. You're his little toy now.

[muiitoloko]

Title: My control

Summary: You were impossible, but Elliott wouldn't have you any other way.

Pairing: Elliott Marston × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Hello everyone. I think I'm going to be away from Tumblr for a while, so don't be surprised if I stop posting regularly. I'll be busy with some things and it may take me a while to get back, but I promise I'll return. 🥰 As for the story, I was inspired to write it by a Brazilian film. I hope you like it.

Also read on Ao3

Elliott Marston paced restlessly in the grand foyer of your house, his tall frame and piercing gaze filled with anger and frustration. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the floor as he waited for you to return. He should have known better than to marry a woman as bold as you, but her beauty had ensnared him, blinding him to the challenges that came with it. Now, he regretted it all—the impetuous decision, the spirited arguments, the nights of passion that turned into confrontations.

There was a sharp knock on the door, and he heard your voice calling from outside. "Elliott, open the door. Let me in."

He strode to the door and yanked it open, his baritone voice cold and cutting. "You're late," he snapped, his eyes narrowing as he took in your appearance. "What, were you at a pub, carousing with the local riffraff?"

You stood there, a defiant expression on your face, your hair windswept from the journey. "I was at Mrs. Murphy's, as I said I would be," you retorted, holding your ground.

Elliott scoffed and backed away, his anger palpable. He gathered the clothes he had already prepared for you and began throwing each piece at you. "This is a respectable house. You will not enter, you shameless woman," he declared, his voice laced with disdain.

You were indignant, scrambling to collect the clothes that were tossed at you. "Elliott, please, can't we discuss this like civilized people?" you pleaded, your voice rising with frustration.

He ignored your plea, his face darkening with fury. "You will sleep on the street tonight so everyone can see what a wanton woman you are," he spat, slamming the door in your face.

Outside, you gathered the rest of your scattered clothes from the floor, seething with anger at your husband's arrogance and stubbornness. "Damn you, Elliott!" you shouted, hurling the last garment towards the door. "You cannot treat me like this!"

Your voice rang in the quiet night, and you paused, listening for any response. But there was none. Anger burned in your chest as you stood alone in the darkness, the cool night air stirring around you. The grand house loomed darkly, its windows like accusatory eyes.

After a moment, you gathered your resolve. "Fine, if he wants to make a spectacle of me, so be it," you muttered to yourself, your tone defiant. You straightened your shoulders and turned towards the path leading away from the house.

In the distance, you saw the silhouette of one of Elliott's employees hurrying down the lane. You recognized him as Tom, the stable hand. He was Elliott's loyal servant, dutifully following orders no matter how cruel they might be.

"Tom!" you called out, your voice cutting through the quiet night.

Tom turned towards you, hesitating for a moment before he reluctantly approached. "Ma'am," he greeted you with a nod, his eyes avoiding yours.

"You're going to fetch the town priest, aren't you?" you asked, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you.

Tom glanced at the ground, uncomfortable with the task he'd been assigned. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

You took a deep breath, holding Tom's gaze firmly. "Tell the priest that he will find me here. I'll wait," you said, your tone commanding.

Tom nodded again, turning away without another word. As he hurried back towards town, you watched him disappear into the night, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon you.

Alone in the dark, you took a moment to collect yourself. "I can't believe it's come to this," you whispered to yourself, your voice filled with a mixture of sadness and anger.

But as you stood there in the dark, an idea began to take shape in your mind. You quickly formulated a plan, a reckless gambit driven by equal parts desperation and determination. A small smile touched your lips as you turned back towards the house.

Steeling yourself, you walked up to the grand front door. "Elliott!" you called out, your voice carrying clear and true through the night air.

Inside the house, Elliott's baritone voice barked back, cold and dismissive, "You're not welcome here, woman! Go away!"

Ignoring his venomous words, you continued, "Elliott, please open the door. I can't live without you. I love you too much to go on without you. I'm going to kill myself, Elliott."

Inside, Elliott laughed bitterly, the sound echoing through the heavy wooden door. "Lies! All lies! I sent for the priest so he can see what kind of woman you truly are," he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Your heart raced, the pain of his rejection cutting deep. But you didn't hesitate. With a swift movement, you reached for the pistol you had hidden on your thigh, your hand closing around the cold steel. Holding the gun up, you shouted a last, desperate goodbye to Elliott, "Farewell, my love!"

With a quick and determined motion, you drew the pistol from its hidden holster, your fingers trembling with adrenaline and resolve. Without another moment's hesitation, you aimed the gun at the ground and pulled the trigger. The deafening crack split the silence of the night, echoing through the grand estate.

Inside the house, Elliott's eyes widened in shock at the sound of the gunshot. "My love!" he shouted, his heart clenching with terror and despair. Without a second thought, he bolted towards the door, his mind racing with fear that you had taken your own life.

Frantically, Elliott threw open the door and rushed outside, his hat askew and his mustache bristling with panic. His eyes scanned the darkness, searching desperately for any sign of your body. "No, no, no!" he muttered under his breath, his voice choked with anguish. "Please, my love, don't leave me!"

But then, he heard footsteps passing behind him, and he whirled around in confusion. There you stood, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, blowing him a teasing kiss before disappearing into the house and closing the door behind you.

Elliott's shock turned to indignation as the realization dawned on him. "It was all a setup," he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with resentment. Clenching his fists in frustration, he marched up to the door and pounded on it, demanding entry.

You swung the door open with a flourish, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you tossed a pile of clothes at him, just as he had done to you earlier. "This is a respectable house, Elliott," you declared, your tone dripping with mock disdain. "You will not enter, you shameless man."

Elliott was stunned, looking at you in disbelief. But you merely chuckled, relishing the taste of revenge as you slammed the door shut in his face. "You will sleep on the street tonight so everyone can see what a dissolute man you are," you retorted, your voice ringing with satisfaction.

Outside, Elliott seethed with frustration, his pride wounded and his heart yearning for reconciliation. "Damn you, [Your Name]!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the night. But there was no response, except for the distant laughter of the wind as it swept through the trees.

He kept pounding on the door, his baritone voice filled with anger and desperation. "Let me in, woman! This is my house!" His shouts echoed through the night, growing more insistent with each passing moment. Inside, you listened with satisfaction, refusing to yield.

Just then, the town priest arrived, a lantern swinging from his hand as he hurried up the path. His eyes, weary from years of settling domestic disputes, took in the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What in heaven's name is going on here?" he called out, his voice steady and authoritative.

Elliott turned to the priest, his frustration palpable. "Father, she's gone mad! She’s locked me out of my own home! She came home late that night, and—" He gestured wildly at the closed door, his mustache bristling with indignation.

Before the priest could respond, you opened the door just wide enough to throw a bucket of ice water at Elliott. He shouted in shock, his sharp attire now clinging to his frame. "You vile woman!" he bellowed, shaking off the water.

"Don't listen to him, Father," you said, your voice quivering with feigned distress. "He's drunk and raving. He doesn't know what he's saying."

The priest's eyes widened with concern as he turned to you. "Is this true, my child? Is Elliott intoxicated?"

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you put on a show of desolation. "Father, I'm so tired of this. Every night he comes home late, reeking of alcohol. I can't take it anymore." You wiped away a tear, your voice breaking.

Elliott spluttered, trying to regain his composure. "Lies, all of it! She was the one who arrived—"

The priest raised a hand to silence him, his expression stern. "Elliott, I will not tolerate such behavior. You will ask your wife for forgiveness at once."

Elliott's face turned red with rage and humiliation. He clenched his fists, struggling to contain his anger. "This is absurd!" he protested, but the priest's unwavering gaze left him no choice.

With a deep breath, Elliott turned to you, his voice strained. "Forgive me," he said through clenched teeth, his pride wounded beyond measure.

You held out your hand, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. "Of course, Elliott. I forgive you," you replied, relishing the taste of victory.

Elliott bent down, his heart heavy with resentment, and kissed your hand. Inside, he seethed, but outwardly, he maintained the facade. The priest nodded approvingly, believing the reconciliation to be genuine.

"Good," the priest said, his tone final. "Now, Elliott, you will show your wife the respect she deserves. I expect to hear no more of this drunken behavior."

Elliott's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of anger and grudging admiration. "Yes, Father," he muttered, his baritone voice low and defeated.

As the priest turned to leave, you gave Elliott a look of triumph. He had no choice but to accept his defeat, at least for now. The tables had turned, and you were in control, your victory as sweet as the cool night air.

The heavy wooden door creaked as you opened it wide, allowing Elliott to enter. "Come in," you said, your voice laced with a mix of triumph and concern. Elliott picked up his hat from the floor, his eyes burning with fury, and stormed past you, dripping wet as he made his way to the bedroom.

You followed him, your heart pounding with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. As you entered the room, Elliott was already stripping off his soaked clothes, his movements sharp and angry. You moved to help him, but he suddenly grabbed you by the neck, his baritone voice a growl of contempt.

"You're manipulative," he spat, his grip tightening. "It should be you asking for forgiveness, not me!"

You struggled for a moment, your pulse racing with fear and anger. Then, with a swift motion, you broke free from his hold. "Elliott, please," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil within you. "Let me help you."

He glared at you, his breath ragged with rage, but as you reached out to help him take off his wet clothes, he didn't resist. His muscles tensed under your touch, but there was a hint of vulnerability there, too, a crack in the hard exterior.

As you gently peeled away his soaked shirt, Elliott huffed in anger, but he couldn't completely hide the way his body responded to your touch. His eyes softened slightly, betraying the struggle within him. You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his neck, and felt the tension start to melt away.

"You know the power I have over you," you whispered, your voice a soothing balm to his wounded pride.

Elliott's breath hitched, his resistance waning as you kissed him softly. His hands, which had moments before been filled with fury, now rested gently on your waist. "Damn you," he murmured, his voice a mix of anger and longing.

But despite his words, he didn't pull away. Instead, he drew you closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. In that moment, the battles of pride and power faded into the background, replaced by the undeniable connection between you.

You helped him out of the rest of his wet clothes, your hands moving with a mix of tenderness and command. Elliott's anger seemed to dissipate with each touch, each kiss, as if your very presence had the power to soothe the storm within him.

As he stood there, now free of his wet clothes, Elliott looked at you with a mixture of frustration and desire. "You're impossible," he muttered, but his voice had lost its edge.

You smiled softly, your fingers trailing along his chest. "And yet, you can't resist me," you replied, your tone both teasing and tender.

Elliott's eyes darkened with a mixture of emotions, and he pulled you closer, his grip firm but no longer harsh. "I hate that you're right," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours once more.

The tension between you melted away completely as the kiss deepened, the room around you fading into insignificance. In that moment, all that mattered was the undeniable bond between you, a connection that neither pride nor anger could break.

As you held each other, the night's earlier conflict seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the warmth and passion that only the two of you could share. And as the cool night air seeped into the room, you knew that, for now, you had won the battle, and Elliott was yours once more.

Elliott's hands roamed down your back, settling firmly on your ass. You moaned into his mouth as he squeezed, feeling the raw power in his grip. His anger still simmered, palpable in his touch. "Do you think you can leave whenever you want and return without consequence?" he growled against your lips, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

You were startled when he broke the kiss abruptly, pulling you towards the bed with a force that sent a shiver of anticipation through you. Elliott sat down, yanking you over his knees, his grip unyielding. "This is what happens to naughty girls," he muttered, the first slap landing on your ass with a sharp crack.

You screamed, more in surprise than pain, the sound echoing in the quiet room. His hand came down again, and again, each slap igniting a fiery sting. But instead of cowering, you laughed, your defiance only spurring him on. You tilted your ass upwards, inviting more of the punishing blows.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Elliott's voice was a mix of frustration and grudging admiration. "Naughty girl," he growled, feeling the heat in his palm and the wetness seeping through your panties. He pulled up your dress, yanking down your panties to reveal your reddened ass and glistening pussy. The sight of you, so brazenly aroused, stirred something primal within him.

"Damn, you're insatiable," he muttered, his own arousal evident. He couldn't deny the effect you had on him, the way your defiance only made you more irresistible. His hand traced the curve of your ass, fingers teasing the sensitive skin before delivering another sharp slap.

You moaned louder, your body arching in response. "Please, Elliott," you gasped, the line between pleasure and pain blurring deliciously.

"Please, what?" he taunted, his fingers dipping between your thighs, feeling the slickness of your arousal. "Do you want more?"

"Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

"Say it," he commanded, his breath hot against your ear.

"I want more, Elliott," you begged, your hips pushing back against his hand.

"Good girl," he murmured, his fingers finding your clit, circling it with deliberate, teasing strokes. The sensation was maddening, your body trembling with the need for release.

Elliott's hand continued its merciless rhythm, alternating between sharp slaps and teasing caresses. "You're so wet for me," he said, his voice thick with desire. "You love being punished, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," you admitted, your breath hitching as his fingers plunged into you, curling just right.

He groaned at your admission, the sound vibrating through you. "You're going to be the death of me," he muttered, pulling his fingers out and slapping your ass once more, harder this time.

Your body responded instinctively, arching into his touch, but when Elliott did nothing, you knew it was your turn to take control. Pushing yourself up from his knees, you straddled him, your movements deliberate and assertive. You could see the surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by a glimmer of excitement as you undid his pants just enough to free his cock.

“Think you can control me?” you whispered, your voice dripping with challenge as you positioned yourself over him.

Elliott's hands moved to your hips, gripping them firmly. “You love it when I do,” he countered, his tone filled with that familiar mix of arrogance and lust.

Ignoring his words, you sank down onto him, a gasp escaping both your lips as you took him in. Your hands gripped his shoulders for support as you began to ride him, your movements fierce and determined, like a wild horse taming her rider.

Elliott thrust up to meet you, matching your intensity. “You're like a wild thing,” he muttered, his eyes dark with desire. “So beautiful, so defiant.”

“Always trying to break me,” you replied, leaning down to nip at his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “But you never will.”

He groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding your movements. “We’ll see about that,” he growled, thrusting harder, trying to regain control. “You forget who you belong to.”

You laughed, a sound of pure defiance. “I belong to no one,” you shot back, increasing the pace, riding him with a fierce determination that left him struggling to keep up. “And I will always make you remember that.”

Elliott’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and admiration. “You’re a vixen,” he said through gritted teeth, his hands roaming up to your breasts, squeezing them possessively. “A beautiful, infuriating vixen.”

You moaned, feeling the familiar rush of pleasure and power. “And you love it,” you teased, grinding down harder, making him gasp.

“Damn you,” he muttered, his control slipping as he matched your rhythm. “You drive me mad.”

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his. “Good,” you whispered, your voice a seductive purr. “I want you mad with desire.”

Elliott’s response was a low growl, his hands moving to your ass, squeezing hard as he thrust up into you with renewed intensity. “You’ll pay for this,” he promised, his voice thick with need.

“Promises, promises,” you taunted, throwing your head back, your movements wild and uninhibited.

The two of you moved together in a fierce battle for dominance, each trying to assert control over the other. Elliott’s charm and raw power met your beauty and defiance in a clash of wills that left you both breathless.

“Admit it,” Elliott said, his voice ragged. “You love it when I take control.”

You shook your head, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “Never,” you replied, tightening around him, driving him to the edge. “But I love watching you try.”

With a final, desperate thrust, Elliott cried out, his body shuddering with release. You followed moments later, your own climax ripping through you with an intensity that left you both trembling.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, you collapsed against him, both of you breathing heavily. Elliott’s hands moved to your back, holding you close, a grudging respect in his eyes.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, his tone softer now, almost affectionate.

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way,” you replied, resting your forehead against his, a satisfied smile on your lips.

For a moment, the conflict between you faded into the background, replaced by a rare moment of intimacy. In the dim light of the room, with the night still stretching ahead, you both knew that the battle for dominance would continue. But for now, you were content to savor the victory, and the undeniable connection that bound you together.

[majosullivan]

Since it has been on my mind lately and I’m in the mood to ramble, I present to you: why I believe Lenore’s spectre is going to be a Phoenix/Phoenix themed.

Before I go more deeply into this, I want to cover the most agreed upon detail of Lenore’s possible spectre: Lenore having wings. This really seems like a slam dunk at this point. Lenore so far has had a clear association with birds, specifically ravens; with one of the Poe works she is based on being The Raven, her talking to and seeking out the Raven in Nevermore, the cane we see her using in her and Annabel’s memories having a Raven skull as the handle and her family crest having a pair of black wings a part of its design.

Additionally, there’s also the detail of Nevermore’s logo. Nevermore’s logo is comprised of a beating heart and a pair of black wings. Since Annabel’s spectre has a heart shaped hole in her chest, Lenore’s spectre having wings would make up the rest of the logo, with the logo symbolising our pair of deuteragonists.

Furthermore, there is also the scene with Lenore and The Raven, with him mockingly asking Lenore if she has a pair of wings under her blazer after she tries to stop him from leaving in episode 35.

Honestly, this panel might as well have a massive sign titled ‘FORESHADOWING’ in blinking lights attached to it when we take into account everything that we’ve pointed out. So, while it seems very likely that Lenore will have wings, why do I think she will be a phoenix specifically? With her connections to ravens, surely it make more sense for her to be a raven? Well, this is because of one word: rebirth.

Just to have a quick explanation for the basis, a phoenix is an immortal bird that cyclically regenerates or is otherwise born again. Being associated with the sun, a phoenix obtains new life by rising from the ashes of its predecessor. Some legends say it dies in a show of flames and combustion, others that it simply dies and decomposes before being born again. Throughout the comic, there has been a lot of links to Lenore and the ideas of rebirth. Specifically, there are three examples where Lenore has gone through a death of some form, before being reborn/brought back to life in some form.

The first time we see this after the accident with the tree. With the death of Theo, who was seemingly the only person in Lenore’s life at the time who genuinely cared about her, and being locked away in the attic for years after being deemed as never being able to recover from her injuries, along with her parents no longer seeing her as any respectable use since they wouldn’t be able to marry her off, we see Lenore go through her first ‘death’. Forced to live a lifeless existence hidden away in shame, with her ripping away the wallpaper being the only real change that occurred during her time in the attic. All of this leads into first time Lenore is reborn/brought back to life when she first meets Annabel, which allowed her to be freed from the attic and form a genuine connection with someone in years. Lenore even says so herself, describing Annabel as the one who brought her back to life long before she died.

The second time, and the one that arguably has the most obvious link to the ideas of Phoenixs, is when Lenore faked her death to go after Annabel. Here we see her in the process of disguising herself as a man, before finishing her packing and setting the house on fire so everyone will assume she died in the fire and she can assume her new identity without suspicion. Here, I don’t think I have to go too in-depth to point how through her actions, Lenore arose from the ashes of the house fire as Leo Vandernacht, leaving her life as the disgraced daughter of the Vandernachts to burn away in the house fire, just like a Phoenix arising from the ashes of its predecessor (side note quickly but Lenore I swear to fucking god you better actually have a cousin named Leo or I’m coming through the screen to shake you like a maraca). The parallels here are pretty clean cut.

Finally, we have her actual death and her appearing at Nevermore. While we don’t know the full details behind Lenore’s and Annabel’s deaths, whatever they are only have the possibility to strengthen the links to rebirth that have been clearly shown from the start. The whole conflict in Nevermore is the competition for a new life. With Lenore’s death and her arrival to Nevermore placing her in a competition for a second chance at life, she has once again been placed into a position similar to the cycle of a Phoenix, with this time following closer to legends where a Phoenix simply dies and decomposes before being born again. Additionally, Annabel’s complete faith in Lenore can also fed into this. We see in episode 41, how no matter what awaits them, no matter challenges they have to overcome, Annabel has absolute faith that Lenore will find a way to get them out of Nevermore. Not herself or any complex plan she has, Lenore is the one who will ultimately be the key to their escape. Lenore is the key to their second chance at life, to their rebirth.

Speaking of Annabel, the way she describes Lenore in episode 66 can add onto this line of reasoning. During the episode, we see Annabel describe Lenore as ‘ash the moment we met’, before going on to talk about how all madwoman die at least twice. First off, describing Lenore as ash already brings her back to the idea of being a Phoenix, with Pheonix rising from the dead through the ashes of predecessor. Secondly, the idea of all madwomen dying at least twice in relation to Lenore is yet another link to the concept of a Phoenix, with them going through multiple deaths in their cycle of rebirth.

To focus on some of the smaller details, the colours associated with Lenore can also strengthen the idea of Lenore’s spectre being Phoenix themed as well. As we all know well at this point, in very Romeo and Juliet fashion, Annabel and Lenore have clear colours associated to them, with Annabel often dressing in blue, in addition to other cold colours, while Lenore often dresses in reds, in addition to other warm colours. Considering this and Lenore’s already clear association to fire, like Lenore’s spectre having wings, it seems likely that Lenore’s spectre will also have fire powers. Now, what is something that has wings and it linked to fires? That’s right, a Phoenix. This small point can be strengthen by what we know about Annabel’s spectre. Annabel’s spectre is freezing to the touch, which matches up with the colours associated to her. Since White Raven’s spectres are definitely going to parallel each other, this detail increases the possibility of Lenore’s spectre having fire based abilities, and as a result, increases the possibility of Lenore being a Phoenix.

While there are still loads of other ideas about what Lenore’s spectre will be going around, to me at least, Lenore’s spectre being at least Phoenix themed is definitely the strongest theory I’ve seen so far. If anyone else has any other ideas about what Lenore’s spectre will be, or if you have any other evidence supporting the idea that Lenore will be Phoenix themed, I would love to hear it!

[aylish91]

More nagamob?

When an opportunity is presented to escape "The Den", you take it...Right?

Ao3 Link in Title

Caged Bird

You were in the grand kitchen making a sandwich when what you considered, “the” door, burst open. You had barely enough time to register the locks clicking before it was slamming it into the wall. Expecting your loud semi-friend Papyrus, you were not prepared for who came through instead.

A shorter skeletal Naga dressed in an impressive white satin suit made his way inside with a huff. A sky-blue tail peppered with tiny yellow speckles swished agitatedly behind him as he slipped through. Though, at the sight of you, he paused.

Something in the way he stared made you uneasy. You could tell he was hiding something behind careful neutrality. The sudden expanding of his eyelights didn’t help as his grin twitched into a smirk. Their blue and yellow glowed a little too brightly.

“HOW INTERESTING…”

While you were locked in the stare, a taller Naga sauntered in behind him. Light reflected off the orange iridescent scales, undertones of dark amber shimmering amongst soft honey. Unlike the first, his suit was dark, the jacket draped over a slouched shoulder.

The rising tickle in the back of your mind was going to drive you crazy. It felt wrong… You almost missed the grip placed on the smaller’s shoulder.

“May I be of service gentlemen?”

The blue Naga hummed. Holding up a gloved hand, a large manilla envelope quickly made its way into it. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the dense parcel slid across the counter.

“THIS IS THE MONEY RECOVERED FROM THE STYGIAN INCIDENT. MAKE SURE THIS GETS TO THE DON. I WOULD HATE FOR IT TO GET, LOST.”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, immediately turning to continue out the kitchen doors into the lounge.

Coils shifted.

“You’re that new courier that’s been going around, aren’t you?”

You wanted to sigh but knew better. Before you had been so graciously dragged here, all your new clients had called you that. Even though you had been delivering for the past two years, everyone had still considered you new. It had been rather annoying at times having to deal with those who had little faith in your abilities. It was also getting harder to hide your expressions since coming here.

“Yes sir, unless someone else has started since I last checked.”

He chuckled, eyelights flicking over you. “What has ya hangin' around the Den? Bossman decide ta pull ya under his scales?”

Your smile twitched. “You could say that.”

“How convenient.” You didn’t like the subtle shift you felt between the two of you as he leaned on the shared counter. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what had changed, but something definitely had. At least the tickling sensation started to settle and dissipate. “How about you help a guy out then? Got a… shipment need’n to be brought in from the car but I also got other business I need to get done. Promise I’ll make it worth your while~”

That familiar pit of anxiety stirred in your stomach followed by excitement. He didn’t know it, but simply being allowed outside was more than you could ask for. It was the chance you needed to finally leave this place. It had been quite a bit harder to escape than anticipated. Windows were too heavy, high, or locked. Most doors were also locked, some guarded from the outside. The only open rooms were yours and those with nothing to offer.

This man’s ignorance could very well be your ticket out. It brought a genuine smile to your face.

“Of course. I’d be happy to help.”

“Good.” Giving a nod, He pushed the envelope into your hands with a wink. “It’s all in the car, pretty bird. Don’t disappoint.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. As casually as you could, you grabbed the envelope and abandoned your half-made sandwich. From the corner of your eye, the honeyed Naga watched long enough for you to make your way through the previously locked door.

You were only mildly surprised it led into a mudroom. A large plush rug, a shelf of towels, and a wide U-shaped brush system peppered with lingering scales were only a few of the things found inside. The most important thing, though, was the exit. It was kind enough to lead outside under the cover of a covered archway.

On your right, the driveway passed under the arch into a modest courtyard. On your left was the main drive toward the estate’s gates. Across the way, the access door of a garage enticed you with its open door.

You took a breath.

You could do this. You just needed to hurry before the other house members realized.

Before Don Sans realized...

You were in the garage before you could process anything else, heart pumping. Several Monster-sized vehicles met you, each one surprisingly more nondescript than the last. You prayed you would have luck with keys.

You didn’t know how you would fare driving such a large vehicle, but you only needed to get out of the gate with it. The first opportunity you had, you planned to ditch the thing in case they were tagged. Two cars down, you found what you were looking for.

The engine was still warm, keys in the ignition. Upon further inspection, you took note of a pile of boxes in the back and the lack of “normal” seats and smiled. Your two new friends had really outdone themselves for you.

Then you saw it.

The car had been modified for the use of Monsters. More importantly, Naga, Monsters. There were no pedals of any kind. In their place were hand controls. Very fancy hand controls.

You were going to have to take the time to figure them out.

Time you might not have.

Waving caution to the wind, you threw the envelope on the modified seat and started the ignition. For a brief second, you did a double take when stacks of hundreds broke free but recovered quickly enough to start fiddling with controls.

A push of a lever had the engine revving. Cursing, you frantically pulled back until it stopped. You had to keep yourself from panicking at the noise. All you could do was keep trying and hope no one came to investigate.

Unfortunately, less than five minutes later, a tsk had ice washing over you.

“I AM CURIOUS… WHAT AN INTERESTING CHOICE, BIRDIE. ARE YOU SURE IT WAS THE RIGHT ONE? I DO BELIEVE YOU HAVE TO PULL THE BREAKS BEFORE YOU SHIFT AND ENGAGE.” The Blue and yellow Naga from before leaned casually into the open window next to you, smile ominously bright.

You couldn’t breathe. You were stuck staring into the glow of his lidded eyelights. Your horror only grew when he reached through to pull a lever next to you. It was slow and purposeful. His smile never slipped and his eyelights never left yours. You didn’t know if his uncanny cheerfulness was better or worse than rage.

“HOW ABOUT WE MAKE A DEAL~. I LET YOU TAKE THIS CAR AND ATTEMPT AN ESCAPE, LET YOU SNITCH SANS’ MONEY, AND WHEN YOU ARE INEVITABLY CAUGHT…” His head cocked with a giggle, grin morphing into a sinister smirk. “YOU WORK FOR ME. I’M SURE WE COULD COME UP WITH QUITE THE ARRANGEMENT.”

It was hard to keep the shake out of your hands. He had you in a corner. It wouldn’t take much for him to grab you. He was already far too close. You also doubted the Don would take too kindly to your attempt at escape should you be dragged back inside. This Naga knew this, and he knew you knew it. However, you needed to know more about the type of person he was.

You swallowed. “What if I refuse?”

For just a moment his eyelights shrank and dilated, claws subtly scraping aluminum and plastic.

“YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT CAGED BIRDS…” His voice lowered. “THEY DON’T LIVE THAT LONG OUT OF CAPTIVITY.”

…

You were stuck. Context proved you couldn’t not take the deal. At least if you were able to leave now, you had a semblance of a chance at escape.  You only needed to get a few blocks away for you to be able to disappear through the allies and back streets. If you refused, you were as good as dead.

Swallowing, you made up your mind. Tentatively reaching out your hand, you accepted.

He outright beamed. “SO CUTE. SO EASY. I’LL HOLD YOU TO IT, BIRDIE. I LOOK FORWARD TO WORKING WITH YOU~”

The blue of his scales vanished around the other vehicles before you could breathe properly again, but you didn’t allow yourself to relax. Managing to figure out and drive the vehicle to the metal gates, the honeyed Naga winked again as he distracted the guards, motioning you through to your freedom.

…

The first familiar alley you came to, you ditched the car. The Den was behind you and there had been more than enough money in the envelope to give you a plethora of ideas for escape.

It was time to do what you did best.

Disappear…

Grand Master Post Mafia Master Post

[ghostmedia-dot-co]

Ice breaker

(Meant to be platonic but could be romantic) ouaw krew x reader

Masculine reader

Horror and angst(reader death and resurrection, extreme elements)

(Also I spelled Kremys name wrong, ignore that, that literally didn’t even happen)

You walk into the room, the metal door slamming behind everyone. Everyone snapped their heads back, weirded out but not particularly shocked, only twig and Gricko gasped at the sudden loud bang. This house was a nightmare since you arrived, you all had been invited to a dinner party but, you had been locked into the house with the only way out being a hidden spell somewhere within the house. Looking around the current room, it was dusty and cold. There was an arm chair with a thick wooly blanket, a fire place, and a small coffee table with a glass of solid ice. You shivered slightly, still not use to the cold. Hootsie bumping my leg empathetically.

“Why would they put a lounge in the kitchen?” Gideon asked aloud, picking up the blanket before setting it back down.

Kremmy quickly agreed “I don’t know gid, this whole house is a fucking labyrinth. Shower under the stairs, fucking oven in the library, it don’t make no sense.”

You began to stutter and shiver “Why is it so cold?” The air nipping at your skin forming goose bumps.

You felt gricko bounce up next to you, patting your leg.

“It ain’t that cold, maybe a bit chilly.”

You watched as torbek clumsily looked around the room, you yawned loudly. The cold always made you so tired in the cold, feeling your eyelids begin to drop slightly. As everyone looked in the room, searching for a key to get out of the house. You and gricko stood next to the entrance door, your eyes taking in the room. It was an average lounge room, more narrow than long. The walls looked as if they were slowly decaying, the beautiful blue wall painting looked muddy and watered down somehow. The fireplace somehow still looked warm, despite the relative absence of life within the house. Finally your eyes flickered onto a beautiful jewelry box. Torbek waves gently at you as twig pointed at the same jewelry box. It looked like a renaissance painting, a beautiful pink garden complimented the white and gold of the box. Torbek picked up the small jewelry box, curious to know its contents. You blinked in confusion as before your eyes, a small string snapped from it. That’s when you heard the grating sound of the door on the other side begin to close. The metal began to slowly scrap as the door began to close and the sound of loud air filled our ears.

Everyone’s heads snapped as they began to realize what was happening, pausing only for a moment before kremy broke the silence.

“Oh fuck! Everyone scram hurry!” Kremy ordered, being so far back you looked at gricko and picked him up. Hootsie taking lead as she bounded to the door. One by one everyone filed out: frost, then twig and torbek, Gideon who threw Kremmy as quick as he could. Then it was just gricko and you. The door begin to get lower and lower, your legs they could with no luck. The world began to spin as you quickly realized you two weren’t going to make it. Realizing it was too late for you, as the door dropped too low for you to get through you dropped to your knees and slide gricko into the other room. Locking me alone in the room.

As the door slammed shut, you lay on the floor. Breathing heavy, you look up when to the door hearing the frantic banging on the other side. Shuffling closer, you began to bang back, feeling relieved and terrified at the same time. You curled against the door and scanned the room, looking for anything dangerous. Muffled voices just beyond reach, words you couldn’t even comprehend. It wasn’t until you heard something from within your own mind.

‘Can you hear me, are you there?’ Frosties voice rang clearly in your head.

“I-I’m here frostie, is everyone alright?” Shuffling to your feet you rise up slowly.

As you caught my breath you soon recognized the sound of air being pumped into the room was still there, and it was getting colder. You quickly found myself shivering harder than before.

‘Everyone is alright, are you alright? Is the room you’re in safe?’ Frostie questioned.

“It’s getting colder Frostie, I-i know I complain a lot about the cold but I think there’s cold air being pumped into the room.”

‘Do not panic, you’re going to be okay. Go find something to keep yourself covered. Look for anything that you could exit.’

You began to slowly do as told, picking up the blanket and looking around the room. The room was quite large, all the vents being high into the air. Chilling the room from top to bottom. You try and keep warm, rubbing hands together. Soon you had searched the entire room. Behind every bookcase, chair, and even the fire place. You looked up into the fire place, unsure and skeptical if there was even an opening, considering you never saw a chimney on the house. Maybe you could climb out, if you could shimmy your way up. The only thing you feared was how dark it looked. No light meant no exit. You sighed and just curled up in the fire place, wrapping the blanket around yourself and shivered. Until you heard the banging intensify as it quickly turned into rapid slamming.

‘Did you find anything? Gideon and torbek are trying to break the door down. Twig, Kremmy, and I are going to seeing if we can somehow unlock it.’

You squeaked out a small reply “No frost, it’s still getting colder. The air is pouring in fast, frostie I’m not made for this. I can’t withstand the cold like everyone else. I was made for the desert, I was made for sweltering heat not the cold.” You began to hyperventilate, feeling your heart beat quicken and pump within your own chest, panic consuming your mind.

‘Shhh, shhh it’s okay. We’re going to get you out, just stay calm. What ever you do, do not try and remove anything on your body. Try to get as many things on you, no matter how you think you feel.’

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You breathed out, the heat creating gaint puffs of air in the room. The pain soon seeping from your skin to within your flesh, piercing your arms and legs and your teeth chattered like a rattle.

‘When people experience hypothermia they tend to feel as if they’re hot and remove their clothes. So whatever you do, do not remove your clothes.’

You felt tears swelter in my eyes as the cold air prick your skin, the blanket doing nothing to soothe my ice touched skin. You shivered hard as the banging slowed down. Your heart sank when you heard what sounded to be like more air being blasted into the room, your heart beat quickens as I curl into myself.

‘Are you there? Answer me please’

“Am I going to die frostie?” I squeak out. “I think more air is being poured into the room. I-I can hear something.” The room began to feel darker and darker, my eyes felt heavy and I grew more and more tired.

‘N-no, don’t worry that’s just Gideon. He’s going to try and melt the door. Perhaps go closer to try and feel the heat from the fire.’

You began to crawl to the door, like a shivering baby. As you got closer the sounds of Gideon blasting the door become louder and clearer. Your arms gave out and you could only curl into a small little ball, vibrating and crying. Your heart beating out my chest as the sound of blood rushed to your head. You tried to steady your breath as the room became colder and colder, your hands and feet were becoming more and more numb as it seeped into your chest. You looked up at the vents and saw tiny icy crystals began to form around the vents. If only they could freeze over. Watching the ice creep out farther and farther from the vents, you felt hopeless.

You waited for what felt like hours, even though you could hear Gideon’s fire. The air was stealing all the precious heat away. Your eyelids felt like closing, as the coldness seep deeper and deeper into your flesh consuming you. As your eyes almost fully closed a sudden voice sprung into your head.

‘How are you feeling? The door is almost gone. Gideon is going to take a break and try going at it again.’ Frost projected, his voice making your heart beat.

“Frostie, I’m tired. I feel, warmer. I think I can feel Gideon’s fire. From this side now.” You murmured, the sudden realization making you slowly curl closer to the door.

As quickly as your body was cold, it suddenly became very warm. You were still shaking but it felt better. As the warmth of what you assumed to be the door seeped into your skin.

‘That’s good, that means maybe we’re making progress.’

As you lay your back against the door, you never realized that you couldn’t feel the heat coming from behind you, it felt as if your entire body was slowly being heated up. Ice like crystals soon encapsulated the entire room, freezing it over. You felt sweat dripping from your forehead, you felt uncomfortably hot now. Your eyes began to droop again.

“It’s really hot, I’m starting to sweat” you laughed, you slowly laid back down. Comfort pouring into your heart as you hummed quietly.

There was a long pause in silence, as your eyes fluttered back open. Heat began to pool around you as you felt hotter and hotter. You didn’t think about it too much. Just happy to be slowly warmed up, yet your feet and hands were still numb.

As you were peacefully breathing you heard frosts voice ring in your heard fretful and alarmed ‘Listen to me carefully, do not remove your clothes. Whatever you do keep that blanket on you.’

You smiled and blinked, confused and frightened by the serious tone. “I’m not a whore frostie, I know how to keep my clothes on.” You slurred giggling a little. “It’s starting to get hot in here, are you sure Gideon stopped? I’m gonna move from the door at least.”

Suddenly, you heard the sound of Gideon’s fire starting up again. You flinched from what you thought was the sudden heat burning your skin. Scampering away from the door. Panicked once again as you realized what was happening, the room wasn’t heating up. Gideon didn’t make progress, hypothermia was setting.

‘What ever you do, stay covered. Is there anything else you can use to keep yourself warm?’ The desperation in his voice was missed on your ears, you began to feel too tired to move and too tired to think. Only wanting to be out of the room as soon as possible. Ice crystals now nipping at your blanket.

“Frostie, I’m tired. I’m really tired, the room is covered in ice. I, I think I should just stay by the door. I feel so so tired.” Your eye lids began to fall again, as you curled on the floor. “Do you think I can go to sleep frostie? Maybe if I close my eyes I can wake up and everything will be fine. Right?” You whispered.

‘Yn, do not go to sleep please. Just stay awake for a few more minutes.’

He pleaded, your mind already slowly giving away.

The room became darker and darker. You watched as ice slowly crept toward you, until it touched your skin. Your eyelids became heavy and cumbersome. You could just rest for a while, everyone was safe. That’s all that mattered. Torbek, gricko, twig and gid, everyone was safe. You saved gricko, that’s all that mattered. You deserved a little rest, you’ll be okay. Even as frost desperately tried to keep you awake, knowing sleeping would only lower your body temperature. You slowly closed your eyes. His voice slowly fading into the background. You felt comforted by his voice no matter how terrified he screamed.

On the other side, frost looked up at the others. Terrified and frantically, there had to be a way to help you.

“What happened, is everything okay? Why are you making that face?” Kremmy questioned frost, the sound of the fire blasting drowned out his voice.

Frost gave Kremmy a look, it wasn’t good.

“Gideon, isn’t there anyways to hurry it up?” Kremmy pleaded, frantically pacing back and forth.

“I can only go so fucking hot! God dammit!” Gideon bellowed, completely and utterly frustrated and hopeless.

Torbek was curled in a small ball, weeping pitifully as Hootsie, twig, and gricko tried to comfort him.

“This is all torbeks fault, if only torbek hadn’t picked up that box.” He moaned out in a desperate bargain, if only he had done this, if only he didn’t do that.

“It’s not your fault torbek! He’s going to be a okay! Gideon will have him back out in no time!” Gricko tried desperately to sound optimistic.

Gideon felt the feeling of helplessness overcome him, Grickos words only made him feel shameful. Whatever he was doing wasn’t working, he wasn’t strong enough, his fire isn’t hot enough. The overwhelming anger of it all boiled inside him until he let out a frustrated scream, and began to wail on the door. Hot fire engulfing his fist, punch, after punch, after punch to the door. Leaving a bigger and bigger dent.

Kremmy, seeing the door finally give way stopped perked up and smiled. It looked as if it was going to break. Soon he began to cheer Gideon on, as the dent became deeper and bigger.

As you slipped into a deep sleep, you slowly found yourself sitting up. You looked around the room and saw everything. The ice growing thicker and heavier on the vent, the old fireplace, looking down, you saw yourself. Curled into the tightest little ball, slowly breathing. Tiny bits of ice slowly creeping up your blanket and skin.

You suddenly felt two cold hands slowly pull you up and away from your body.

“It’s time to go, little one. Your journey is over, it’s time to leave.” The voice was whispy and soft. It made you shiver.

Slowly looking up, you saw what you feared most in this situation

“Who are you?” You asked, even though you knew the answer.

“I’m here to protect you, you’re safe with me.” It whispered, its hood shrouding it in darkness.

Looking back at your body, you squirmed and tried to escape its grasps. Only to realize your body had stopped breathing. It lay limp on the floor, a peaceful dreaming face looked back at you.

“I can’t die. I can’t die yet. My friends, they need me. How will I protect them?” You pleaded frantically, as you wiggled and shuffled trying to get out.

“You don’t have to worry about them, you’re gone. You have to come with me. I will keep you safe.” It ordered

You cried out in desperation and despair, as you watched yourself being slowly pulled away from your still body. Your vibrant skin now dull and frost bitten, leaving your cheeks a now red hue while your skin slowly turns an ugly blue. You shook and pleaded with the angel of death, but it was an unrelenting force. A force which you fell powerless to.

As the angel slowly carried you, farther and farther away. The room grew to shades of gray, going lighter and lighter. The sounds of metal crashing to the floor was faint and dream like, too far to fully grasp. As you began to give in, the angels warm arms comforted you. Like the little match girl, you were finally warm again. It reminded you of the comforting feeling of home.

As the door crashed onto the floor, Gideon, frost, and Kremmy shoved into the room one trying to outrun the other. Gideon hoisted your body over his shoulder, he hissed at the pain of sudden frost and ice on his skin. As they all quickly shuffled out of the room.

“Alright, gid just hold him like that okay, get him warm. Gricko, can you maybe, I don’t know, check his pulse?” Kremmy began to order, spitting them out as fast as he could.

Gricko tried to do all he could to find any signs of life, stating you weren’t breathing. As he grabbed your wrist, his heart sank by how cold your arm was. Frost tried to gently rub any ice off of your body, removing the frozen blanket from your limp body as torbek stared at your lifeless figure in horror.

Gricko squeeze every pulse tightly, desperately trying to find any sign of life. Any sign that you were still save able.

“Maybe I could perform CPR, Gideon lay him on his back.” Gricko planned, quickly beginning chest compressions.

It hadn’t been that long. Maybe you just needed a little help, a little boost!

Frost and Kremmy looked at you, your blue face haunting their souls. You looked peaceful, frost thought. ‘If only I was able to keep you up a little longer’ he wondered.

As you were being carried away farther and farther, your life flashed and danced around your eyes. Beautiful lights filled your vision, as you danced at shows and wasted your life. You saw your greatest mistake repeated over and over and over. The horrors of your reality, your actions danced before you. Using cheap drugs to cope with the loss you caused. The angel stroked your head gently, pitiful.

Your eyes flickered and that’s when you saw something that made you smile, you saw your home. The first time you ever felt apart of something after your first love, the first time you felt human. After having your humanity stripped from you, after being treated like a wild animal. An object to admire and use, you felt like a creature to behold and loathe. No matter how kind Mr light was to you, what they’ve done for you brought back your humanity.

It was everyone together in twigs inn, a week after you met everyone. A week after you left the carnival to cure yourself of your inhumanity and shame. Everyone was happy and laughing. You were laying on top of Hootsie as twig gently brushed your now short hair. Gricko dancing with frost, all be it terribly but they looked adorable and hilarious. Gideon and torbek trying to fix a light bulb and Kremmy playing music. You had never felt more human, it was a home you never had. A home you never thought was possible.

The warm light shinning made you feel warmer than you’ve ever felt. It made deaths hands that much colder, as you found new strength and a new purpose you jerked up and out of the arms that held you. Falling to the ground you felt your self falling faster and faster until you realized you can’t hit the floor.

All you could hear was air rushing past your head as memories began to fly by, your life flashing and fluttering behind you over and over faster and faster. You screamed yet no sound came out, you cried yet nothing was heard. You grasped for something you couldn’t reach, you kept falling faster and faster, until you felt it.

The floor hit your body, you were thrown across the room. Your ghost like body, skidding across until your back hit the wall. You got up surprised to feel nothing at all, you looked for your body. Until you saw the door opened. Quickly rushing to your body you saw everyone gathered around. Quickly making way you squeezed past them, unnoticed.

Hearing Kremmy mutter something “he’s gone gricko, stop”

You reached down and touched your body.

You felt your body, your cold lifeless body. Slowly melted into your hands. Oozing into one another you felt them mix and combine, your spirit and your mud mix into one. Until you felt your heart beat, and Gricko pulled away. Everyone pulled away just as you had made it. All you saw was darkness, all you felt was the cold floor against your back as you waited to hear anything.

Fading in and out all you heard from within your mind was a gentle hiss “you win this time”

As your consciousness faded back in, you heard voices frantically speaking.

“He’s gone gricko, just stop”

“He can’t be gone, just lay him back on Gideon.”

“I don’t want his fuckin body on top of me, he’s dead.” Gideon snapped, staring down at you outraged and upset.

Gricko tried to plea before frost cut him off

“They’re right gricko, you need to stop this. He’s gone, let’s just take a quick break and figure out what to do next.”

“This is all torbeks fault, torbek is sorry, torbek is so so sorry.” Torbek wailed, before curling into your cold body. His scruffy fur tickling you.

“Shhh, you’re alright torbek. You didn’t know there was a trap, alright.”

Suddenly your body began to shiver, you were so so cold. Your skin felt frozen and blitzed. Shivering out of desperation for warmth. Desperately trying to find comfort and salvation. Feeling torbeks fur on your body as if it were a warm blanket. Torbek got up quickly, confused.

You mustered all of your strength to you could squeak out was a small “cold” too quiet to be heard. You heard the room instantly go silent.

Your sprawled body began to shake harder and harder, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Mr. Kremmy, do bodies usually move like that?” Torbek whispered.

“I-I’m not sure, Rigor mortis doesn’t usually happen so quickly or that violently.”

You heard them shuffle closer and closer to you, before you were once again surrounded by everyone.

“Holy shit! Can you hear us? Can you hear us?” You heard twigs voices call out.

Your eyelids fluttered open for a second as gricko grabbed your wrist and tried to get a pulse.

feeling him touch your vein made your skin crawl worse than the cold and you jerked your arm away from him, growling like an animal. Before you began to curl like a wilting flower. Whispers of disbelief and gasps of horror erupted within the group. Until Torbek broke the chain and grabbed you, wailing in relief and euphoria. He cried out squeezing your shivering form into his damp scruffy fur. Cheers began to erupt from the crew, gricko and Gideon squeezing you as frost tried to keep people from crushing you.

You curled into their arms, before falling asleep again. This time, no man met you on the other side of sleep. In fact nothing met you, it was a peaceful dreamless sleep. When you woke up, you were lying down as gricko attended to your frost bitten hands and feet.

He looked up at you sheepishly as he grabbed some bandages “oh good your awake!” He said as he began to take off your shoes “yeah, so, here’s the thing. I took a Quick Look at your feet and hands while you were asleep and we’re gonna have to amputate them. Now you’re awake though so, you better start drinking.” Gricko informed you, wrapping your bloodstained hands tightly.

Horror struck your heart like a sharp iced needle, contorting your face at the mere thought of loosing your arms and legs. Until you heard a chorus of snickers and giggling “just kidding! I’m gonna be making a banana paste to help with the frost bite, you’ll be fine in no time.” Gricko cackled, as he finished wrapping your hands. Frost gently stroked your hair.

“I’m glad to see you alive, yn. You had me scared when you told me you were going to sleep.” He smiled.

You smiled back at him, “don’t worry, I just get really tired when I’m cold. I don’t know why, but it happens. I’m pretty sure I did die though.”

Frosts eyebrows furrowed in confused and fright as you began to recount your experience with death, and how you it went. Twig brewing some nice warm tea for you. Everyone began to laugh and talk, as you were finally home and the night was filled with laughter, warm drinks, and banana paste on your toes.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Heir and The Spare - Part 2: "Fire and Ice"

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary: Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heaviest is the head that was always second best.

The Heir and The Spare Chapter List | Steve Rogers Masterlist

"The answer is no. That is my final answer."

"The offer is more than fair. It's a hell of a lot more than anyone else will offer you for your shares. You're being completely and totally unreasonable."

"Keep pressing the issue and I'll show you unreasonable," you retort, sitting further up in your chair. "I'm sure the board would love to hear all about this. We all know how much they love you."

Tony slams his hands down on the conference table, "We're not kids anymore!"

Happy flinches at the booming sound Tony's fists on the sleek mahogany table. The same table that he had to replace the last time you and Tony spoke - though you both maintain that Happy fell into the table.

At least this time, Pepper and Happy had the sense to keep you two sequestered on opposite ends of the table.

"Tony..." Pepper cautions, but neither you nor Tony hear her words.

You slowly rise from your seat, speaking through clenched teeth, "Precisely, we're not kids anymore, and yet, you're acting like a child demanding a toy that isn't yours."

Though you both inherited the notorious Stark temper, the anger simmering in the room was just another one of your many differences. Tony was a hothead. His rage burned quickly, threatening everyone in its wake. You were sharp and stoic. Your words were cold and calculated, aiming to kill. 

Happy pinches the bridge of his nose, softly sighing at the fast deterioration of this conversation. Pepper sits at the head of the table, her eyes volleying back and forth with every quick witted retort.

"It is mine! You and I both know that!" he accuses. 

"If it was your's, you wouldn't be standing there begging." It's a low blow. Even more so when considering that Tony Stark doesn't get told no. He most certainly doesn't beg, and yet here he is, asking you to give up what is rightfully yours. Each word crawls under Tony's skin, adding more fuel to his rage. A sense of satisfaction creeps up your spine when you see the vein on his forehead popping out. Standing tall and rigid, you toss Tony's proposal in the very center of the conference table. "We're done here. And the next time you feel like extending an invitation, please, don't."

"That's it, then?" Tony spits. "This is the way it's always going to be?"

His question catches you off guard. You freeze, faltering as you reach for your blazer.

It's been this way for the better part of your life. You've spent two decades with your grudge against Tony being one of your few companions in life.

You wish you could say that you didn't know another way, but you remember it. You remember how it used to be, how it could be. You know what it feels like to have a loving, protective older brother. You want that back - desperately so.

But you also remember the day Tony took that all away from you. And despite all the time passed, you haven't quite worked out how to forgive him for that.

You simply don't have an answer to his question. And you're not sure you ever will.

You swallow the knot lodged in your throat. Slipping on your blazer, you turn to Pepper with a tense smile, "It was nice seeing you again, Pepper."

She gives a placating, mostly apologetic smile, "Will you be staying in New York long?"

"A few days of mostly meetings. Happy knows my itinerary."

"I'd love to get lunch if you're available." Before you can politely decline, Pepper elaborates on her invitation, "Just the two of us."

Tony guffaws, "Pepper, whose side are-"

"I'd like that," you agree, cutting Tony off. "Happy can work out the details."

"Of course I can," Happy grumbles under his breath. 

With that, you walk out of the conference room with your blood still boiling. You'd like to say that you can't believe Tony would do something like this, but you can. You believe it.

After all, there was a reason Stark Industries remained at number one all these years. Tony Stark simply didn't care if he had to step on and steamroll a few people, he'd do it without a second thought. It's strictly business. It always has been and always be strictly business.

Your heels clicking through the hall is the only sound that fills the silence. Not even scrolling through your packed schedule is enough to distract you from the anger you feel towards Tony.

That is, until heavy footsteps coming from behind you catch your attention.

"Come to escort me out of the building, Captain Rogers?" you ask, not needing to look over your shoulder to know that it's him.

He chortles, rubbing the back of his neck, "Is it too late to apologize for that?"

"You can certainly try, but it's not necessary, Captain Rogers."

"Steve. Please, call me, Steve."

You bite back the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth, "Steve."

"So how'd it go? Everyone still in one piece?"

The smile melts off your face as you're reminded that the only reason you met Steve Rogers is because Tony wanted something from you. "It went about as well as you'd expect."

"With Tony making an ass of himself?" Steve guesses, walking alongside you as you make your way to the elevator.

You snort, still looking down at your phone, "He doesn't see it like that."

When you finally look up from your phone, you see it. It's striking, blindsiding you completely. You see the charm that oozes from Steve, from his smile, from the way he holds himself, those sky blue eyes, and from the way the doesn't automatically take Tony's side. You can't remember the last time anyone did that. Steve laughs, "He never does."

"Well, Steve, is there something I can do for you? Quite frankly, I'd rather be anywhere else but here."

"In my company or at Stark Tower?"

"Surprisingly, the latter."

"Why is liking my company so surprising?"

"Like I said, you're much less charming in person." This time, the words leave your mouth in a lighter, more teasing tone. This time, you don't mean it. 

"How does that bode for my chances on asking you out to dinner?"

You quirk an eyebrow at him, pressing the elevator button, "You're quite presumptuous, aren't you?"

"I go after what I want."

"And that is?"

"Dinner. Tonight, if you're free."

Your lips purse slightly, weighing your choices. You had plans, of course. Business plans, as per your usual. Social plans, you had a difficult time remembering the last time you had those.

You look back down at your phone, then back at Steve. You were certainly not free tonight. You'd also run the risk of sending Happy into cardiac arrest if you asked him to reschedule everything you had scheduled for tonight. The elevator finally dings above you. And still, you can't help yourself. "You're in luck, I am free tonight."

"Great," Steve beams as you step onto the elevator. As the doors begin to shut, he frantically asks, "Wait, how will I-"

"Be ready by 8," you call as the doors shut.

You're pleasantly reeling as you make your way down the elevator. Smiling to yourself, you can't remember the last time you left Stark Tower feeling anything remotely positive.

By the time you make it through the lobby, Happy is waiting beside the door of your black SUV. 

"What's that look on your face?" Happy questions, opening the car door for you. He slides in beside you, not wasting a moment before scrutinizing your expression, "You're smiling."

You roll your eyes, trying to bury your smile by examining your schedule, "I'm allowed to smile, Happy."

"A good mood usually takes several days after you talk to Tony. It's why I booked the meetings of people that aren't nice to me tonight."

"Are you insinuating that you build my schedule on when you think I won't be nice?"

"I'm insinuating that you're a little on edge after your family reunions - and that sometimes, people need a firm hand."

"A firm hand? Because they're not nice to you?"

"Exactly," Happy agrees. "Now back to your schedule, you've got a packed few days here, but I think I can pencil in lunch with Pepper on Thursday. Your meeting with those investors is tomorrow. You're meeting those charity people for lunch on Wednesday already, so that won't work but-"

"Happy?" you interrupt. "What do you know about Steve Rogers?"

"And I guess we're done talking about your schedule," Happy sarcastically remarks. He puts down his phone with a huff, "Why are you asking me about Steve?"

"He asked me out to dinner."

Happy's eyes widen, "And you said?"

"And I said yes," you reply as nonchalantly as you can.

"You said yes?"

"Tonight at 8." 

"You have a meeting tonight. Several of them!"

"Send my regards and let them know I'll reschedule as soon as possible."

"Sure!" Happy over exaggeratedly beams. "It's not like I planned those months ago or anything."

"I can always count on you, Happy."

"Just - Please tell me you're not going on a date with Steve to spite Tony."

"Please, Happy," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "Steve asked me. And in spite of what you and Tony might believe, I don't live my life trying to spite Tony. I was simply asked out on a date. Spiting Tony is just an added bonus."

"An added bonus," Happy bitterly mutters, rolling his eyes. "I better get an added bonus."

"You always do," you remind him. "So?"

"So?"

"Tell me all about Steve Rogers."

Next Chapter

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Steve Rogers Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93@buckysbarne@deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic@whitexwolfxx310

[insect-library]

Little Angel ☆

chapter 1

little!Angel and cg!Husk

Notes: first time writing in like,,, 4ever?? Sooo be nice to me. <3 (taking constructive criticism)

Word count: around 800

A small yawn came from Angels room as he woke up. The combination of a headache and dizziness from a night full of drinking had kept him from staying fully awake. After a few times of refusing to wake up, he finally decided to rise from his plush bed to feed his pig, and get some food for the morning.

Angel had been in a loop all week. Hed be pretty great all day, talking to Husk, sometimes others. But when night came hed get sensitive, tired, and more uncomfortable with his usual activities. Hed brush it off as an episode or some side effect of a drug, but now hed actually started worrying about it. It seemed strange that this came after telling Husk about Val, and the comfortable night of talking with him that came after. He noticed that he became generally happier around Husk, talking with his hands more and going on about things he loved. This was very unusual for him and had worried him for the days following.

Angel finally snapped out of his thoughts when he saw exactly who hed been thinking about, Husker.

"Mornin' sleeping beauty" Husk scoffed

"Good morning asshole" Angel said, passing him to exit the hotel, a bit happier than he was previously.

There was that feeling again, hed noticed the need to flap his hands when he passed Husk. He felt happy as if hed won something, but he'd just greeted his friend. It made no sense to him, but he continued on with the day anyways.

After grabbing some food at a small cafe, he started his walk to the hotel. Noticing all the small details of the pride ring. The people, the billboards, all of it was so harsh and overwhelming. It made him feel scared. But why would he feel scared? He had been here for what felt like forever, why now had it started overwhelming him? He didnt know the answer to anything, but he knew he needed to get to the hotel and into his room as soon as he could.

Angel ran through the door with his food, and ran right past everyone downstairs without greeting anybody. The second he got to his room he slammed the door and jumped into bed, hugging his stuffed animals and hiding in blankets. After a short minute, he heard a knock and a voice at the door.

"Angel? Are you okay? What happened?"

It was Charlie. Who, dont get him wrong angel loves her to death, but she wasnt going to be any help.

"MMmn!"

It wasnt anything anyone could point out as a word, but the noise made it clear he didnt want her there. He heard her walk off. But heard more footsteps and eventually another knock at his door.

"Angel? What happened? Whyre you whinin' at Charlie?"

It was Husk, and Angel was even more embarrassed than with Charlie. Husk had been so nice and Angel felt guilt having him see him acting like a child, thought he couldnt exactly control it.

"I think i know whats going on, if youll let me in i could help ya" Husk spoke very softly, not letting anyone but Angel hear him.

Angel considered it, and decided that having Husk around while hes like this is better than being alone. He walked hunched over to the door and opened it, dragging Husk into the small room.

"Whats goin on'?!" Angel mumbled

"You told me about Val right? And how you had been more upset lately?"

"Uhnhuh.. why does that matter?" Angel was getting a little impatient.

"Well i was interested in what you talked about. I had looked at a few things and all your little 'quirks' and that shit sounds a bit like something i found" Husk answered

Angel was listening very intently, but slowly understanding a bit less of the bigger thoughts and only gathering a small amount of information from husk.

"Its called uhrm.. age.. regression?" Husk sounded it out, making sure to get the term right

"Its a way your brain uh.. keeps you sane basically."

Angel had heard about regression, but always took it as a voluntary thing. He never took it as something hed be helped by, especially not without knowing.

"Woah" Angel whispered

He was noticing things that lined up with what Husk said, and had started genuinely thinking about the term and how it applies to him.

Husk stayed the rest of the afternoon to look after Angel, and explain some more about agere to him. They had talked and played and sat around until pretty late, and Husk decided to go to bed.

"Okay, goodnight Angel. Im glad you learned some stuff today. Sleep well"

Angel smiled at Husk, waved goodnight, and went to bed happy, something he wasn't exactly familiar with.

[rbtlvr]

@intotheelliwoods made me feel things so i am returning the favor (goes with this comic, make sure you read that first)

read on ao3

warnings: super brief unreality, mention of family death

-

Sprout can’t sleep.

Again.

To be fair, that’s not exactly anything new – especially with the whole… apocalypse thing he hates thinking about. Having to be on guard all the time, ready for anything, just in case, kind of made it difficult to get a good night’s rest.

And even though he’s safe now (is he? Is he really? It doesn’t feel real. Maybe he is asleep and this is – a dream, a nightmare, he doesn’t know), old habits die hard. So. Can’t sleep.

He’s not sure why he does it, really. Maybe to see if there’s been any changes, considering he’s now technically in an entirely new timeline (or bifurcated time branch, as Donnie would say. Would’ve said). Maybe to see if he can even still access it. Maybe to find somewhere he can be alone, not have to see the faces of everyone he’s lost, not have to see his own face after what was, at that point, the worst day of his life. Whatever the reason, he sits up in bed, abandoning his failed attempts to at least get some rest. He crosses his legs. Closes his eyes.

Breathes in.

Then out.

He feels the shift, opens his eyes. Looks around, and –

The first thing he notices is that the white wall that represented the big guy’s place in the mindscape is gone.

The second thing he notices is that it’s been replaced with red.

His heart, only just having calmed down from the day he’s had, jolts into a panicked rhythm again in an instant. A thousand thoughts rush through his mind at once, too quickly for him to pin them down – why is that here why is the white gone does this mean little me is here too it has to it has to be him he’s going through what i did i can’t do this i can’t watch that i can’t go through it again i have to he must be so scared i have to help him –

Before he can process what he’s doing, his fist – the real one – is crashing into the wall, a crack forming beneath the impact. It hurts, but it’s – it’s progress, he realizes. If it’ll get him through to the mini-him, keep the kid safe from the nightmares that plagued Sprout before he made it here – he’ll keep on hitting this wall til his knuckles are bruised and bleeding if that’s what it takes.

And then, in the span of about two seconds, the crack shrinks and disappears. No fanfare, nothing left behind, not even a scratch on the wall. It’s as if Sprout never made a mark to begin with.

And.

That’s –

Something rises in his throat, something that’s been there waiting to claw its way out ever since his little brother – his last family member – ever since Mikey shattered into pieces. It’s raw and agonizing and full of a thousand different emotions he’s been forcing himself to compartmentalize and push down all day. He’s had to, so he can help the younger versions of his family (it hurts so much seeing them again, they’re right here but he’ll never get them back and all he can see when he looks at them is a reminder of what he’s lost), the younger version of him (that’s him that’s him he’s so small so scared sprout has to protect him has to save him but what if he gets it wrong? what if he can’t be the person he himself needed all those years ago? what if he can’t be –), so he can be there for them like the big guy was for him (he’s gone he’s really gone and yes he’s been gone but now the white is gone too, he can’t come back anyway sprout knows that he knows but even if he could there’s nowhere for him to come back to anymore). 

He can’t hold it back any longer. The feeling of utter helplessness is just the match that lit the fuse, and now the bomb is going off whether he likes it or not.

Sprout screams.

The sound tears itself from his mouth and he packs into it all the hurtragefearguiltlossgrief that it can hold, rearing back and slamming his fist into the wall again. Like something different will happen this time. Like something different will ever happen. He has to save the kid – he has to – but he can’t, he can’t save anyone – nothing he does is (has been, will be) enough and he screams again at the unfairness of it all.

Once more, the crack vanishes without a trace, and Sprout – 

Sprout has never felt more helpless, more alone than he does right now.

He can’t do anything. The mini-him is right there on the other side of this wall, terrified, traumatized, and Sprout wants nothing more than to hug him tight and promise it’ll be okay because he knows it will – never mind that it wasn’t okay for Sprout. That’s why he’s here – to make sure things go differently this time.

(… Can he even do that much?)

The fight drains out of him, and he’s left with an ocean of heartache and helplessness. There’s no life preserver here, no one who needs to lean on him, no one he needs to keep it together for, nothing to justify pushing everything down anymore. On the other hand – there’s no one to keep up appearances for, no one who will judge him for breaking down or ask questions he can’t bring himself to answer.

The decision is made for him in the end, the tears overflowing and pouring down his face despite his attempts to hold them back, and Sprout finally stops trying because what is the point?

And there, utterly alone, small and scared just like that child he desperately wants to protect, Sprout allows himself to grieve.

[incompleteth0ts]

You're too sweet for me

Part 1 of ???

Day 3 of Hadercy week

Prompts that will be used: Daddy issues made Percy a slut for older men and Hades Pining after Percy

The underworld was quiet. It was like all of Hades had held its breath.

In the private wing of Hades' palace, the doors to his study have frozen shut. Jagged pillars of black ice clawed their way from out of the ground, cross-hatching over the massive oak doors despite the rising temperatures inside the palace.

Behind the doors, Hades crested over his desk, clutching a pile of papers in his trembling fist.

‘Matter of Urgency’, stamped in red as bright as his wife's lipstick, ‘Your presence is needed on Olympus immediately. King Zeus, 6th born of Rhea.’

The onyx beneath Hades' feet cracked and splintered. The last time he had received a letter of urgency was when his son started a Blitzkrieg. The egotistic masthead even had the nerve to bring up mother. Between cleaning up the damage caused by Gaia and forcing all his staff to work triple the shifts to restore the already fragile balance of life and death, the last thing he has is time to travel to New York.

But a summons is a summons, and he doesn't have the time to upset his brother either.

The ice shattered, firing down the hallway once Hades slammed the frozen doors open.

“Finally worked up the nerve to go and see what the King wants?”

“I have no time for your nonsense, Hypnos.”

The primordial slunk around the corner. The wings that obstructed Hades from seeing his face gave an excited flap. For such a lazy god, he was as nosy as they came.

“Because his summons was just that urgent?” There was only a flap of wings in warning before Hypnos jumped to perch on Hades' shoulder. Hades couldn’t go to Olympus until he shook him off. Zeus was still mad at him and his son for their actions in the Second Titan War.

“Where is your brother, and why is he not holding your leash?”

Hades snapped at the primordial when he pulled at the length of his hair.

“I could say the same about your wife. She was supposed to get back yesterday.”

Hades scowled. His younger brother had held her back another day per the request of Demeter. He’s been in a foul mood since gaining the news. The invite to Olympus has done nothing but spark more irritation.

“Get off; you're making me late.”

“You say that like it means anything. You don't even want to go.”

“But must, so move.”

Hypnos’ neck turned a sharp 360° as he thought the order over. It was a shame that the owl was already Athena's sacred animal.

“When you come back, you must tell me what was said. I get so curious about what goes on up there.”

In a flurry of feathers, Hypnos disappeared from Hades' side, and he was alone once more. One of these days, he would have to try installing a personal space policy, but until then, he would have to carry a spray bottle.

__

“You don’t understand Hermes; you should have seen her in her little tutu; you would have cried too - ah!”

Hades glanced around his new location, less than impressed with what he was seeing. Behind him, Apollo clutched his chest and leaned his weight on Hermes, who was sinking to the floor in laughter.

“You got him good, Uncle!”

“Why do you do that!”

Hades ignored both of their comments to ask his own.

“This is not the throne room. I was hoping you would be in there already.”

Apollo slid his hands through his hair, putting all the individual strands back in place. “Why would I be in the throne room right now? Why are you trying to get there anyway?”

“Your father sent me a letter. It was one of urgency. I figured he would be inviting everyone if he were inviting me.”

Hermes and Apollo looked at each other. Their uncle's reason for being here was lost to them.

“We weren’t told about this. Maybe father just wants to see you.”

As if that possibility was any better than the one he’d come up with.

“I see. I will be off then.”

Hades turned his back to make his way to his brother. If he was lucky he’d run into his wife on the way or an excuse not to show up.

It took Hades longer than he’d care to admit to realize that he had a small party following after him. Turning around, Hades was faced with his nephew's winged shoes.

“What are you doing?”

“Accompanying you.”

Hermes flew a lap around Hades' head before landing at his side. Unlike Hypnos, Hermes was unfortunately able to travel wherever he pleased so if he wanted to listen in as his father rapidly aged everyone that would be present at the meeting, it was all fair game to him.

“What a shame. You make for terrible company.”

“The same has been said about you, uncle.”

Hermes cleared a path for them with a sweep of his Caduceus. The two twin snakes wrapped around it hissed at the crowd and each other. Hades could never be bothered to remember the names of either of them, even though his nephew insisted on everyone knowing the names of his most loyal companions.

‘Well, how would you feel if everyone forgot Cerberus’ name?’

‘Hermes I named my dog Spot.’

“So, what do you think my father has to say to you today? Maybe, it’s another custody battle.”

Hermes slowed his steps so he could walk in time with Hades. Hades doubted it was another custody battle. It’s been 200 years since Zeus humored Demeter with one of those. Hades mentally cursed at the vagueness of the letter. He could only hope that the matter at hand was important and wouldn’t be at his expense.

“Come on, Hades. Why so quiet? You never talk to me anymore; keep this up, and I’ll start to think you don’t love me anymore.”

Hermes stomped in front of Hades, halting his stride. Hermes looked at Hades expectantly with an urgent gleam in his eyes. Brown feathers had begun to sprout from the nape of his neck and arms. He looked like a monochrome parrot waiting for the praise of its owner.

“You’re rarely around to talk nephew. It is not me that’s been avoiding you.”

Hades sidestepped Hermes. He was almost to the throne room and had yet to run into his wife.

“Well, it’s not my fault. Father has been running me dry this century. After the stunt Apollo pulled last year he’s been climbing the walls in paranoia.”

Hades took a deep breath when they made it to the large double doors leading to the throne room. If Tyche was on his side, Zeus would overlook how long he took to get here, and the meeting would go over quickly.

Pushing open the doors, Hermes stepped in front of his uncle to formally announce his presence.

“Now entering Lord Hades, King of the dead, fourth born of Rhea.”

Way to do your job

The throne room was much emptier than Hades had expected. At the peak of the semi-circle that made up the Olympian thrones was Zeus. Sat next to his younger brother was Posideon.

Both gods looked troubled; it was becoming increasingly clearer that no one wanted to be here. The only thing Hades wasn't grasping was why.

Why were they so antsy?

“Hades, how kind of you for finally joining us. I do believe the letter I sent you informed you that the issue brought to your hands was to be handled with urgency.”

Hades would have rolled his eyes at his brother's backhanded complaint if he was a lesser God.

“Forgive me; I ran into many difficulties along the way. As you can see, I even brought one with me.”

Hades flapped his right hand in the vague direction of his nephew, who had made himself comfortable on his throne.

“Calm yourself, brother. The issue that has been brought to us isn't as urgent as you described it to be. Hades pace is the least of our issues.”

It was nice to be aware that even now, Poseidon would still work with him to knock Zeus’ temper down several pegs.

Instead of arguing an endless battle or kicking Hermes out of the room, the central table that was usually sunk to floor level rose and expanded, allowing Zeus to throw down three yellow files.

“These are complaints filed to me in the past four years in response to the second Titan war and the follow-up battle with Gaia, including all the damage created when Apollo battled Python.”

Hades reached forward to flip through the closest file. Papers overflowed through the seams ripping at the packaging. Most of the papers had the same signature stamped across the top.

‘R. Styx’

‘Charon’

Great.

“There is no reason why I should be receiving so many compliments from people who belong to your kingdom.”

“I have been busy restoring the balance of my home just as you have. I don’t know why they felt the need to come to you, but I suggest you take it as a hint to just how much my home has suffered in the last decade because of your careless actions.”

Hades stood up to leave the room only to be stopped by his other brother.

“Hades wait; there is another reason you have been called here.”

“And what is that?”

Hades turned to Poseidon, no longer wanting to be trapped in a stuffy throneroom with two men he couldn’t stomach. He ignored the way Poseidon tightened his grip on his trident. Hades has had lifetimes to make peace with what his family thinks of him.

“I’m here to offer you aid through my son.”

Hades couldn’t hide the shock that flashed across his face. To gain his brother's help was one thing, but to have him offer one of his sons up was another thing. Poseidon was just as overprotective as Demeter.

“Which one, brother? You have quite a few of them. Have you had any more recently that have a knack for problem-solving?”

Hades took petty joy in the way Poseidon’s jaw clenched and the side glance he threw at their younger brother. Hades could see himself looking out for another niece or nephew in the future

“Percy,” Poseidon said through gritted teeth. “Came to me yesterday asking to get in contact with you. He wishes to help the Styx ‘heal’,” Hades and Zeus rolled their eyes as their brother's chest puffed with pride, no longer caring about being the bigger god. “I think it is very noble of Percy to offer his services; he is truly a kind-hearted boy.”

Hades picked up the bright yellow envelope and weighed it in his hand. The underworld condition has steadily declined, with the rivers taking the hardest hits. If he didn’t find a way to save the prosperity of his home soon, his kingdom would fall apart.

Sighing Hades pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Tell your son. I will talk to Styx and get her opinion on his offer. If she agrees I’ll begin putting a schedule together for him. Once it’s made I’ll send it to you so it can be made to accommodate his everyday life.”

Zeus grumbled words of complaint under his breath that neither brother paid any mind to. He would get over it sooner or later; either way, it wasn’t Hades’ problem.

“I will let Percy know what you have said.”

Hades exited the throne room without a word of goodbye, slowing his quick stride so his nephew could walk beside him.

“You should let me deliver the schedule. It’ll excuse me to see Percy and my kids simultaneously.”

“That is exactly why I’m not letting you deliver it, you’ll get distracted before you even make it to his cabin.”

Hermes circled Hades, blocking his path and pausing him mid-stride.

“Uncle,” the way Hermes looked at his uncle from under his Petasos, highlighted just how cheeky he was when left to his own devices. It also accentuated the similarities shared between him and his sister. “Percy’s a good boy with bad taste, and we all know you have a type.”

“What are you trying to say, nephew?”

Hermes spun on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

____

Walking into the underworld, Hades made a beeline to the River Styx. The polluted water pounded on the shore, threatening to drag him underneath the midnight waves if he dared to venture too close.

On the horizon, Hades could make out Charon’s ferry parting through the River Styx like a hot knife through butter. Hades would need to talk to him as well.

“You are quite a walk away from the castle Lord Hades.”

Hades sidestepped away from the towering goddess before she could grab him. She was mad at him, just as she was mad at all his kin.

Gods are not known for their honesty.

She rose out of the diamond froth without actually leaving her domain. Her hair hung limply down her body like an oil spill. The two endless voids that made up her eyes bore unblinkingly down on Hades. She wore a necklace of baby rattles, college diplomas, and wedding rings. Hades tried his best not to stare at it.

The top of her head rubbed against the opal ceiling that made up the constant night sky. Hades could hear the sound of flesh ripping apart and bone against a wet stone.

Hades lowered his gaze and bowed his head. Out of respect or fear, it did not matter. Both emotions were the same as women as ancient as the Styx.

“You have no right to come to me without the Son of Posideon. You will fare well with keeping your distance until you bring me the assistance I seek.”

Like a whale putting on a show for oncoming boaters, she disappeared into the foggy water out of his sight.

The next few weeks were going to be long and taxing.

By the time Hades had managed to verify all the necessary information needed to ensure the safety of Percy’s safety, hospitality benefits, proper pay, health insurance, mandatory breaks, meal preps, homework help, and whatever time-consuming nuisance his younger brother could think of, Lady Styx had grown restless.

The sooner Percy arrived, the better.

Hades’ kitchen was overrun by Hermes and Dionysus, who were arguing about the preferred way to make a cup of coffee.

“What are the two of you doing in my house?”

Hades shoved the pair of brothers away from his coffee machine to refill the pot.

“We’re here to welcome Percy! It would be cruel and unusual to leave him to the mercy of you.”

Dionysus looked up from his wine catalog to glare at Hermes. “I thought you said we were here to bother Persephone when she got home?”

Hermes raised his hands in defense. “That too, but we are also here to show Percy our support for doing such a noble thing.”

Hades and Dionysus were not impressed with Hermes' reason for being here, both of them knowing that there was more to his theatrics.

“Just don’t get in the way and don’t fall into the river because I won’t fish you out of it, and I’ll tell Percy to leave you floating face down in it.”

Once Hades had refilled his cup, he left his nephews to their own devices. He knew that later on in the day they’d find him again and drag him into whatever nonsense trouble they had managed to stir up with his wife.

Hades knew Percy and his father had arrived when the castle felt like it was going to come crashing all around him. His overdramatic brother would have made less of a scene if he had yelled Hades’ name at the top of his lungs.

Phasing through the foundation of his home, Hades greeted his younger brother at the gates leading to his house. Poseidon did not hide the disdain he had for Hades’ domain. Underneath his arm, Percy was pressed tightly against his father.

“Perseus. Poseidon. Nice of you to finally make it. I apologize that Persephone isn’t here to greet you with me, but her mother isn’t bringing her home till later tonight.”

“Mhmm…”

“Umm…Thanks, Uncle, sorry for taking so long, but Dad wanted to make sure I was thoroughly packed.”

Percy rolled his suitcase around himself and tried to escape from his father's crushing grasp but was snapped back to Poseidon’s side.

“...”

Percy looked at his father in poorly hidden embarrassment, shoving his elbow underneath his father’s ribs. “Dad, come on, let go. I have to get going.”

Poseidon looked like the last thing he wanted to do was let go of his son, but Poseidon was only being welcomed into Hades home for so long.

Kneeling, a sight Hades thought he would never see, Poseidon held both of Percy’s hands and brought them to his chest where his heart would have been. “Stay safe, Percy. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is pray. I will be back next weekend to bring you home.”

“Yikes Dad, you make it sound like you’ll never see me again, I’ll be fine. I love you, see you next Saturday.”

“See you then.”

Poseidon gave Percy one last lingering embrace before he left in a gentle golden glow.

“Come inside Percy, I’ll give you a castle tour.”

Marching back into the castle, Hades slowed his stride to allow his sprinting nephew a chance to catch up to him.

“Thank you for giving me a chance to do this Uncle. I was worried you weren’t going to want my help.”

“I wasn’t too excited to accept your help in the first place, but no one else is offering me any help.”

Entering the guest wing of the palace, Hades stopped in front of a navy blue door. “While you are here, this will be your room. If you need anything while you are here let me or one of the staff know and it will be handled.”

Pushing the door open, Hades presented Percy’s bedroom. It was easily one of the most impressive rooms Percy’s seen.

Pushed to the center of the back wall was a California king bed fitted with navy blue sheets. The bed was elevated off the floor with marble steps leading up to it. On a lowered platform a ‘C’ shaped linen couch was stationed behind an oak coffee table. A TV was mounted to the wall beside the entrance. To the left and right walls of the bedroom were two floor-to-ceiling double oak doors.

The entire space felt very professional and unlived. Whether that was just the aesthetic that Hades carried or because he didn’t get many visitors, Percy was too afraid to ask. He’d only just arrived, he didn’t want to be rude.

“Um…thank you, Uncle. Sorry that Dad made you do all of this.”

The thought of his knuckle-headed brother making Hades do anything made the older man laugh. Being a family outcast and a King gave Hades an independence that Poseidon didn’t possess. There was very little Poseidon could make him do, underground.

“It was no problem at all, nephew. The Styx and your father demanded that I supplied you with nothing but the best my domain had to offer- and while I know you think that isn’t much-”

“I don't think that.”

Hades stared down his nose at Percy who was now on his knees pulling random assortments of clothing out of his suitcase.

“Pardon?”

“I think your home is plenty providing. After all, it provided me with Nico didn’t it.”

Percy threw a knowing smile over his shoulder as though he was sharing a lifelong inside joke with his Uncle.

Hades wasn’t sure what was so funny about the birth of his son, but maybe that was the joke itself.

“I’ll give you time to unpack. When I return I will give you a formal tour of the Underworld and take you to Styx. You won’t be working right away, but she wants to see you regardless.”

Percy nodded his head and continued unpacking his bags. Hades left Percy to finish unloading, closing his bedroom door soundlessly and walking down the winding hallway until he made his way to his private room.

Falling back on his mattress Hades sent a silent prayer to Clotho that he’d make it through the next several years. The longer he went without his wife the heavier the ache in his core became.

Percy Jackson was, ‘sin on earth’ as his son once phrased it. Having the little minx in his house was bad for his health.

“Having second thoughts, Uncle?”

Sitting up, Hades through his head in the direction of his on-suite bathroom. Peeking out from the crack in the door was headache #1.

“Dionysus, what are you doing in my room?”

Dionysus kicked the door open and walked out dripping in water and naked. Raisin purple hair stuck to his back and thighs as he lurked towards the bed. He looked the way he had a child. Smooth skin pulled taunt over long and knobby limbs. Feral and untrained, beyond ruined and beaten by life.

“I think this entire scenario is more trouble than it’s worth. That boy is trouble and you have weak willpower. I’d hate to have my favorite hangout spot flooded.”

Hades wiped his hands down his face, unbothered when he felt the bed dip beside him and the smell of Grape Fanta.

“You and your brother are getting ahead of yourselves.”

Hades paid little mind to the water that dampened his robes and sheets when his nephew fell into his lap. He was going to need a drink before dinner.

“I’m just looking out for you. And it is my job to make sure my campers don’t get into any trouble during the summer.”

“That only applies when they’re within the camp.”

“You are so unfun, Hades”

_

Hades left Dionysus tucked under the blankets of his bed. He would wake up when dinner was ready like the lazy bastard he was.

Knocking on the bedroom door that led to Percy’s temporary living courters Hades listened to the sounds of Percy bouncing around the room.

“I’m coming!”

The door was yanked open by a disheveled Percy, balancing on one leg to pull the rest of his sneaker on.

“I’m sorry, I was in the shower.”

Hades waved the thought of Percy spread out in the shower from his mind. Persephone would be waiting for him at dinner, which would be enough encouragement for the day.

“I’m going to show you all the more important locations in the castle, the bathrooms, the kitchen, exits, and bedrooms, then I’ll show you the gardens, Persephone works very hard on them, do not mess with anything out there, then I will allow Lady Styx to give you her run down. Do you have your schedule?”

“Yeah, I brought a calendar with me.”

“Good, it will make all of this easier for me.”

The tour through the castle was mundane and straight to the point. Every time they entered a room, Hades expected to walk face-first into Hermes, who was still roaming his domain, or Hypnos, who was as nosey as he was lazy.

Walked out the back of the castle Hades led Percy through his wife's prized garden.

“Oh my gods…”

“Beautiful isn’t it? My wife and her mother take great pride in it.”

Bending down, Hades picked a wild raspberry from the vine and popped it into his mouth. He would convince his wife to make a pie out of the freshly sprouted berries this weekend.

“Is that an orchard over there?”

Percy cupped one of his hands over his eyes and pointed off to the horizon where Hades knew rolling hills of green ran on for miles.

“Yes, apples of all varieties grow there, I would offer you one for hospitality’s sake, but I don’t think your father would take too kindly to my offer.”

Percy flushed a bright shade of pink, looking ashamed of himself.

“No! I was not implying that I wanted one, I've just never seen an orchard as large as that one before.”

Hades took note of the consistent nervous air surrounding Percy. He hoped that Percy would learn to relax more as time went on, it was difficult working with someone as stressed as him.

“Styx is waiting for you. Let's go, Percy.”

The river Styx protruded a foul stench that made Hades grateful that breathing was not a necessity for him. Beside him, Percy gagged on the thick fog that clung to the banks of the Styx.

“You’ve been here before, does her smell still bother you?”

Percy waved a hand around his head, trying to clear his head.

“The last time I was here I was so worried about Kronos killing me that the smell never even crossed my mind,” Percy choked on a cough, wiping at the tears that marred his vision. “Kind of wish I was going through the same danger right now.”

“Just don’t mention the smell or she’ll drag you under, and I don’t think you’ll survive the second round.”

“Noted.”

Reaching the River Styx, Hades braced himself for the arrival of the second most high-tempered woman he knew.

The surface of the river rippled like a stone had tour through the surface. Lady Styx lunged out of the water and threw her body against the shore, scaring Percy into hiding behind his uncle.

“Perseus! You have made me wait for you and now you hide from me? Show yourself!”

Hades stepped aside leaving Percy to handle the Styx's wrath by himself.

“My lady, I’m sorry-”

“Silence! I do not wish to hear your excuses! You,” The river deity pointed a long crooked finger at Hades. “Leave us, you will have your boy savior back when I am done with him.”

As awful as the idea sounded, Hades knew better than to argue with the goddess. “Please return him in one piece. His father will have my head if otherwise.”

The Styx paid no mind to Hades as she scooped Percy in her hands and flew across the water. Hades could only hope that she would return him alive.

__

By the time dinner came around Hades was beginning to think the Styx would never give the demigods back.

It would be a shame to lose a child as capable as Percy, twisted and reborn from the wrath of the Styx. Hades had meant it after all, he did not believe he would survive another swim in the Styx's waters.

Walking into the dining room and hearing the windy chimes of laughter was the first sign of life.

Speeding his footsteps Hades nearly collapsed at the sight.

Sitting at the head of the table was his golden Persephone. Her hair funneled like a fall tornado, a crown of strawberries lost in her auburn curls. Her brothers flagged her sides, asking about her travels, and teased her for her absence.

Demeter liked to hide her from the leering gaze of Olympus. They missed her too.

Demeter was not at the table but there was a plate in front of her chair nonetheless.

The room smelled of spring showers and golden apples, if Hades was not already married to her he would fall to his knees and ask again. He knew she would say yes she always did.

“Persephone.”

The sound was barely a breath of air. Distance made the heart grow fonder but it also made the body weak. Every time Persephone came home Hades was so sure he would never survive the next six-month absence without her.

If she left again he would die, this he was confident certain.

“Hades! There you are, I was beginning to think you would never show up.”

Having her in his arms again was liberating. She smelt of vanilla and cinnamon, it was impossible to imagine his brute of a brother making something so perfect.

“I missed you. I was starting to think your mother would never bring you home.”

“She's been upset about me coming back early so she wanted me to stay for longer.”

Hades paid little mind as his nephews gagged at their seats and made kiss faces at him.

Children the both of them, one of these days he'd kick them out for good.

“And I'll do it again next Summer, Hades,” Emerging from the kitchen like a bad omen was Demeter. “It is unhealthy for me sweet Kore to be down here for so long. It's unhealthy for anyone to be down here, I have no clue how those two,” she threw an uninterested and judgmental hand over her shoulders. “Can stomach being down here?”

“We love you too, Demeter.”

“If you truly feel this way, sister, then why are you still down here?”

ou here?”

Rather than answer the question, Demeter took her spot at the table and flipped through a farmers' magazine.

“So Uncle. When’s our guest of honor going to get here?” Dionysus flicked his nail against the rim of his mocktail, glaring down at the liquid like it was the source of all his problems.

“Guest of honor? Who have you let inside of our house while I was gone?”

From the dining table, Hades could see Demeter smirking over her magazine, ready to comfort her daughter and sweep her away from the ‘no-good cheating man’.

“Percy has offered us his services in cleaning the river Styx. He is currently with her.”

Persephone looked at Hades as though he was missing a head.

“Percy? That Jackson kid? There’s no way.”

Persephone crossed her arms and shook her head like the very thought offended her and needed to leave her mind. Hades didn’t let her go even as her curls whipped his face and got tangled in his own.

“It’s true. I was just as surprised as you, he’s been partially moved into one of the guest rooms, his father and Lady Styx were very thorough in making sure he had nothing but the best.”

“I hope the poor kid wasn’t disappointed when he saw what you had to offer.”

“Mother!”

Hades let go of his wife and allowed her to argue on his behalf. He could admit that he walked into the insult, and he could also admit that this song and dance of theirs was too old to humor.

“All of you, silence!”

Hades was going to have his dining room expanded if any more people joined for dinner.

Everyone watched as the river goddess squeezed her body through the tight opening of Hades’ dining room entrance.

“All you Olympians do is argue like fussy children, have you no shame.”

Perched on the Styx’s shoulder like an overweight parrot was a queasy-looking Percy Jackson.

“Honestly, aren’t they just the worst, my little champion?”

Percy smashed his lips together looking around the room as if hoping someone would stand up to the overbearing goddess for him.

“My Lady, I had not known that you would be joining us for dinner as well. What a pleasant surprise.”

In an attempt to ease the tension from the room when the ancient river entered the room, Persephone offered the deity a glass of wine. One of the better brands that had been created when Dionysus was in the prime of his worship.

The Styx gave a lazy swirl of the glass, not drinking it, but not throwing the wine glass to the floor in disgust.

“I am here because Percy is here. Say hello to him.”

The Styx presented the flustered demigod like he was a blue ribbon show dog. Percy, to the amusement of everyone else, looked the part as well. The clothes he now wore resembled the dressware of a Greek prince in the making.

The Styx had managed to wrangle Percy into a pure white chiton that fell apart into sea foam leaving Percy's legs dripping wet and leaving a mess on the floor. Clutched in his shaking hands was a golden himation that Percy desperately tried to throw over his lap.

A thin gold chain in his hair held a blue and orange jasper to Percy’s template. Matching golden bands squeezed his forearms and dangled off his wrists and ankles.

“Wow Percy, you look tasty.”

The Styx bared her fangs at Hermes, clutching the nervous demigod to her chest. “Perseus is my priest, he only wants to worship me.”

“Of course and it was foolish of me to think otherwise, forgive me, My Lady.”

No one could make fun of Hermes for wanting to move his chair as far away from Styx and Percy as the table allowed him.

“How about we just start eating? I haven’t eaten since I got down here.”

“You are not eating anything your uncle has to offer. Me and your father went through the liberty of making sure any meal prepared for you has been shipped directly from the surface.”

A brigade of skeleton chefs emerged from the kitchen, lumbering giant silver platers of surface food.

Pots of honey and olive oil, cutting boards layered with cheese and fresh bread, room temperature butter, and pitchers of water and ruby red wines that stained the lips of the clay jars.

Roasted boar and bleeding steaks passed between guests, cobs of corn being broken in half and shared from the hands of one person to another. Percy picked apart his plate when the Styx wasn’t rubbing her fork on his lips or refilling his glass with water. Conversation flowed over Percy as though he was a catfish in the Hudson.

Percy paid little mind to the new faces that would join to feast before being torn away from the table by duty and responsibility.

Once Percy felt as though his chiton could no longer contain his belly Percy tried to excuse himself from the table.

“Can I go back to my room, please? I don’t think I’m goin' to last much longer.” Percy rubbed wide circles on the underside of his belly to ease the tension. Wherever his dinner had come from was out of this world.

“Of course Percy. Do you remember where your room is?”

“I know where it is, Hades.” The Styx stood up from her seat and cradled Percy in her arms like he was her baby and not her ‘priest’. Hades watched as she phased out of the room like a phantom and tried not to rub at his nose. Having the Styx this obsessed with the newest and shiniest boy hero was going to be the downfall of his home.

“Hades, are you alright honey?”

Persephone grabbed her husband's wrist, peering at him through the gaps of his fingers.

“I need to start changing the lock in here more often.”

@hadesxpercy-events

I plan on posting the full thing on Ao3 once it's done but for right now all I have are snippets

[starl3ng]

Duplicitous Desertion

5—Last Minute

Angel sees something she shouldn’t have and Kylo Ren makes a last-minute decision. There’s some camaraderie in panicked moments. It won’t last.

Ao3 | Tip Jar | Next

Content: Kylo Ren/Fem!OC, MDNI, sexual content, eventual NSFW, self-indulgent, slow burn, canon-typical violence, mentions/descriptions of injury and death, general angst

3.2k words

On the last night they were scheduled to remain here on Varkana, Angel stayed up late at night, admiring her new weapon. Parts of it glinted like water in the moonlight as she felt its weight, heavy in her hand. She held it out, finger off the trigger, bare, pale arm extended in front of her. 

She must’ve been somewhat important to him if he spent the money to get her this. Angel supposed… that he might value what she had to offer. Actually, she’s not too sure why he wanted her to join the First Order so badly in the first place. Sure, she had been holding together her workplace on Hays Minor, but was that it? 

Angel closes one eye, pretending to aim as she points the blaster at a light blue vase that sits above the kitchen cabinets. 

As she practiced aiming, breath held, a small, audible gasp came from the only other room with a person. Ren’s room. The gasping slowed, small sobs following it, which continued to gradually get more panicked.

Angel set her gun down on the table, ears pricked. Had she heard that right? Slowly, she rises from her seat, leaving her blaster behind as she tiptoes down the dark hall that led to Kylo Ren’s room. 

Fear prickles across her skin as she leans in, ear close to the door to listen in. He’s… crying? Angel’s expression shifts from caution to something almost sympathetic. Kylo Ren was a monster. She’d seen him fight like one—kill like one. He’d killed thousands, decimated entire groups of people, and ruled with a wild and powerful iron fist. 

And he was her superior. Her boss. Angel had known distaste for most of her life. Disliked everyone she worked for. But that didn’t change her unwavering loyalty when under someone who kept their word: fed her, paid her, and kept her safe. 

So, she raises her hand while reasoning with herself. He sounded in bad shape. Panicked, gasping for breath. With her heart pounding fear through her veins, Angel grabs the door handle and pushes the door open. Nervous, she steps inside, asking, “Are you okay?”

In the dark of the room, Kylo Ren was sitting up on top of his bed, a thin sheet discarded halfway onto the floor. He was in a sweat, dark hair stuck to his pale skin as he panted.

Panicked eyes looked up at Angel, pink with tears. He was in a black shirt and shorts made from the same material as Angel’s provided sleepwear. He took a breath and quickly shouted, gripping what little sheet was left on top of his bed.  “What do you think you are doing?!” 

Angel flinches and the door swings shut behind her, slamming, and leaving her blinking in the dark. 

Beautiful. She stands still, in shock at the confirmation of her suspicions. Angel stumbles over her words for a moment, spluttering as she fumbles for the door handle. “I-I heard you crying. I thought you might be in trouble or something.” The air in his room is warm. Angel feels sweat slick down her spine, damp hands slipping on the door handle.

A shuddered breath. “I was not crying.” He turns his face, eyes clenched shut as he hissed under his breath. “It should be none of your concern what happens to me. Leave.” His voice sounded hurt, cracking in pain as he took another shuddering breath.

Angel knows it's way out of line for her to even be in here. Half of her mind screams at her to get out. Bury the other half seems rooted in place. He was just a man barely older than her, by the looks of it. Not some hardened militant with graying hair. He was crying. The pathetic attempt at denying it wasn’t going to fool Angel. 

“But you’re my superior. What happens to you happens to me too, that’s why you hired me in the first place, right? Because without you I’d be jobless.” Her words tremble from her lips as she tries to be brave and stay despite his orders. Because she wanted to. “So… so it is my concern what happens to you, sir.” She finally gets a grasp on the door handle and pushes it open behind herself, letting the moonlight spill across his pale arms where his shirt doesn’t cover and the obsidian hair that shields his face. 

She steps out, staring with flushed cheeks, ready to dart back to her room when he inevitably blows his top at her… which she was expecting. 

He reached up to his chest, clamping the shirt tightly as he took in panicked breaths. “No. You are wrong. Do not concern yourself with me… not ever!!” Trembling eyes suddenly pierced into hers.“Get out! Get out of my head!!” The objects in his room began to tremble as he yelled at her, his voice echoing throughout the whole unit.

The air felt thick suddenly, humming with that inaudible buzz that Angel had felt nights before. She stumbles back, shaky hands fumbling with the door as she slams it shut. Out here in the hall, she can still feel her fingertips twitching in reaction. 

She breathes hard, backing away before running back to her room. He looked out of control there—the force seeping out of him from sheer emotion. It was destructive. It was unbalanced.

Angel clutches her shirt, leaning against her closed door as her heart pounds away beneath her fingers. 

It was beautiful.

—

Finally, the next morning, it was time for them to go. Kylo Ren was back in his mask and usual attire, waiting for Angel in the driver’s seat of the speeder. He had not knocked at her door or announced it was time to go, he had simply just waited for her to come out on her own.

Angel slides into the passenger seat of the speeder, deathly quiet. She’s wearing her holster and her blaster, her uniform falling over them both, barely concealing them. 

She stays quiet, sunken into her seat like she’s hiding. After a long while, her voice cuts through the air, stiff and formal. “I apologize for last night, sir. It was out of line.” 

He gave no reply. Turned the speeder on with the flip of a couple of switches and quickly took off and out of the cave.

They made it to the site in record time, Ren was silent the entire time, even after shutting off the speeder and climbing out.

He walked to where the trembling man who was conducting the trade stood waiting and began to converse, getting another verbal agreement that he had in fact held up his end of the bargain this time.

Angel’s quick to get back to work, aware that she was getting too ensnared by him, enough so that it was distracting her from what was important. She had a job to do; oversee the loading of the last shipment crates. 

They’d be leaving today, so Angel was on high alert. She wanted things to go smoothly, very aware that neither she nor her superior had gotten a good night's sleep. She didn’t want any extra headache to cost her the job or her life. 

By the time the sun was high in the sky, Angel was boarding the ship along with the unit of troopers that had first arrived with them. She was far more comfortable by now with wandering where she felt she was needed. In fact, she was already sitting in that comfortable chair in that comfortable room that Ren had briefed her in before they arrived on Varkana. 

He wasn’t here yet, so Angel used the time to slump down low in her seat and stretch her legs out. She’d been standing for hours already and had been every day for more than eight days now. It felt nice to be done… but she would miss those hidden living quarters and the sunset air and that feeling of light and of weightlessness. 

Just then, the door slid open and that dark figure stepped through. He stared and Angel from the doorway as he stood there. Heartbeats passed, then breaths, then a full minute as he stared at her.

Angel blinks in surprise before she scrambles to sit up. She clears her throat, posture straight-backed as she acts like he hadn’t seen that. “I’m sure the troopers already told you but everything’s been successfully loaded. No issues; I oversaw it all.” 

He nods, glancing at the chair sitting across from her. After a moment, he finally decides where he wants to be and enters, taking the seat in front of her. The material of his leather boots strains as he sits, hands resting between his legs on his knees. His posture was relaxed, meaning Angel didn’t have to keep an air of professionalism.

A small squeak echoed in the room as he nervously bounced one of his legs, the sole of his boot rubbing against the polished floor.

Angel’s eyes dart down as she pushes her tongue against the inside of the cheek. She watches his leg bounce and ponders asking him something, but thinks better of it. Instead, she steers the conversation in a way that might—in a backend sort of way—lift his mood. Angel was sure people more unfortunate than her knew very well what an upset Kylo Ren looked like. 

“I was thinking…” She crosses one leg over the other, tilting her head, and smiling a little smugly. “Your troopers need some better melee weapons, sir.” 

“Melee weapons?” He adjusted how he sat. “I don’t see why my troopers would need to be fighting close combat and hand-on-hand,” he said as he leaned back in the chair, relaxing.

“Think about it,” she encourages him. “They’re a decent shot from afar, wonderful when they’re around five feet from their opponents, but when that opponent manages to dodge and weave past their rounds?” She snaps for dramatic effect, leaning closer. “You lose men. If I was in the resistance; I’d utilize that. Knives, swords, and lances—they’re severely underused. If they had something retractable—easily accessible from off their backs or their waist—they might survive a melee spar against a rebel more often than before.” She shrugs, leaning back in her seat and looking off in the distance like it had just been a passing thought. 

He slowly nodded in understanding, his leather-covered fingers wringing themselves in his lap. “I'll see what I can do about that.”

A little flash of disappointment appears on Angel’s face. Trying to take his mind off of whatever was eating at him had been worth a try but it hadn’t worked. She could only assume it was something very serious then, something that she, a mere weapons expert, couldn't help with. 

—

Angel was somewhat glad to be back in her room on the Star Destroyer. Of course, nothing would beat sleeping on a planet under the stars instead of in them, but there was a certain comfort to a place she knew was hers. Her room was hers, though her superior was free to come and go when he pleased, whenever he pleased. 

If it was Omaf instead of Ren, Angel would be terrified. It was a strange thing to admit to oneself; that she was more scared of her dead boss than her current one, who was perhaps the most terrifying and monstrous man in the galaxy.

But she’d never seen Omaf cry. And, well, to be blunt; he’d been neither beautiful nor gentle in any capacity.

Angel sat at her desk, sketching under a lamplight. It was technically nighttime on the Star Destroyer, but she had yet to change out of the uniform that had been waiting for her upon her return. It was plain black; a long sleeve, zip-up front with the same pants she’d seen the technicians on the ship wearing. Very comfortable and easy to move in. Better than her scraps from Hays Minor.

The door to her room hissed open as the mysterious figure she was slowly unraveling rushed in. “Design them,” he said quickly and seemingly from out of nowhere.

Angel stands quickly, dropping her pencil on her notebook. “Yes, sir.” She knew what he was talking about; the melee weapons she’d brought up a day ago. But there was urgency in his tone and in the way he held himself. “Did something happen?” 

He shook his head. “No… but you got me thinking,” he began to pace in a wide circle, wider than he had ever paced in her presence, nearly spanning her whole room. “If there was a way to make my men more successful and effective, I would do it. Any commander would, right?” He began to wave his hand in thought as he stumbled. He almost sounded passionate, more expressive than before. “And you brought it up, that had to mean you already had a vision in mind yes?”

Angel nods quickly. “Yes, actually, I find melee weapons very attractive.” She blinks and then clears her voice. “From a design standpoint, I mean.” Ignoring her red cheeks, she gathered her notebook and pencil in hand. “I’ll do multiple renditions of knives and lances. Would swords be a good option too, you think?” She’s already drawing, blowing hair from her eyes as her pencil works on the page. 

He nods. “You will need to find a way to make them resistant to plasma from blasters and sabers. My soldiers would be sitting ducks if they tried to block a blaster shot and it went through their weapon.” He walked over to where she was and looked over her shoulder to see her sketchbook.

A little embarrassed by her crude drawing skills, Angel instinctually turns to hide her book. “It doesn’t look good,” she says shyly. “But I promise my ideas are good. By… tomorrow I’ll have refined drawings for you to look at.” 

He nods. “Good, good yes.” He takes a step back, then pauses. Ren gives a final look over her then hastily exits as if he had lingered too long. He was a bit of an odd one, though anyone who murdered for the First Order had to be, one could suppose.

In what would be the Star Destroyers ‘morning,’ Angel had laid out her refined sketches on her desk. Each page had about three variations of weapons: knives, swords, and lances. Each had a recommended metal type and annotated notes and arrows sprinkled about the pages. She, however, was missing. 

Kylo Ren sat on the edge of her bed, every five minutes checking his watch before pacing for another two and then sitting back down.

He had a meeting in less than twenty minutes now where he had intended to bring Angel and her plans and present them to a board that controlled the standardizations for the troopers. Part of him knew he could just bring the paper, but he had no idea how things worked if questions were asked. Maybe it was his fault for not telling her about the meeting until thirty minutes before. Frankly, he had not even wanted to see her today, now she was all he wanted to see.

Fifteen more minutes until his meeting now. He tapped a screen up onto his wrist and called his two best soldiers to his location. They were outside the door within seconds and Ren rose to greet them.

“Do either one of you know where she has gone off to?”

The two soldiers stand tall, one of them nodding their head. “I believe she was heading down towards the crew’s quarters.” He pointed in the direction of the elevator, which wasn’t too far from Angel’s quarters.

“She wasn’t in uniform.” The other spoke up, earning a partial side-glance from the other. 

Ren quickly grabbed the uniform she had discarded on the bed he had been waiting on and pushed between the two soldiers. He needed to leave. He could not show up late, and he could not show up without her. “Find her. Find her NOW!” he shouted to them as he stomped off with her uniform gripped in one of his hands, off to search on his own.

The two stormtroopers hurried off in the other direction, marching pace so quickly it was almost a run. 

In the section of the Star Destroyer which housed its crew’s quarters and canteen, Angel stood in the steaming women’s washroom, pulling on the casual, everyday wear she wore when planning to spend her entire day at her desk. No need for a uniform when one wasn’t needed. She finishes, bidding a silent greeting to another woman who’d just walked in and started one of the many showers. Then, she exits, passing the corridor of large, private doors built into the walls here, brushing her wet hair from her eyes as she walks down the quiet hall. 

Kylo rounded the corner and nearly ran into Angel, hands slamming into her shoulders as he realized who he was looking at. “You,” he hissed as he pressed the uniform to her chest and quickly pulled the two of them into a small supply closet. He shut the door and continued to hiss at her. “Put this on. Where did you wander off to? When I needed you?”

Bewildered with eyes wide in the dark, Angel clutches her uniform to her chest. “What? Sir, what are you talking about?” The scent of her fills the tiny room, sweet and floral if not almost dreamlike. “I just got out of the shower and was heading back to my quarters…” It was the truth; her white hair, which looked gray when it was wet, still dripped occasionally onto her shoulders and left little damp spots in her clothes. 

He turned his back after he realized he had asked her to get change. “I arranged a meeting in ten minutes with some officials from our military so you could give a talk about those sketches you completed,” he hissed, taking in a breath as he began to get worked up. “If we do not show up on time, we will not be taken seriously, not to mention questioned.”

“You what?!” A fearsome snarl left Angel as she momentarily forgot her rank. “Those sketches are hardly ready for the eyes of a table! They’re for you!” Even at her opposition, there’s rustling and the sound of whipping cloth. In fact, she throws her shirt against his back. “Didn’t even tell me—fucking bastard.” She growls under her breath, bare feet padding on the floor as she slips her pants off and fumbles for her uniform’s pair.

He turns around, writhing at her name-calling, pointing, and clearly about to say something until he realizes that she was now in only her underwear. “Sh—shit!” He turned around and slammed his fist into the door, denting it. That strange ‘sound’ began to radiate from him again as he started to breathe heavily. “Listen, I admit I should have told you earlier, but I thought thirty minutes would have given you enough time.”

Red-faced and trembling with frustration and fear, Angel buckles her pants and zips up her uniform before wrenching the door open. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

Next

[pigeonwhumps]

Retraining

Sanctuary masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

@littlespacecastle @mirasmirages @flowersarefreetherapy @whumpinggrounds @cepheusgalaxy

Finn starts retraining Lea on her positions (with a Romantic focus).

1.7k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, creepy whumper, rape, stress positions, beating, electric shocks, mentioned gang rape, restraints, gag, blindfold, non-con nudity

Finn steps quietly into the little white room, watching its occupant with a smile. 436643. His acquisition. Finally. She's in a straitjacket and tight black shorts, and a leather blindfold. If his instructions have been followed correctly that should be a pecker gag in her mouth.

After seven years, he finally has the opportunity to train her.

After he's looked his fill, he crosses the room with measured footsteps, watching in satisfaction as his trainee stiffens. He can almost hear her heart rate rise and crouches down, pulling the blindfold away.

Oh, her eyes. So dark brown, so full of fear. He's getting hard already.

"Hello, 436643. I'm your new handler. I'll make you more comfortable." He pulls out the gag none-too-gently, and his trainee works her jaw a little.

"Thank- thank you, sir."

"So you have some manners. That's good. From your behaviour earlier I was beginning to think you didn't. Do you know why you and I are here?"

643 looks at her feet. "You're- you're going to train me to-to be a Romantic, sir."

"Very good. You've been very badly behaved up until now, but I'm going to turn you into the best slut here. Stop you from being so worthless that you're discarded at every turn. If you do well, maybe we can even find you an owner, which is what you want, isn't it 643?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll start today by teaching you your positions. If you do well, I'll fuck you later. If you make a mistake you'll be punished. Trust me, 643, you'll prefer the sex."

"Yes-yes, sir."

Finn smiles. Break her first, then mould and shape her until she's begging for sex. Make it her greatest reward and then she'll crave it. This is why his trainees are always the best. You have to punish them hard enough that even if they're unwilling, sex is still better. And then you can work on the specifics. Reward sex has to be comfortable, too, it can't be more painful than the punishments (at least, not at first. You have to build up to that, because a prospective might want it). Not everyone gets that.

And if all else fails, there's always the drugs.

She whines slightly as he removes the straitjacket (revealing a tight, fitted t-shirt) and he slaps her cheek. "Quiet. Nobody wants a pet who complains." 643 bows her head. Finn fiddles with the remote in his hand, bringing a concealed projector down from the ceiling and turning it on to display an image of a pet in a perfect position one. "Head up and look at the screen." She obeys. "This is position one. I want you to copy this pet, and get into each of the positions they display quickly and accurately. Prove to me you're worth another owner eventually."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. And we'll begin. Position one."

His trainee (his trainee, god, he finally gets her, he can't believe his luck) scrambles to her feet, standing straight, hands by her side and feet shoulder-width apart. She's not as fluid as he'd like, but this'll do for now. He presses a button.

"Position two. Try to be more fluid in your transition this time."

He can see an attempt at it, but not enough. She kneels down, placing her bum on her ankles. She's pretty much sitting on them.

He sighs and presses his baton to the side of her bottom, then turns it on. She jumps and yelps.

"Silence. I'll not ask again. Place your bum there, don't sit." She obeys with a flicker of a scared glance at him. "Better."

And they continue. For position 21 he folds the metal bed down from the wall, and the whole way through he's making a note of what he needs to help her learn her positions.

"How is your muscle memory so bad?" he asks, slamming the electrified cane down on her shoulders for the fifth time in this position. The cane works better than the baton for this. "No wonder you were discarded. Shoulders lower, back straight, head right down."

She doesn't make a sound this time. She can't.

By the end she's black and blue and red, and Finn sighs heavily.

"You need a lot of work. We'll do some intensive focus for the rest of today's sessions. You didn't do well enough for a reward, but you need a demonstration, and I need to test you. Remember, this would be far better if you were a better trainee." He unbuttons his trousers. "Position 22."

643 kneels, sets her bum on her ankles (without sitting this time, finally, clearly the large welts are doing the trick), and opens her mouth.

Finn smiles. The urge to ignore her position training and just have proper sex is strong, but it'll be more satisfying in the end if she's trained properly first, he knows.

"You remembered. Good girl."

He slides his cock into her mouth and she takes it. No teeth, thankfully, and although she's not really very good at it he still cums, causing her to choke and splutter.

"I'll teach you. You'll still be the best slut here by the time I'm finished. Now, stay in this position, and I'll be back shortly."

He strolls out the door, leaving her still spluttering, and heads for the nearest supply closet. He pulls out what he needs.

"Hi Finn."

He holds back a sigh. It's not that he doesn't like his colleagues, it's just that... well, yes, it's that. But the better relationships he appears to have the more leeway there is and the more off-the-record perks he's likely to get, so he turns and pastes on a smile.

"Hi Kevin. How's it going?"

"Oh, good, good. Just putting the finishing touches on my latest trainee. He ships tomorrow. Going to work some fancy cruise ship." Ah yes, that's right. He's a Combination of Romantic and something-or-other (Finn wasn't really listening). Finn didn't partake (he doesn't go for men) but he knows Kevin's been teaching his trainee to entertain multiple people at a time. "What about 643?"

"We're doing intensive position training at the moment. She really needs to learn how to swallow."

Kevin smirks. "Have fun."

"Oh I will, believe me." She's going to be under his care for months, and he'll be watching every step of the way. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get this–"he holds up his tools–"to my trainee."

Kevin nods and walks away. Finn strides towards 643's room, smile turning genuine. His trainee is still in the same position when he enters, eyes watering, looking rather desperate now.

"Good girl."

_

"Good girl."

643 shivers. Her mouth aches from being open so long, and her chin is sticky, but the praise feels so good. She watches her handler, hoping for release even though she shouldn't.

"Back to neutral. Take your clothes off, this isn't a position your owner will have you dressed for. And have a drink of water."

643 works her jaw. She doesn't think she's ever had her mouth open for so long in a day before. Or maybe it's been more than a day now. She doesn't know in here.

It doesn't matter. She's a good pet, she'll always obey and it doesn't matter when or for how long. She's good.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He nods and is quiet for a couple of minutes, watching her drink.

"We'll start with position 34. Get into it."

643 lies on her back gingerly and takes one ankle in each hand, as lightly as possible to avoid pressing too much on the injuries. She bends her legs in half and spreads them as much as she can.

It's not far. She's never been good. Her handler sighs.

"As I thought. You need help. Let me make this easier for you." He holds some rope up and ties it around her wrists, tying them to her ankles tightly and then that combination to her thighs. It's silky rope but it presses and rubs on her welts and bruises, and she bites her lip so she doesn't cry out. That would be a bad thing to do, and she's good.

She's trying so hard to be good.

Then he brings over a metal bar with cuffs at both ends and snaps them around her legs, just above her knees. He twists the bar and pulls it, and her legs spread apart to as far as is just about comfortable, and then further. So far she thinks they'll break.

"That's better. And one last thing, because there's no point you being able to hold this position if no-one can use you in it." He takes up... something, her eyes are watering from the strain already, and she cries out as he inserts it into her vagina, pushing it up. It's an intrusion and she doesn't like it, it feels wrong, the shape's horrible, it needs to come out.

No. No it doesn't. Her handler's in charge, and that's that. It's fine. She shouldn't be thinking like this, it's bad.

"Quiet. You were measured, it fits, stop making a fuss."

643 just bites back a whimper.

"Now, you're going to stay like that. Don't move, don't make a sound, for as long as I say. We're going to do this until you're used to the position. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," whispers 643, everything too much to speak any louder. And then there's even more when the thing inside her starts vibrating.

She doesn't know much, after that. She doesn't realise how much noise she's making. She doesn't notice it when her handler gags her. And she doesn't even realise when he eventually gives up, turns off and removes the vibrator, too far gone in her own head to notice anything.

She certainly notices the beatings though, hours later. When her handler has removed the restraints but she can't move because she's been in the same position for hours. They hit her chest this time, mostly, and her legs, hard enough to cause welts and bruises.

She's a bad pet, she knows she is. However much she tries she's bad and she won't find another owner to give her a chance at this rate, and then what will happen to her?

Once her handler's left, leaving her with a blindfold, gag, and a short break before the next one, she can't help but cry.

[stellernorth]

[dashboard simulator of a world without the ghostfacers effect where the true supernatural show is perceived]

🫀waityourrturn Follow

spot the difference stick figure violence and samruby moments

(1 note)

🟪 sparklezzstiel Follow

if i was the mall cop who got kid sam in trouble for stealing nail polish i would have instead helped him steal more nail polish. also i wouldn’t be a cop

(184 notes)

🧪dogsogdog4 Follow

hey i’m finally watched lazarus rising and i cannot see anything when “castiel” enters its just fully white and the static noise is kind of painful tbh lol. is this a my computer problem or what

(7 notes)

🎉 rowenapublicindecancy Follow

(52 notes)

🫐 numberfff000 Follow

you all aren’t taking like medical advice from supernatural right??? the medical advice that has resulted in canonically [checks notes] one (1) instance of blindness due to ingesting rubbing alcohol, two (2) toe amputations and one (1) case of SEPSIS?!

🎪 kevinscriminalrecord Follow

no we aren’t doing that

🌠 mixtapesextape Follow

Sounds like someone hasn't heard about the kitchen accident diy stitches girl from LiveJournal. So weird that the fandom today doesn't know about her, back in the day it was everywhere.

🎪 kevinscriminalrecord Follow

huh???

🧔‍♀️ heritagepostsof-spn Follow

Heritage Post.

(1943 notes)

🥬 fishhooklove Follow

day 1 of asking john winchester to put his cigs out on me

🤟hannahgirl Follow

could you stop

🥬 fishhooklove Follow

oh here come the buzzkills. i bet you thought it was hot when bela did it to dean. but i’m not allowed to express my interests i guess.

(218 notes)

⛸️ mangojuicecas Follow

Um Guys i had this guy i’m seeing over and we were taking. about watching a movie. and. im the most embarrassed i’ve ever been i can barely type this. and i opened my computer and clicked to the netflix tab. and it was paused mid crypt scene blowjob kill meeeee 😭😭😭

🩶 charlierowena2024 Follow

why would you ever stop halfway through. that's like looking at half of starry night then closing your eyes and leaving the museum

(78 notes)

🧑🏻‍🦳s6monster Follow

Uquiz - Which Supernatural scars are you?

I GOT RUBY’S ARM SCARS WAAAH

(3 notes)

👩‍🦰 cleopatralumineersrowena Follow

depeche mode master and servant spn bdsm and fight scene compilation amv we're really in it now

#using lyrics as censor bars is the innovation of the century

(59 notes)

🌂 kansaslawrence Follow

for everyone who said dean slamming his hand in the impala door when he was drunk wouldn't do that to his fingernails i did a similar thing (accidentally, before the show aired) #deancoded loll and it looked basically the same. here are pics of my and his hands afterwards side by side for reference

(482 notes)

🍄 0nth3h34d0f4p1n Follow

Another reason samruby is queercoded is how her spitting blood into his mouth parallels the champagne scene in my beautiful laundrette

(38 notes)

🎃 sammmyspooks Follow

2.16 "this disease pumping through my veins and i can't rip it out or scrub it clean--i've tried; i'm a whole new level of freak" and 8.21 "you used to read to me when i was little i mean really little" etc we all remember sir galahad speech. sooooo how young do you think sam was when he first tried

(739 notes)

🪼 ccoldfridge Follow

just remembered how dean tried his best to ask cas to take a female vessel so they could fuck heterosexually in ftbyam and i nearly passed out in the post office . castielllllll he was saying he wanted to fuck youuu

(63 notes)

🤵 a1waysenduphere Follow

comparing the endverse sam arc to the classic structure of a shakespearean tragedy

part 1: aloneness and exposition

keep reading

(382 notes)

👩 isolationnatural Follow

the way people #coquette #lanadelrey #femaleangst -ify claire's s12 shoplifting eating disorder getting into fights self medicating situation is so so weird and fucked up. we saw stanford era dean do literally exactly all the same shit but with him it's ohhh classic beautiful americana what a tragic figure i understand his emotions have depth and complexity THEY DID ALL THE SAME STUFF maybe think about why you see the situations differently

(294 notes)

🔵 butchruby4femanna Follow

why did i have to see dean naked that many times. just wondering again

(2 notes)

⚡ cassandrasam Follow

ok spn 5x20. so sam's kissing the demon possessing brady out of nostalgia and grief for his dead boyfriend, the demon's kissing back because he knows it will make sam more likely to listen to him, imagine if dean had walked in in that moment

❗greendean Follow

or crowley

(158 notes)

🍇 notgoodnatural Follow

hey everyone. wjsh i could have seen dean naked more times.

(10 notes)