#it’s been an hour my ears are still ringing

[belphegorey]

⌜sapphires, mammon⌟ his little human looked so pretty in gold ships ⎯⎯ mammon x fem!reader tropes ⎯⎯ vaginal sex, blushing mammon, dick piercing, scenting, size kink, praise, marking, pact marks, lots of greed

Gold. It dropped down your skin in silken cloth, caressing your body in the thin layer and making you shimmer. Necklaces and bracelets glittered like the finest of treasure on your body. Earrings dangled with more carats than anyone could afford.

The tantalising speck in your eye reflected the same ore. Your wicked smirk taunted him in more and more of the golden decadence you were encased in. The finest of prizes. The treasure all pirates would hunt for, the gift all people would die for, the only thing Mammon would kill for.

Rings hung on your fingers. Rubies, emeralds and diamonds galore. The jewel within the golden earrings, he realised, were perfect sapphires. His chest grew tight as they glittered under the chandeliers. “ Your eyes ,” you had whispered them on your first day in the Devildom, just after Mammon had given you his completely grand tour of the House of Lamentation, “ they’re so blue .”

Mammon could still recall his scoff. You had been so strange. Sure, he had only listened to you for an hour by that point, but he had decided you were not worth his valuable time. Most of his mind had been occupied by whether or not his stocks had lowered during the day. “ They are not blue ,” it had felt like an insult to him at the time. He hadn’t even acknowledged the sheer intrigue upon your beautifully shining face — whereas it was all Mammon could think of now, “ they are like… sapphires. Sapphires and gold. ”

You had nodded with a faint little smile. It was the first smile he had seen of yours. Mammon could describe each expression on your face, and the variety of your grins in great detail, but that one was the most valuable in his mind. Rare, special, and one you had shown him first. “ Sapphires and gold .” Yet again, his mind was occupied with profit, including whether or not he could find a way to sell you as an experiment to Solomon, but even then Mammon had felt pride seeing your soft expression just for him. The first time he had felt something positive toward you, a blissful premonition of your shared future. “ A beautiful combination .”

His tongue tied into knots. It was the worst torture he could have ever endured. Any punishment from Lucifer paled in comparison as he watched you descend into the room with the same small smile on your face. His skin burned hot and the rings around his fingers, one of which you had given him as a gift, did nothing to cool his fire. All his brothers stood around him, watching and praising your every movement, he was sure that Beelzebub had slipped drool onto the floor beneath them. Mammon scrunched his nose to ignore the stabbing in his spine.

His. It was what fuelled him. Greed was what flowed in his veins and blossomed in his throat. You were his. You dressed up in the finest of materials for him . You wore sapphire earrings for him . The little smile on your face was only for him . His brothers were not who you were looking for. They were not the ones who protected you and listened to your every story.

“You look darling, my love,” Asmo moved forward in a movement similar to that of a dance. His steps were delicate and smooth as he whisked you away from Mammon’s eyes. You had gone with him like a true ballerina, performing with your typical delicateness and respect. Mammon was sure that he could hear the growing orchestra of the human ballet play out in his head. Did that make him Hilarion to your Gisele? His fingers twitched as he noticed Diavolo and Barabatos greet you with smiles.

Everyone was watching you. Had you been anyone else Mammon would say it was because of the scarcity in your outfit. He knew better. You were the treasure that sparkled in eyes. No jewel, no car, not even his precious Goldie, were comparable to you. You were his human. He was your demon. Your first demon.

Mammon would not allow himself to just watch you be flaunted by his brother. He jumped to action, the orchestra in his mind crescendoed to a glorious triumph, and Mammon made his way across the room. Your golden dress and the sparkling smile guided him forward, the itching in his back of wins that threatened to burst through fuelled him further. Your eyes, lit brighter than the chandeliers above you, found him and your smile returned. Big, toothy, mischevious. The hand weighed down in glorious rings ran softly against your hip, the jewels catching the light gloriously.

Temptress. You were no worse than one of Asmodeus’ succubi. Mammon loved it. Your tantalising gaze licked at his greedy veins and pressed him to act further. To let loose. To properly remind everyone who you were meant for.

“I’m glad you could make it, Mammon!” Diavolo’s regular grin greeted him while Barbotos stood to his left, arms folded in the usual servant manner. Both of them stared into his body, Mammon could feel the eyes as they fell to the flood of green surging off his soulless body. He attempted a smile to placate the royal before him, but your sparkling person kept poking at the corner of his eye. It felt just wrong to look away from you, especially when the hungry gaze of all the higher demons in the Devildom were staring right at you. “Lucifer had said you would be working tonight.”

He had never been so lucky in his life. It was his own curse to step with misfortune haunting his shadow. His modelling job would always run overtime and Mammon would be left hanging from the roof tied in electric cables as punishment for his tardiness. But not that day. Not only did it finish early, a feat in itself, but Mammon was allowed to witness you in all golden glory. “I was gonna, yeah, but we finished early so i’m able to come and celebrate ya.”

He felt your hand before he properly realised you had moved to stand right beside him. Your touch was feathery, slowly running across his back to tug on the belt loop along his hip. The fire beneath his skin was red hot, your touch was the ice he needed to cool down. A shudder ran down Mammon’s spine as you leaned into him, he felt the fire rise on his cheeks at the stance. So blatant, so obvious, it showed that he was dangled on your arm. Him. No one else.

“But,” you sighed and finished your demonus with a low gaze on the floor. One of the fingers you had caught around his belt loop reached for his hand, linking his finger to yours. His lips were sealed tight as the blushed tortured his physique, “it is a shame but I need to steal Mammon for the night. You won’t mind if we leave a bit early, right?”

Diavolo waved off your worry with a hearty grin, moving with your lie though Mammon (and he was sure you as well) knew that he caught your lie easily. “So long as you come over for afternoon tea with Barbatos and I this week, it will be fine.”

“Of course,” you grinned with a wickedness he could only compared to Satan, though that in itself was like a cat. Your chest pressed into his arm as your grin only grew further. “Should I bring over some cakes?”

It was Barbatos who answered the question; with only a simple shake of his head. “That is unnecessary. I will make sure to prepare both yours and the Young Lord’s favourites for our tea.”

“Delightful! I’ll see you both then,” you bid them both a sweet goodbye with a wave of your fingers. Mammon felt himself stuck in a frozen manner as you pulled him away to the door of the castle. All he could register was the cooling touch of your hand holding his own and the sparkling treasure gracing your body.

Mammon was not one for sharing. He never shared his favourite meals. He never shared his time with you. And he certainly did not share his possessions. The gold bars he kept hidden in his safe, the necklaces and bracelets he never intended to wear and Goldie herself were only meant for him. Yet, he needed to see you dressed in his finest possessions.

It sounded glorious. His bed covered in cash and jewels, with his most important treasure laid in the centre, covered in the jewellery he hoarded and nothing else. Just waiting for him to touch. Begging for him. Needing him.

Your visage for the night’s gala was just a little treat for the reality of his dream.

“Where are ya takin’ me?” He tugged on your joined hands in resistance and grimaced as the collar of his suit choked on him. Mammon wanted nothing more than to follow your every step, but his own attitude had to intervene. The door of the castle opened and granted Mammon a warm breeze through the Devildom night. The moons were tall in the dark sky, shining bright enough to make your jewellery glitter.  “Lucifer is gonna punish us. Nah, he is gonna punish me and then say I took ya myself.”

You giggled and he felt his tongue tie together. He loved that noise, more than when the slots would make that fantastic winning chime. “I just had a thought,” you stopped walking and turned around to smile at him. His hand was still caught in yours, and you pulled him in so that your chest pressed together. “Everyone is with Diavolo, so we have the house to ourselves…”

Evil temptress. You were pure evil! Mammon groaned and hid behind his free hand, the blush burning red on his cheeks. “You can’t say that kinda stuff,” he whined into his palm, and your resounding giggle only made him whine louder. It was wicked and you knew it! Maybe you really were part succubi. “It’ll gimme ideas.”

You moved his hand from his face, lips dangerously close to touching him. Mammon was frozen once again. Does he do it. Does he grant himself the kiss he had dreamed of? He needed it, more than he needed the newest 666 Lexura (on Lucifer’s dime) but he couldn’t if you weren’t wanting it. Mammon would wait for an eternity for you. “And if I want you to have those ideas?”

From then on, it was Mammon who led you to the House of Lamentation. The searing burn of his skin was nothing to the icy touch you offered, he needed it all over his body. Your hand was tightly gripped in the veiny grasp of his fist, but you no made no cries.

There was only gleeful laughter as you ran along beside him. Mammon didn’t allow himself the pleasure of moaning over your beautiful laugh, not when he knew what was awaiting him inside the large doors it the house. As much as he did love your laugh, he was just dying to hear your moans instead.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you look so determined,” you whispered it into his ears as he fumbled with the handles of the front door. Stupid faulty lock. Stupid prank from Belphegor to annoy Lucifer. Your lips were inches from his ear, more teasing speech sounding like the song of sirens to lure him in, “want me that bad?”

No speaking. If he spoke Mammon knew he would mess everything up and wake up from the dream he had to have been having. Instead he successfully pushed the front door open and whisked you away to his bedroom. Where you belonged.

It all just felt so right having you inside his space. Your scent has gotten so faint over the days it had been since your movie night together. The aura you held, so mischevious in its purity, tainted by his pact. He could see the black blemish along your soul all around you, burned by the mark along your sternum.

And yet, it just fuelled him so much more. It was all his. You were his. You were dressed up all for him, ready to be coated in his treasure, and smiling at him in wait for his next step. You stood in front of his bed, fingers trailing down the golden dress you tortured him with. It would be so easy to push you back onto the mattress and ravage you as he had desired for far too long.

Mammon was sure that his breathing was ragged and shallow, he must have resembled a monster. His hair was messed from his own awkward hands as he tried to stay calm and the tingling of his wings still taunted his back in wait. One more step and the control over himself would combust.

He was always weak when it came to you.

“Mammon,” you whispered his name like it were a crime. So soft spoken, not wanting to break the bubble. Your mischief, the teasing, it had gone. All that stood left before him was the radiating greed from your form, drowning his mind in the finest of liquor, “I need you.”

Snap . He heard the crack of his wings hitting the air before Mammon properly felt them extend from his back. They tore through the suit he wore as he pounced on you, your back falling to the mattress under his body.

You were so small. He was not the largest demon, but there was something in the sheer difference in your frames. Your face was cast in his shadow, your alluring eyes large as you stared up at him. There was no fear when his claw tore through the front of your dress.

Instead, there was a bright smile, the one he loved, when you realised what he was doing. “Yours, Mammon,” your hands found his hair and the horns protruding from them, pushing your chest closer to his face. The torn gold along your chest had revealed your glorious body to him, but most importantly, the mark that made you his.

“Mine,” the word was like a growl on his tongue as he watched the mark. It glowed in his presence, even more of the glorious gold that he loved. “Had to watch ya be shown off. I felt sick watchin’ but I couldn’t look away from ya, Treasure.”

You lifted a leg around his hips to press yourself against his erection. Mammon felt his cheeks go red from the shame but your shaky moan at the touch melted it away. His greedy little human, it felt amazing to know he was not the only one desperate. “Did I look pretty for you?”

“So so pretty,” he pushed up the skirt of your dress, letting the long material bunch at your waist. He wouldn’t let you take it off, maybe not for a long time. His colour was just too beautiful on you. “Gonna need you to wear this every day.”

You shuddered against him as Mammon ran a long finger along your cunt. No underwear. He had always heard Asmo talk about how you couldn’t wear panties with some clothes, but he just thought it was a lie. And yet, you were on display for him just like that. “That may be hard since you tore the front,”

“Ain’t no one else seeing you in this.” No. No, he couldn’t be having that. Even if you were in an outfit that covered all your skin under hundreds of layers, Mammon would still prefer it for his eyes alone. The wet heat on his fingers made his head spin in horny glee, the sweet smell of you making his eyes roll. “Just for me from now on. Got it? Me.”

You pushed against his seeking hand, rubbing more of your slick onto his palm. His erection throbbed in his pants. He needed to feel you. Feel all of you. “I sound like a doll then.”

His wings flapped and Mammon bit his lip. Doll. That worked. He rather liked it. “My doll, though, not my brothers,” he dug his head into the crook of your neck. Your smell was so strong, it streamed from every pore in your skin, he felt intoxicated. The growing lust, the overwhelming greed, even the licks of pride that often made his face scrunch were delicious from you. “Need ya really bad, human.”

You stroked his hair and rolled your hips against him. “Then, have me,”

The soft words had spurred action within you both. Mammon had gone into his back while you adjusted yourself to straddle him, his erection flush against his toned chest and leanings beads of white. Your eyes never strayed from his dick, he felt like glowing under your approving gaze.

“You have piercings?” Mammon nodded with a smirk, shining from the wetness he could feel growing on his thighs. You liked it. He should have known you would.

Your hand gently went to grasp his cock, thumb running along the golden piercing beneath the head. His moaned through his teeth at your curious touch. You did it again, gauging his reaction and milking another bead of precum from his slit.

Mammon noticed the bite of your lip, the slow grinding of your hips and the flooding lust in the air. He wanted to show off for you, tease you, and simultaneously ask if you wanted him to get more. “I really like it,” you eventually said, rubbing your palm against him as you lifted yourself into the air.

He dug his fingers into the mattress beneath him. It was happening. The thing he had craved. Something Mammon would have sold all his belongings for. You. He got to have you!

You aligned his dick with your entrance, whimpering as he entered. Your golden dress had fallen down and hid the act from his eyes, which may be a good thing because Mammon knew he would never be able to tear his eyes from it. He groaned as you slid down the shaft, taking more and more of him in such a slow movement that it felt torturous.

Until, he was completely in you, pushing you and stretching you out. He could feel your cunt tight and warm around him, throbbing in need for only his touch. Your face was scrunched in desire as your lip wobbled. His little human. All full.

“Doing so well, Treasure,” he moaned the praise into the air, his hand right on your hip. The glow of his pact mark fuelled the flames inside his body, only triumphed as your tits slipped from the torn dress. Mammon couldn’t help himself. “My human. Lookin’ all pretty for me,” he continued to whispered all the praise he had ever thought of when it came to you, moving himself up and closer to your chest.

When his mouth kissed the skin around your breast, your body shook as you moaned. He graced his fangs to see your reaction — it was just as needy as the last. You began to move on his dick, bouncing up and down while you pulled on his hair.

More marks. He wanted to leave enough marks on you that no one would dare go near you. Mammon squeezed his hand in your waist as he bit gently on your chest, and to his surprise you giggled through your shaky moan. “Am I your property now, Mammon?”

“Not property,” he was quick to dismiss that. You were his, but not an object. You were his favourite treasure, someone to worship. “You’re mine though. Don’t ya forget that or else.”

Your movements were that of a succubi. You’d managed to get him nice and deep inside you, threatening his control over just filling you up with his cum each time, then pulling him out so just his tip would kiss your opening.

And yet, your face was angelic and oh so sweet. Mammon was enamoured. “I won’t ever forget,” he couldn’t help but nuzzle into your neck again. It felt so safe. Mammon kissed your neck as he moved his other hand to your hip, moving your body with your bouncing, adding just the slightest bit more speed.

His favourite doll. His sapphire and his gold. His.

© belphegorey 2024 ⌜18+ banner from @/cafekitsune thank you <3⌟

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me! mammon #om! mammon #shall we date mammon #obey me smut #obey me! smut #obey me! shall we date smut #obey me! mammon smut #mammon smut #mammon obey me #mammon obey me smut #om!swd smut #om!swd mammon #om! smut #om! mammon smut #⌜writing⌟

[multifandomgirl08]

Be Something You'll Love and Understand [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Daniel Ricciardo (Platonic)

Summary: He knew that he should have called his mom yesterday but he was still wrapping his head around the idea of being a father.

Warning(s): N/A

A/N: This is set the day after the Prologue.

Title taken from Simple Man originally by Lynyrd Skynyrd covered by Shinedown.

Words: 1.6k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

Max had never felt more sleep-deprived in his life. Even staying up for a 24-hour endurance race had never made him this tired.

Daniel had been at his apartment last night helping him with Nico. He helped Max order formula, clothing, and diapers. Most of it would be delivered today. Both he and Daniel had to look up instructions on how to make the formula out of powder and warm water, and then how to put the bottles together so that Nico could eat.

Right now he was running on less than 8 hours of sleep, and Daniel was sitting on his couch with Nico who was finally asleep after a diaper change and a bottle that he didn’t end up screwing the portion size up.

He pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his pants and dialed his mom. He knew that he should have called her yesterday but he was still wrapping his head around this whole thing.

He let the phone ring in his ear for a few seconds before he heard the dial tone come to an end. “Mum?” He asked.

“Max?” She questioned back. The sound of her voice made some of the tightness in his shoulders go away.

“I… I need your help.”

“What’s going on Max?” He could hear the unmistakable sound of concern in her voice. It was something that he was still growing used to at times after not having remembered much of the time that he got to spend with her when he was a child.

“You remember Amelia?” Max’s eyes fell over the open letter that laid face up on his coffee table. Her scribbled words ran through his head. You’re the best thing for him. He had taken to finally reading it when Nico had managed to fall asleep around 4 am.

“Yes,” She started to say.

“She, she was pregnant when we ended things. I didn’t know, she never told me.” He started with. He was trying his best not to break down into tears. “Mum, she left me the baby.”

Sophie said nothing to him for a few moments before he heard, “Oh Max.”

“I don’t know what to do. Daniel has been helping me since I found out yesterday.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” She calmly said. “I’m going to pack a bag, and then I’m going to take the first flight that I can to get over there.”

Max just nodded even though his mother couldn’t see. “Has the baby eaten?” She asked.

“He ate an hour ago, Daniel finally managed to get him to sleep.” Max could hear the distant sound of typing through the phone.

“That’s good. Let him sleep for as long as possible. You and Daniel can take turns with him, and nap in between until I get there.” 

“Mum?” He half asked.

“Yeah, Maxy?”

“Thank you, I love you.” She was dropping everything to fly to Monaco to help him with this. She didn’t have to do it. She could have just stayed home and tried to help him with this from a distance.

“I love you too, I should be there in a couple of hours. My flight should get in by 4, I’ll take a cab so you don’t have to pick me up. Okay?” Max tried to find the clock on the wall and saw he would only have to wait 5 hours until his mother would be here.

“Okay.”

After getting off the phone with Sophie, Max was able to get some sleep. It wasn’t much, he had been awake when Daniel had gone up to his apartment to grab a change of clothes, Max’s eyes started to feel heavy as he was lying on the couch. At some point he woke up, forcing his eyes open to see Nico still on his chest, and the clock read 4:29 pm.

He could hear the sound of keys banging against the front door to his apartment before the door opened fully.

“He’ll be happy to see you.” He heard from Daniel. “He’s out of his element with this.”

He couldn’t hear his mother’s response, but he did see her dark hair from where he was lying on the couch.

“He was still sleeping when I went to let you in.” Max could hear the wheels from what he could only assume was his mother’s suitcase.

“Max?” Sophie asked, looking out into the living room. He tried to move up the couch without moving Nico. As he tried to sit up, Nico let out a disgruntled whimper.

He met the eyes of his mother and could see the shock in her eyes. It was one thing for him to tell her that he had a child but another to see him with a baby swaddled into his chest.

“Hi Mum,” He did his best to move Nico into the crook of his arm. He didn’t want to wake him, but he did want to sit up on the couch.

Sophie made her way over to him leaving her bag by Daniel. She moved to sit next to him before peering into the bundle of blankets to see the little boy sleeping. She said nothing as she looked at Nico.

“Can I hold him?” She asked.

Max didn’t even have to think about moving Nico into her arms. He saw her lean back into the couch and then placed Nico into her arms. He could tell from the look on his mom’s face that she was a little shocked to be holding a baby that he had a part in creating.

In the background, Max heard Daniel mention something about putting Sophie’s bag in the guest room before leaving the two of them in the living room.

“How are you managing?” She asked. Max couldn’t help but slightly shake his head.

“Not well,” If his mother wasn’t holding Nico he would have put his head into her lap. He wanted to tell her what Jos had done, but he also didn’t want more bad blood between his parents. It was only in the last few years after he turned 18 that his parents had finally managed to co-exist with each other peacefully.

“What are you not telling me?” His mother knew him too well.

“Dad…” He tried to start saying, “He knew about Nico. He tried to pay Amelia off so I wouldn’t know about him.”

Sophie said nothing, she just kept rocking Nico in her arms for a few moments.

“Was it because of her… or was it about you racing?” Max knew that she didn’t really have to ask.

“You already know the answer.” He said flatly.

“Well, I’m sure to him he was doing what he thought was right by your career.” Max knew that his mother didn’t have to defend Jos or take his side on things. Was Max horrible for wanting her to tell him that Jos was out of line for making choices for him? Max was 22, he didn’t need his father going behind his back and making choices for him that he didn’t agree with.

“But what about what’s right for him?” Max gestured to Nico.

His mother gave him a soft smile, “Well, as his father. It’s up to you to figure out what you think that’ll be as he grows up.”

Max felt like he could start spilling all of the things that he didn’t want to do as a parent, every possible insecurity that he had, and the concerns about how all of this was going to work in the long run.

Max was grateful that Nico was in Sophie’s arms while the thoughts were running through his mind.

“How’s he doing, sleeping, eating?” Sophie gestured to her arms. Max started to talk about Nico’s odd sleep schedule. Every three hours almost on the clock he needed to either eat or sleep. 

Max talked about the formula mishap, he had given Nico only three ounces, then he was still crying because he was hungry. Max made more but Nico only drank a bit not finishing the rest of the bottle.

When Nico started to get fussy, Max moved to the kitchen assuming that he wanted to eat, but instead, Sophie stuck her nose right up to Nico’s diaper and declared he needed to be changed. Max pulled out the diaper bag that Nico came with, finding the last two diapers left. Sophie had asked for a soft towel since they would be changing Nico on the couch since Max didn’t have a changing table.

Sophie oversaw as Max changed Nico’s diaper, only suggesting to not strap him into it so tight, after all, it was a diaper, not a racing seat with five-point harness. Max got it right leaving a two finger space in the front before snapping the bottom of Nico’s onesie back in place.

“Have you figured out how you are going to manage your schedule and him?” Sophie had asked after Daniel had offered to order all of them dinner.

“Not yet, I thought a nanny for when I am not home but for now, I can take care of him until I have to leave for promo in February.”

“That’s smart,” Daniel said. “Gives you a few months with ‘em before the season.”

Sophie gave Daniel a soft smile.

“I’ll stay with you until you find someone you like.” Sophie was quick to offer.

“Mum, no.” He immediately protested. Victoria just had Luka and his mom should be back in Belgium helping her, not worrying about him.

“I know what you’re thinking, but Victoria has Tom. You need me right now, just until you find a nanny and figure out a schedule for my grandson.” Sophie looked over to the couch where Nico was lying between a few pillows. He was fast asleep for now having just finished a full bottle of formula at the correct portion size.

He wanted to protest again, stating that he could figure it out. Sophie gave him a soft but stern look that he read as, I’m not leaving, deal with it.

Mini Verstappen taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie, @mynameisangeloflife, @ursforever129, @aundercover, @bborra, @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @barcelonaloverf1life, @taylorslovesswifties13, @konsti081, @mellowarcadefun, @smnthnclj, @brekkers-whore, @lpab, @thedecalcomania-blog, @xoscar03, @em-gvf01, @haikyuen

#mini verstappen series #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #mv1 imagine #mv33 x reader #mv1 x reader #mv33 imagine #mv33 x you #mv1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic

[taintandviolent]

Like Right Now? ; Peter Maximoff x Reader

summary: Part 2 of this fic! Peter waited as long as he could - which wasn't very long. He wants round 2 and you do too. Like.... right now.

word count: 3.3K words!

w a r n i n g s: shameless smut, smut with a little plot, unprotected sex, couch sex, sex while parent is in the same vicinity dry humping, kissing, neck kissing.

a/n: not beta-read. by popular request... aaaah I'm still as nervous as I was posting the first part of this! anyway, I hope it's good and satisfies the peter craving! as always, sorry for any clunky weirdo writing!!!

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

With a contented sigh, you opened the door to the house you shared with your mother. Even though you were technically an adult now, you had decided to stay with her, helping her around the house. A child of divorce, you’d always been a little overprotective of her, and couldn’t imagine her alone. 

“Did you have a good skate, honey?” Your mother asked, watching from the living room as you hung your skates on the hook by the door. With your thumb, you furiously rubbed off a scuff mark off the shiny surface and nodded. Boy, did you. Best skate you’d ever had. Using your heels to slip your sneakers off, and kicking them towards the rest of the shoes, you laughed. “Yeah, I went real fast tonight and–” 

The phone interrupted your next words, ringing shrilly. You practically stumbled towards it, reaching out for it like a parched man reaches for water. Your insides wound themselves in knots, just knowing that it was Peter on the other end. 

“H-hello?” 

“Hey cutie.” He’d waited. As long as he could without losin’ his ever loving mind. Which, he wondered if he already had, considering how bad he was aching to hear your voice again. Maybe he’d already lost it. 

“Hi,” you hummed, turning away from your mother. You brought your tone lower, hushed. 

“Did you just get home?” 

“Yeah, Peter, I did.” 

“Dang, slow poke. I’ve been home for a while.” 

“Okay, well,” you laughed. “That’s not fair.”

“When do we get to uh… hang out again? Huh? I’m already jonesin’ to see you again. With or without skates.” Peter adjusted the phone against his ear, waiting. 

You peeked around the corner. Your mother was busy with her program, no longer paying attention to your conversation, likely assuming that it was just one of your girlfriends. How wrong she was… 

“Hang out? Is that what we did?” 

“Yea’, er… somethin’ like that.” 

“Whenever you want.” 

“Aw, man, don’t say that…” 

“Why not?” You ducked around the corner and plopped down on the third step of the staircase, winding the cord around your fingers. You knew why. You heard the way that Peter’s breath hitched in his throat, even through the phone. 

“Like… now?” 

“...Right now?” You asked back, almost in a teasing tone. “Like right now?”

“Yeah!” His tone was bright and excited, and it sounded like he was already out of breath.

“My house?” The suggestion was brave, but you knew your mom would be going to sleep within the half-hour. If you stayed quiet, she wouldn’t hear you over her bedroom TV. 

“Yeah! I mean…” He cleared his throat, trying to act casual. Way more casualness was needed - he was acting super lame and way too into you. Maybe you liked that. Maybe you didn’t. He couldn’t risk it. “Sure. If you want.” 

You began whispering your address, your eyes flitting to the living room. Your mother rose from the chair and went to the kitchen, none the wiser. You continued, knowing Peter had already committed it to memory. Your mother leaned down to cup your face as she went up the stairs and mouthed goodnight, and you covered the receiver with your hand.

“Night, mom. Love you.” 

“Be there in a flash.” You heard him say. 

You wanted to tell him to wait, but the line was already dead. As you moved, your hands shook and fumbled the receiver, dropping it once before getting it back on its cradle. Your mother had hardly gotten up the steps, and he’d be there any second, if he wasn’t already. You heard the door click shut and heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Mom?” You said, testingly. She didn’t respond, so you launched your body up the carpeted stairs, running up them like a four-legged animal. Her door was shut, nothing but the dull glow of her bedside table seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. You raced back down the stairs, your socks padding quietly down them, despite the speed.

Your bedroom was down the hall, past the kitchen. You’d never been gladder to be on the bottom floor. You crept into your room, edging the door shut until the latch clicked into place and as it did, paused to laugh at yourself; you were doing everything so sneakily, as though you were a child acting out. You were a grown woman, albeit still in your mom’s house, but the point remained. Pushing aside the curtains, you carefully maneuvered the window up. It was a warm summer evening, there was no reason why you wouldn't open your window - perfectly normal, if your mother heard it. You stuck your head out. No Peter. Surely, he’d have been here by now. You breathed, looking at the base of the tree outside your window. A squirrel skittered up into the branches. Just as you were about to pull your head back inside, Peter’s head comically poked out from the corner of the house. He had clearly been standing by the front door, which horrified you.

“Took so long, I was about to knock – .”

You shushed him, and whispered harshly for him to get inside. He stuck one leg in, climbing in carefully – the last thing he needed was to be a total klutz and eat it on your bedroom floor.

“You’re crazy, you know that? The front door!?” 

“Cool your jets, babe. You didn’t tell me which window was yours. Where’s your mom?” 

“Upstairs, hopefully sleeping.” 

“Good,” he murmured into your lips, suddenly in front of you. He’d caught you off guard with his speed, but like everything he’d done from the moment he’d complimented your skates, he was so frustratingly cute. The kiss was warm and soft, you were in no position to resist it. He kissed you back towards the bed, his hands cupping your breasts, thumb tweaking your nipples over your shirt. Which reminded you… you were still in your skating clothes. There was far too much fabric in between his thumb and your nipple. 

“Lemme’,” you murmured sloppily into his lips, before finally pulling back. “Lemme’ change first, okay? It’ll look less suspicious. Who needs to cool their jets, huh?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Hands up, Peter took a step back, watching you as you sauntered off towards your small closet. Your hips swayed back and forth to a song that wasn’t playing. Probably something you’d heard at the skating rink. You could admit it, you were putting on a bit of a show in hopes of arousing him. 

Still though, you hurried, sliding the doors open and pulling your shirt over your head. You reached around and undid your bra, glancing back at him cheekily. Woah, jackpot… he thought, hoping, that at that point, he wasn’t drooling like a cartoon dog. He was watching you intently, a crooked grin plastered on his face. Neck turned, you held his gaze, daring him to look as you slid your shorts and panties down over the curve of your ass. He looked, but it was so fast of a peek that it was impossible for you to notice. Now finished with your impromptu strip tease, you pulled a sleeping shirt from the shelf and threw it on, spinning on your heels to face him. 

Clad in nothing but the oversized t-shirt, you marched back to Peter, who had taken a seat on the edge of your bed. You climbed behind him, sliding your hands up the round muscle of his shoulders. On your knees, you were just taller than him and decided to take advantage of that by kissing his neck, slowly. You nipped here and there, suckling in other places while your hands explored the front of his shirt, ghosting over the faded print. 

Peter started sweating, and the stiffness between his legs got worse. Much worse. There was no hiding it, or ignoring it and he could’ve sworn that he heard you giggle behind him. His expression was a melange of pain and pleasure, and as your hands neared his crotch, he couldn’t really tolerate much more of your tender kissing… 

“Babe,” In a blur of motion, your back was pressed against your mattress, and he was back to tweaking your nipples again, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. The action made you squirm. “Your foreplay is bitchin’, but you’re driving me crazy. Loco. I feel like I’m gonna’ bust.”

“Okay, so now what?” 

“Now what?” He repeated, almost mockingly. “It’s my turn.”  

His hand trailed down from your breasts over the curve of your stomach to the soft mound between your legs. You felt a buzzing directly on the sensitive bundle of nerves and looked down, equal parts confused and aroused. It was his hand, and not a vibrator, but instead of seeing his fingers move back and forth, you saw a flesh-coloured blur. Everything you’d learned about fingering… in the span of a few hours, he’d completely shattered. So, he could finger-fuck you at super-speed, and he could literally vibrate your clit. Of course he could. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, an intoxicating lilt to your words. Peter groaned, and ground his hips against the side of your thigh. His finger dipped down, collecting some of your warm, slithery wetness and pulling it back up, smearing it around your folds.

You clapped your hand over your mouth, legs quivering. The pad of his middle finger continued tapping your clit and you felt the very rapid climb of your orgasm. Without warning from him, Peter’s hand drifted away from your pussy, his slick fingers gripping your thigh. “Babe, I’m thirsty.” 

“Wh-what?” Breathless and sweaty, you quirked a brow at him.

“You got a soda or something?” 

“Uh, yeah, in the kitchen. Y-you’re really thirsty right now?” 

Before you could protest, you stood in the kitchen. He had opened the fridge, popped the tab on a can of Coke, guzzled it, and tossed it into the bin. You blinked. “What… Peter…!” You sniggered, covering your mouth to muffle the sound of your own voice. Your mother’s bedroom was right above the living room, and the last thing you wanted was her to wake. 

He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t wait any longer. He’d gotten you downstairs, and now it was time to up the ante. Wrapping his arms around you, Peter zipped to the couch, and could’ve fucked your wet little cunt right there on the sofa. In the span of a few seconds, Peter could’ve drilled his aching cock inside of you, just long enough for you to feel it, just long enough for him to bust inside you and just long enough to make you quiver. Instead, he hovered over you, looking deep into your eyes, chest heaving. 

“What’re you so nervous for, babe? You know that the second I hear footsteps, we’d be back in your room.” 

“Peter, we can’t… my mom is right above us, dude!” 

“You’re no fun, c’mon.” He craned his neck down, pressing a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone. “C’mon, babe.”

You whimpered, rolling your lips inward and your eyes upward. For being such a top tier goof ball, he was unnervingly good at making you feel like your entire body was on fire. That electric current that you felt at the roller rink was back, buzzing through you at a high voltage.

“Peter…” you begged, hoping he’d change his mind because the reality was that he’d get his way if he didn’t. You were too turned on and too into him to say no. 

“C’moooon.” Another kiss. Internally, he was ripping stuffing. His confidence was outrageous, where did he get the balls? He wished you were holdin’ his – no. Stop right there. You ran your tongue along your teeth, and Peter watched the wet muscle as it swept across the enamel, glistening. 

“You promise?”  you asked. 

He nodded, too eagerly, his silver hair flopping with the motion. “Scout’s honour, or whatever. She won’t know a thing.” 

With a little huff, you spread your legs, allowing him in. Peter wasted no time in letting that wet, aching monster free, immediately pulling his gray boxers down over his balls. You pressed your hips into the couch cushions, backing away from the heat that met your groin and Peter followed them, pressing his hips right back into you. He groaned breathily, rutting his hips. You were soft and warm underneath him, and felt so soo good. The shaft of his cock met your wet folds, and he immediately found a rhythm, humping you in long, steady thrusts that had you curling your toes. Every time the velvet plush head of his cock bumped into your swollen clit, you whimpered. Ecstasy deluded your senses, eyes rolling back in your head.  

“Peter, oh my god…!” His hand clamped over your mouth, his dark eyes widening in a warning. 

“Shhhhhhh –” 

You nodded underneath his grip, remembering the threat of the situation. Peter kept his hand on your mouth, pressing tightly against your soft lips. He reached down, taking hold of his cock and pumped it in and out of his own fist a few times before lining up with your entrance.

“Ready?” 

With lusty, half-lidded eyes, you nodded. 

Peter pushed his leaking tip inside of you, then with a shaky breath, sunk the rest of the way in. The sensation of your walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock was indescribable; hot, tight pleasure coursed through your body in waves as Peter found his rhythm. Fast. Fast rhythm. He fucked like a teenage boy, and you liked that – his bunny humps were deep and intentional, like the crimson head was trying to find the deepest point inside of you. Peter pressed his lightning-bolt patterned socks against the armrest of the couch, using it as leverage to push himself inside of you.

His cock made slick by your arousal, his hips moved against yours rapidly, hammering your cunt in a way that you physically thought impossible. In the darkness, you saw Peter smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual below him. Your tits bouncing underneath the shirt with each thrust, your eyes wide and lust-blown. His gaze dropped to them, watching, entranced. With your free hand, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up to your collarbone and letting your breasts fall free. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. 

Skates fast. Fucks fast. Cums fast. You thought, watching as his face contorted, his eyebrows knitting together, jaw dropping. His breaths came out in hurried little huffs as he pumped inside of you, filling your cunt with sticky, white heat. 

“Honey?” 

He froze. You froze. Stiffly, you turned your head towards the staircase, looking up into the darkness, petrified. 

“YEAH! YEah, mom, just… getting a drink!” You tried to keep your voice level, but there was something so inherently naughty about having a guy on top of you, his dick inside of you while you spoke to your mother. Your stomach was tight, muscles burning with the contraction. 

“Oh, okay! I thought I heard - I don’t know. I love you!”

“I love you too! Goodnight!”

Once the door clicked shut, and your head snapped back in Peter’s direction, who was still panting on top of you. Slapping his pectoral muscle hard, you mouthed go go go go! Naturally, before you’d finished the last ‘go’, Peter had pulled out and you were back in the safety of your bedroom before a drop of cum had time to leak from your swollen cunt. Back on your bed, your hair splayed out on the satin pillowcases. Peter was at your side, drawing circles on the exposed flesh of your stomach. 

“Did you uh -”

“No… I didn’t have a chance.” 

“Oh, uh… sorry about that. That happens a lot, y’know? Part of the whole speedster thing, I can’t always –” 

“Peter… shhh… it’s cute. It means you like me.” 

He pointed a finger at you, pushing his bottom lip into his top. “That… that is true. Hey. I have an idea.”

In the darkness, only illuminated by the moonlight that filtered in through the window, you saw Peter sink down to his stomach, resting between your legs. He moved both legs atop his shoulders, pulling you forward.

You felt a hot breath against your thighs, and whimpered. When a warm tongue licked between your wet folds, you moaned out, grinding your head back into the pillow. Peter slipped a single digit into your cunt gently, twirling his tongue around your clit as he did. He pumped it in and out a few times, feeling the way your cunt squeezed around him. Your wetness coated his finger, dripping down the length into his palm. 

You felt your cunt clenching, uncontrollably. Peter did too and withdrew his finger. His tongue flicked at your clit rapidly, the wet, slick sounds filling the quietness of the bedroom. His dark eyes flitted up to yours, watching every minute expression that flashed across your face. 

“S-slow down…” you whispered, not loud enough for him to hear. It was more of a desperate breath in the shape of the words. He didn’t hear you, and even if he had, he was far too busy burying his nose in your cunt, tasting your sweet fluids. His tongue lapped at your entrance and curled back towards his throat, swallowing. He groaned into her, the sound resonating through your core. 

“Peter… Peter!” You whispered harshly, gripping his head on either side. He didn’t budge, and his eyes drifted shut in ecstasy. Moving up to take a fistful of silver hair, you yanked him off your cunt, his reddened lips glistening and open, confused. His inky orbs looked up at you, dazed and desperate. 

“Whaaat?” he asked, a hint of annoyance tainting his usually upbeat voice. 

“Slow… down….” 

“Sorry but that’s not really… my…” He paused, looking at your weeping cunt again. “...thing. She doesn’t really look like she wants me to, either.” He reached forward, sweeping a single digit along the length of your pussy. You jerked, sensitive.   

“I can’t stand it, I’m gonna’ cum too quickly.” 

“Quick is in the name, babe.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if telling you that you were shit out of luck.

He dove back in, and picked up licking her again, from bottom to top. He was slightly slower than before – maybe he’d decided to have mercy on you. Or maybe he was just savouring the feeling of your cunt as it practically fluttered on his tongue, your clit throbbing with the sensitivity. You rocked your hips against his mouth, humping his pretty face with reckless abandon. It was the only control you had, because as soon as you started that, his tongue had returned to the speedy flipping of your clit.

You were going to cum – so fast that you hardly had time to process it. 

“Ffffuck… oh god,” you whimpered. Your cunt pulsed over and over again, and Peter was right there to feel it. He speared two fingers into her. Curled them upwards, feeling the clench of your orgasm as it came. He fucked you with his fingers until the throbbing stopped, and the first hint of overstimulation came – you whined, too loudly. 

Peter grinned, his slick fingers slipping from your pussy. With a mischievous little glimmer in his eyes, he observed them, watching as the thick, clear strands strung apart between his digits. 

You wanted to ask him on a date. He wanted to ask you on one. But neither of you said a thing. Neither of you said a thing, and just watched each other breathing, chests heaving, heavy with lust. Lookin’ cuter than she ever has… Peter thought, watching you in your post-coital state; sweaty and blushing. 

You knew you were going to be obsessed with him – were already obsessed with him. The high that you chased with skating was nothing compared to what you felt being around this silver dork, and all his little quirks.  

“So uh… same bat-time, same bat channel?” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, Peter. Yeah.” 

#Peter Maximoff #Peter Maximoff x reader #Peter Maximoff x you #Quicksilver x you #Quicksilver x reader #myfics #X-Men Movies

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard - Chapter 6: Promise

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

word count: 2.5k

[<<< chapter 5]

For the first time, in longer than you can remember, you don’t dread the morning sun. You watch it crest the horizon, feel its warmth radiate on your skin, bask in its dewey light- bathing you in a delightful glow.

And it feels so surreal, like you’re surely doomed to wake from this dream, like the strong arms that had held you so tightly, and the lips that kissed yours so passionately, were only figments of your imagination. Yet, when you reach out, your fingers graze over the very real, and very smooth, cold, dark surface of Simon’s helmet still sitting on your bedside table; unmoved since he had retrieved it from the balcony hours ago-

“It’s real, My Queen..” You suck in a breath at the thick rasp of Simon’s voice in your ear, earning you a sweet chuckle, the arm around your waist pulling you closer so he can bury his nose into the soft hair at the nape of your neck, “‘m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

A deep sigh parts your lips at the way he feels, how solid and hot his body is wrapped around yours, his breath sneaking beneath the collar of your nightgown,

“Tell me,” You say, wriggling yourself even further against him, “can you read minds, Ser Simon?”

Your question riles a deep and genuine laugh from him this time, though he does his best to keep it quiet, only for your ears, and hopefully none that dare to pry-

“Why?” He asks, gently tugging you to turn over, “Somethin’ up here you wouldn’t want me to know?”

Smiles pull at both your lips when he taps your temple with the pad of his finger, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen something as glorious as Simon’s dimpled smirk- Gods, why would he ever hide under that helmet.. it’s a fleeting thought, but one you hope to learn the answer to eventually. Hm, eventually, when is that? How much time do you really have with him? What could possibly-

“Hey..” His calloused palm settles over your cheek, thumb tracing a soft, back and forth pattern, his eyes narrowed in concern, “What is it? I lost you..”

Such a simple question, and such a simple statement, but they feel incomprehensible. That you could have given your life to man for years, and he still knows nothing of you, thinks nothing of you- but Simon, who has only been with you for a handful of months, has somehow learned you, maybe even better than you know yourself.

You rest your palm over his hand, unsure of what to say, or where it could possibly go; his promise ringing in your ears, reverberating through your marrow and bones-

“I’m goin’ to get you out of here. I swear it.”

“If we leave.. Where will we go?”

“When we leave..” His voice is steady and hardly above a whisper, the tip of his nose grazing over yours, “We’ll go wherever you like. The coast, inland, mountains, and forests- we’ll see it all.”

“But.. Simon- the King..”

So, so sweetly, you feel him pull your head forward just enough to crush his lips against yours- effectively silencing all your relentless thoughts, even if only for this glorious moment. Because it’s so easy to be consumed in him, in his power and his gentility, his brutish strength and the way he holds you as if you were made of the most precious and rare element he knew. And once again, you feel your body giving in to him- feel the tightness gather in your belly, and the ache grow between your legs. You want him, in every way that a woman can want a man- but all too soon, he’s pulling away again, his forehead pressing against yours,

“I will deal with the King, sweet girl.” He studies you, biting harshly at his bottom lip before glancing behind you towards the sunrise, “I have to dress- your hand maid will be here soon.”

You know you should let go of him, but it feels like you only just got him- and your stubborn heart wins against the logic of your mind as you lean into him again, kissing him with a little more urgency, a fervor behind your actions that he gives into, but only for a moment. He holds you back, eyes clenched shut in a silent battle all his own,

“Little Queen, you might think me a better man than I am..” He practically groans out the words, reaching down to hitch your thigh up over his hip, pushing his pelvis forward so that his want and arousal are made quite evident to you, “But, I beg of you, not here.. Not yet.”

There’s nothing in his words or his tone that could lead you to believe he doesn’t want all the same things you do, nothing about the hard length that presses against your cunt that could possibly make you believe he isn’t holding on by the thinnest of threads, trying his damnedest to be good to you- so that you’ll never, ever think that he simply wants your body and nothing else.

“Ok, Simon..” You nod, letting him press one more kiss to your lips, one so full of pining and longing, that it threatens to steal the air from your lungs as you reluctantly relent your hold on him so that you both could sit up, a little breathless and out of sorts.

But even though you’ve parted, it doesn’t stop him from planting a few more chaste kisses over your jaw and cheekbone before tearing himself away, allowing you to watch as he moves across the room. Seeing him only in his thin base layers is enough to raise your heart rate, remembering how you helped him shed his bulky armor last night- and now, you watch ardently as he picks it up and puts it back on, piece by piece- the thick muscles of his back and shoulders rippling and flexing with every practiced movement.

And, far quicker than you like, he’s sauntering towards your side of the bed, where you’ve sat so entranced by him- seeing him once more covered by the heavy steel plates, the ones that only make him larger than life, that make his already broad frame almost unnaturally bigger, his pitch black cloak billowing behind him,

“I’ll assume my post like always,” Simon says with a low tone, taking your bare hand in his gloved one just so he can place a gentlemanly kiss to the soft, pale skin, grabbing his helmet when he lets go.

You stand, looking up at him- committing every wonderful feature and flaw to memory before it’s covered again,

“And I’ll have a raven sent to Clan MacTavish, he can help us-”

But Simon shifts on his feet, your hand still engulfed by his own, “Are you sure, My Queen?”

And you can see the way his dark brows furrow behind the helmet, he doesn’t trust Johnny, but you can understand his apprehension- he doesn’t know the Scot like you do, and if what you think is going to happen, there can be no loose ends in what’s to come.

“Yes, I’m sure. There’s not a soul that we could trust more, Simon. I promise.”

This time, it’s you who lifts his hand to your lips, kissing the black leather as if to seal your own words- something a proper queen should never do, but the warmth that spreads through you when you see his eyes widen slightly makes you want to do it again and again.

He gives you a nod, not allowing himself the chance to waste anymore time, because gods know he would never leave you if given the option- but he must. There is much to plan, much to do, too many seeds of doubt to sow in far too short a time.

Johnny’s POV——

Work. That’s what it feels like for Johnny to come home. There’s no rest for the weary, no, not at the MacTavish estate, they’d never dream of allowing such a luxury-

Buncha fuckin’ dobbers they can be.. I swear.

Yet, he greets them all the same. Giving his Da a stiff, one-armed hug, exchanging the traditional three harsh pats to the back before moving down the path towards his childhood home.

“You’ll tell us about yer visit to court, won’t ye, Johnny?”

A warm smile spreads over his face as he looks down at his youngest sister, throwing an arm lazily over her shoulder,

“Well, hi to you, too, El..” Johnny teases, ruffling her dark brown curls playfully, “I’ll give ye all the juicy gossip tomorrow- after we get some shut eye, eh?” he says, nodding at the maid as they cross the grand threshold, “And I wan’ tae hear about this new constellation ye’ve discovered, my wee little genius!”

Elsie giggles and tries to escape his hold, going on about him being a numpty- all smiles and laughter until the most senior Lord MacTavish blows out a loud scoff,

“Enough o’ that, you two. Elsie, go on, need tae talk tae yer brother.”

She shies away almost too quickly, and it makes his stomach turn, seeing the flash of fear in her eyes as she gives his side one more weak squeeze before flitting off up the stairs-

“Been a long few days, Da. ‘M right ready for a bed-“

The door to the Lord’s study slams shut, cerulean eyes pinning Johnny down in an instant,

“I dinnae give two shites ‘bout how long it’s been, son. I told ya, if you were comin’ back here, ye’d better have a wife in tow.”

Johnny rolls his eyes- big mistake.

His father is a big man, and he’s never had an issue using his size against the lot of them- Johnny being the eldest, all the way down the line, and even their Ma, gods rest her soul.

Which is how he ends up with his back shoved against the closest wall,

“Mind yer fuckin’ attitude with me, boy.” He spits the words, making sure Johnny knows just how little he still in his father’s eyes, “Ye think yer someone big and important out there, huh? Think the army made ye tough, gave ye a big heid, that it? Well, dinnae forget who-“

But, see, Johnny isn’t that little boy anymore, he isn’t that frightened little teenager constantly in fear of the good Lord MacTavish’s thumb crushing him under its weight. His time in the army has treated him well, in fact. He’s bigger, taller, stronger, and faster- and too much time spent on the front lines has made his skin thick and calloused.

With a deep snarl, Johnny is quick to grab the older man by his collar and reverse their positions before he even knows what’s happening,

“Tha’s not how this works anymore, m’lord.”

If Johnny could sketch the shock and surprise in his father’s eyes, he would- hells, he might, because it’s a beautiful sight. One he thinks he’ll remember for a long, long time to come-

“And if I hear one more cross word out of yer filthy fuckin’ mouth, I’ll cut yer tongue out m’self. Is that clear?”

Matching blue eyes stay locked in a silent battle, young and old, a battle as old as times itself, father and son going head to head, a true fight for dominance.

The old lord’s lips curls in anger and disdain, his breath hot and laden with the thick scent of Scotch,

“Ah..” he coos, a chuckle bubbling from his barreled chest, “Aren’t ye a big hotshot, spent time with the little traitorous Scottish queen herself and suddenly yer invincible, that it?”

Johnny growls right back, pulling his father forward before slamming him against the solid wood even harder, “What? And yer still mad it wasn’t one of yer daughters, huh?”

The lord struggles against his hold, but turns out, the boorish old man isn’t all that strong anymore- at least not stronger than his son, which only enrages him more,

“I’m only here to settle my inheritance, ye insufferable old bastard. We’ll talk tomorrow, when ye think ye can speak to me like an equal-“

Johnny lowers his tone to something heavier, his voice dripping with malice, “and there will be none of this, ye won’t put yer hands on me, and I willnae put mine on you. Aye?”

A long silence stretches across the space between them, a heated pause, one that threatens to explode on a hair trigger- and maybe, it’s not actually that long, maybe it’s really only a few seconds, glaring daggers into his own father’s eyes before the old man gives a hateful, “Aye.”, in return.

And if Johnny just so happens to shove the self-righteous old cunt into the wall one more time for good measure, well- that’s between him and the gods he chooses to answer to. But, fuck all if it didn’t feel good to do it.

——

When he finally gets to his room, it’s a disparaging sight- dusty and stale, not a thing changed since he left years ago. And he wishes so badly to feel peace, to feel warmth and love in the place that he should feel all those things and more- in the place he did feel all those things when Ma was still alive.

Yet, it’s just sad and cold now, just how it was when he left. But, a smile does tug at his lips when he unlatches the case Sunny had sent home with him, packed to the brim with treats and fine fabrics and leathers. Some for him and each of his sisters, and an abundance of spares that would last them for a long while-

“Yer too good to us, Grianach..” he mumbles, popping a delightful, citrusy sweet in his mouth as he continues to unpack.

And it takes a while, but eventually he pulls a lone envelope from under a primly wrapped hunting vest, one of the finest he’s ever laid his hands on- the dark brown leather soft as butter in his fingers as he lays it to the side with care.

The bone white paper is thick and stiff, royal stationary that he knows well from letters and messages he’s gotten from her before; the edge sealed with a deep green wax crest- the king’s crest. It brings a disgusted grimace to his face, thinking of the last days with her, the terrible, mottled bruises on her skin- it makes him ill to his stomach to remember.

But, with a deep sigh, he gently pulls the seal apart- recognizing her handwriting right away- though, the farther he reads, the more his guts twist and wrench, the harder his heart beats and the less air it feels like he can suck into his seizing lungs-

No.. no, no, no. This isn’t right, it can’t be- not you, not my Sunny. How could you not tell me? Why didn’t you tell me how much pain you were in-

My dearest Johnny,

I pray this letter finds you well, cousin. And, I pray for your understanding in what I feel I must do, not only for myself, but more importantly, for you. Though.. I do not think you will see it that way, and I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry, Johnny. You’ve been my best friend since my first memories, never letting me forget that you’re one month and one day older than me, or that you learned to ride a horse first- remember sneaking out to the stables? I thought Mother would kill us both when you brought me back home covered in scrapes and muck. Oh, I miss the simplicity of those days, I miss it so much it hurts. That life I had for just a moment, where I was free and untethered- or well, I thought I was. And, I suppose, perception is what really matters, isn’t it?

That is what I’ve been taught my whole life, afterall, perception is key. That I must be at my best, presented in a pretty, pretty package- pleasing to the eye and well groomed enough so that the masses may never know the chaos that lies beneath the silks and jewels.

Well, my sweet Johnny, no more. I won’t do it, I will not be scruffed by the neck any longer, I will not live as a possession, an item, an object that only exists to be pretty and used. I am more than that, and I pray.. I pray you forgive me, I pray you are not disappointed, I pray that you remember me only as I was, and not what I have become. Remember me covered in scrapes and muck with a broad smile on my face and joy in my heart. That is the real me, not this fallacy that everyone thinks they know.

I have a trusted courier at the ready, the few earthly possessions I own that mean anything to me are to be delivered to the estate. They are yours. We always shared everything anyway, no need in changing that now. Be well, cousin.

All my love, your Sunny.

[chapter 7>>>]

taglist: @spxctorsslxt

#call of duty #but make it medieval #medieval au #knight!ghost #queen!reader #simon ghost riley #cod fandom #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #lord mactavish #are you kidding me #also on ao3 #simon riley x reader #maybe a throuple? #slow burn #eventual smut #i promise #it’s coming #🫢🫢🫢

[lixzey]

SERENDIPITY

a/n: so sorry for the wait, but anyway, here it is! we are now at the official start of luke and maya's relationship! 💘 to everyone that helped me with this chapter, thank you! wouldn't have done this without you guys!

If you guys wanna be added to the SERENDIPITY taglist, just ask!

luke and maya masterlist

Anyway, onto the story!

word count: 8,719  

CHAPTER TWO: NEWBIE

June 15th, 2016

In the depths of the night, Luke Castellan lay beside his little sister, staring outside into the darkened velvet sky. Hours had passed since he and Annabeth stepped inside the camp’s borders, but the memory of what had just happened was still fresh, flashing in his mind again and again, haunting him. 

June 14th

“Luke, I’m tired,” Annabeth whined, tugging on the hem of his shirt. They had been walking for hours, unable to find a place to stay for the night without monsters finding them.

Luke sighed. Despite being tired as well, he knew stopping wouldn’t do them any good. “We’ll stop soon, I promise,” he managed to say, giving the girl a small smile. “Just hold on, okay?”

“But I’m so tired,” Annabeth whined once more. “My feet hurt from all the walking!”

Thalia stopped in her tracks, hearing the younger girl. “I’m sorry, Annie, but we have to get going or those bad monsters will catch up on us.”

Annabeth looked up at the older girl, electric blue, meeting hers. “But, I’m so tired….”

“I know we all are, kid. But stopping won’t do us any good, the monsters we faced just hours ago? They’ll find us, and we’ll be too weak to fight. Grover said we’re almost there, so we need to get going,” Thalia explained, hoping to convince the little girl to tread just a little further.

“Thalia’s right, Annabeth,” Luke said, backing up the raven-haired girl. “Come on, you can ride on my shoulders for a few hours.”

Annabeth stared at the ground, and eventually, after a few seconds, she nodded. “Okay.”

Thalia patted her on the shoulder before ruffling in the back pack she had in her arms. “Here you go,” she said, passing Annabeth their last granola bar. “Eat up; you’ll need it, kid.”

Luke smiled at the sight of Annabeth taking the granola bar from Thalia, relieved that she wouldn’t be whining again anytime soon and they could resume their journey. “Come on, let’s get going.” Luke chuckled. Despite being so drained and worn out, he picked up Annabeth and placed her up on his shoulders.

If Luke had anything he was thankful for, it was the fact that he found family regardless of the circumstances.

“No, no, no!” Annabeth screamed, snapping Luke out of his trance. “Monsters!”

Luke whips his head around almost immediately, reaching for the little girl and wrapping his arm around her, pulling the screaming child close to his chest. “Shh, Annie, it’s okay,” Luke whispered, hoping to soothe the younger girl. “I’m,” he said, taking a deep breath. “...here.”

Annabeth buried her face in her older brother’s chest, sobbing. “Thalia…” she murmured, tears absorbing into Luke’s tattered shirt.

“It’s okay, shh,” Luke whispered, rubbing circles on her back in an attempt to calm her down. “There aren’t any monsters anymore; we’re safe, you’re safe….”

Luke choked back his tears as he comforted his sister back to sleep. He was hurting too; he had lost Thalia too.

“Don’t, don’t be stupid, Thalia!”

“No time! Run!” Thalia screamed, hoping to buy Luke and Annabeth some time to get to camp unharmed. “Don’t stop until you’re inside the border!” 

“But-”

“Luke, think of Annabeth! Go!”

Luke placed Annabeth on his hip, turning to run despite wanting to stay with Thalia and help fight off the monsters attacking them.

“Run!” Thalia screamed once more, her voice cracking. “Run!”

The monsters roared, ringing in Luke’s ears, not daring to look back as he knew what was going to happen.

Annabeth cried, clinging to Luke tighter. “No more, no more!”

“I-It’s okay..it’s okay, don’t worry, we’ll be safe soon,” Luke whispered, fighting back his tears as they approached the borders with Grover running closely behind.

As soon as Luke crossed the barrier, he finally looked back. He saw Thalia fighting off as much as she could when one of the cyclopes grabbed her, throwing her hard against the ground with a loud thud.  

Thalia lay on the ground, gasping for air, slowly dying. Before Luke could react, there was a loud boom of thunder, scattering the monsters away from Thalia’s body.

And right before Luke’s eyes, Thalia’s body turned into a large pine tree. 

“We’ll be alright,” Luke whispered to Annabeth’s now-sleeping form. “I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you ever again.”

June 16th, 2016

Maya Williams has lived a relatively normal life as a demigod.

Maya was eight when she arrived at Camp Half Blood. She had run away when she was six years old, a scared little girl who didn’t have a clue why her mother abandoned her as a baby or why her father hated her so badly. Maya had been on her own for almost two years, fighting her hardest to survive in a world not fit for a child, let alone a child of the goddess of love and beauty.

Unlike other demigods, Maya was technically safe from monsters. Her scent was significantly sweeter than that of the average child of the gods, making her—or any other child of Aphrodite, really—safe from monsters. Still, Maya wasn’t safe from the monsters of the mortal world.

Children of Aphrodite radiate beauty, some more than others. Some would think it’s a blessing, but for the children of the goddess of beauty—at least for Maya—it’s a curse more than it is a blessing. While on the run, Maya had not-so-good encounters with older men—or, as she called them, monsters.

Maya tried to avoid men as much as she could, mostly hiding behind large garbage cans or running as fast as her little legs could carry her. One time, she resorted to biting and kicking, which ended up leaving her with a large scar down her arm because the man used a pocket knife on her arm an effort to pry her teeth off of his arm.

And then Ferdinand came into the picture. 

At first, Maya was skeptical. Ferdinand had the legs and horns of a goat, and that isn’t something she’s seen in her life before. And then he told her there was a safe haven for children like her. A place where she’d never get hurt again. She’d have someone—her half siblings—to guide her in the world she had no clue how to live in. 

It was a splash of color in Maya’s young life, solace in a world full of terrors. She finally had a place where she belonged.

Now, Maya is four months away from being fourteen years old. The eldest out of fifteen kids residing in cabin ten, which she was made head of when the former head went off to college when she was twelve years old.

Throughout the years, Maya has learned to be the perfect child of Aphrodite. The scared little girl who arrived at camp six years ago was long gone and replaced by a beautiful, smart, strong, and independent young woman who is the epitome of perfection by camp half blood’s standards.

At nine years old, Maya understood that beauty is a weapon—for children of Aphrodite, at least. Children of the goddess of love are most known in camp for breaking hearts, as a rite of passage for a child of the goddess to prove themselves to their mother, like how her sisters and brothers had done before Maya had even arrived in the camp built for the children of the gods.

“Yeah, sorry, this isn’t working out,” Maya sighed dramatically, her French-tipped manicured hand against another one of her conquests’ cheeks.

The son of Apollo smiled, the look in his eyes saying otherwise. He’d been in a relationship with Maya for less than a week, and she’s already breaking up with him. He should’ve expected it. After all, Maya had a reputation for the last two years—breaking hearts like it’s nobody’s business. It didn’t help that she had charm speak, easily luring boys into her game.

“Can…can we still be friends, Maya?” He looked up, meeting her kaleidoscope eyes. 

“Hun, I think it’s better if we don’t.” Maya looked at him with a faux apologetic look in her eyes. “It’s for the better.”

The boy sighed, giving Maya one last smile before turning away—another heart broken by the vixen of cabin ten. 

“Maya, that’s the sixth one this month.” Nine-year-old Silena sighed, watching another Apollo kid walk away, devastated after trying his luck with her sister and failing. “Poor guy.”

“Not my fault he wanted me,” Maya rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she started to walk in the direction of the Big House. “I really don’t know why it’s such a big deal.��

“He’s what? Guy number fifty? Sixty? I lost count,” Silena muttered, counting on her fingers.

There were the sons of Ares—who claimed that Maya should be theirs as her mother was their father’s partner—who would woo her with their fighting skills. There were a few sons of Demeter who’d give her an assortment of flowers—from roses to sunflowers, to tulips. A lot of sons of Apollo—just like the one Maya recently dumped—tried wooing her with haikus, poems, and musical numbers—a trick their father Apollo did to win over people he liked, which never worked on her because, in her opinion, they were annoying. A few of Hephaestus’ sons would give her contraptions, like that magical hair dryer that could dry her hair in five seconds or that vanity table she had in the Aphrodite cabin, which had a lot of drawers and lights easily changed by a click of a button. And finally, some of Athena’s sons—which was funny considering they were supposed to be the logical ones yet they fell for Maya’s charm. It was terrifying how her sister could smile and boys would just fall at her feet, like idiots, despite knowing what their fate would be. 

“Sixty-five, Silena, keep up.” Maya chuckled, turning to face her sister and reaching to flick her long hair back.

“You’re hopeless,” Silena said, shaking her head. “You’ve proved yourself to Mom two years ago, and you’re still at the game.” 

“You have to understand that it isn’t my fault, little sister,” Maya said, eyeing a son of Ares who was sparring with his siblings. “It’s mom’s blessing’s fault.” 

Silena rolled her eyes at her older sister. “You keep on blaming Mom’s blessing.”

“You’re too young to understand, darlin’,” Maya cooed, patting Silena on the cheek. “I’m going to go and ask Chiron about that fashion show,” she said, turning her heel and colliding with someone else—a boy. 

“What the-!” Maya almost shrieked, trying to regain her balance. Maya looked up, emerald green meeting chocolate brown.

“Sorry.” The boy apologized, his hand on Maya’s arm.

“Let go of me!” Maya snarled, yanking her arm away. “Next time, watch where you’re going, dummy!” 

The boy scowled. “No need to be rude, princess.”

Maya scowled, looking him up and down. He had dark, curly hair and a mischievous look in his chocolate brown eyes that held pain and misery at the same time, paired with a cocky smile. Maya had to admit that the boy in front of her was handsome.

“Are you done staring?” The boy teased, a smirk etched on his lips. “I’m Luke, by the way; we’re new.” 

“Do I look like I care?” Maya snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I’m Silena!” Silena piped up from behind Maya, a wide smile on her pink lips. The boy—Luke—smiled at Silena, and Maya was sure she’d be hearing about him for the rest of the day. She didn’t need her sister babbling about this person.

“Luke?” A little voice asked. Maya’s eyes darted down to a little girl with striking gray eyes—a clear sign that she was an Athena kid (Maya dated a few Athena kids, so she’d know). She couldn’t be older than seven—a little younger than Maya when she first arrived.

Luke smiled at the little girl, patting her on the shoulder. “Go on, Annie, introduce yourself to our new friends.”

“I’m Annabeth, daughter of Athena,” she mumbled, shuffling her feet, not daring to make eye contact with the older girls in front of her.

Maya had a soft spot for little kids, especially those who were the same age as her when she arrived at camp. She had a feeling that little Annabeth had the same childhood as her; the same pain she had was evident in her eyes. 

Maya kneeled down to Annabeth’s height. “Hi Annabeth, I’m Maya. It’s an honor meeting you, little one,” she smiled, her whole attitude just minutes ago fading—much to Luke’s surprise.

“Hi,” Annabeth said, giving Maya a tight smile.

“Wow, one minute she was rude, and the next she’s a saint,” Luke muttered, earning a glare from Maya. Gods, he’s annoying.

Maya stood up, the smile still on her lips—although this time, it’s fake. A talent she’s mastered for the past five years. “Welcome to camp! Like I said, I’m Maya, and I’m one of the camp counselors-” 

“You’re a counselor?” Luke asked, cutting her off, his lips curled into a teasing smirk. “You’re the same age as me, aren’t you, princess?”

Maya glared at him, like it was the most natural thing that she was born to do. Who does he think he is? To talk to me like that. “As I was saying, I’m one of the camp counselors, being the head of cabin ten—the Aphrodite cabin. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to come to me.” 

Luke flashed her a boyish grin. “Oh, I won’t.”

This guy was really pushing Maya’s buttons. Normally, someone would never speak to her unless they were from cabin ten, or she’d be the first one to initiate—which was flirting, most of the time. “All right,” Maya said through gritted teeth before turning to her sister. “I’m going to go find Chiron. My sister here would be glad to tour you guys around camp. How does that sound?”

Annabeth’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, can we, Luke? Can we?” She pleaded, tugging on Luke’s shirt, her big gray eyes pleading with him. 

Luke chuckled, patting Annabeth on the head lightly. “Alright, alright, we’ll take that tour.”

“That settles it!” Maya clapped her hands, pushing Silena forward slightly, eager to get away as soon as possible. “I’ll leave you to it, sis.”

Silena rolled her eyes at her sister. At nine years old, she already has an attitude—much like Maya’s, although tamer than hers. “Alright. But you better get Chiron on the idea, Maya! Everyone’s counting on you!”

Maya grinned, tucking a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. “I know, I know, I’m on it.”

“On what?” Luke asked, genuinely curious about what the Aphrodite kids were planning.

“None of your business, newbie,” Maya said, a little harsher than she intended in the presence of a kid. Maya sighed. He’s getting on my nerves. “It’s for our cabin, a little event for us.”

“Can we join?” Little Annabeth asked, big gray eyes looking up at Maya. Gods. Who was Maya to deny a little girl who’s reminding her of her when she was a little girl—alone and scared, just wanting to be loved and to belong.

“Tell you what, kid,” Maya chuckled. “I’ll try to get the idea approved. And when Chiron does, you’ll be the first one to know. How does that sound?”

Annabeth smiled up at Maya. “Thank you,”

Maya clapped her hands. “Alright, I’ll leave you guys with the tour.” She cast a look at Luke, rolling her eyes at him, before turning to leave—finally, getting away from him.

“What’s got her panties in a twist?” Luke asked as Maya’s flaming locks faded into view.

Silena groaned, shaking her head at the thought of explaining her sister. “She’s, well, you know…”

Luke looked at her, his brow raised. “What?”

“She’s a good person, alright?” Silena sighed, starting to walk opposite of the direction her sister went.

“Doesn’t seem like it. She’s snappy,” Luke muttered, the scene of her snapping at him replaying in his head. “Is she always like that?”

“Actually, she’s the opposite,” Silena muttered. “She’s the best sister anyone could ever ask for. She always makes sure we have everything we need. But yeah, Maya has an attitude sometimes. Anyways, this is the dining area.” Silena pointed to a pavilion framed by large Greek columns overlooking the sea.

Luke scanned the pavilion in awe. He’d never seen a place so sophisticated, just as a place to eat. Luke’s eyes darted to Annabeth, whose eyes were as big as saucers as she looked around. Silena led the two inside, pausing abruptly in the middle.

“There are twelve tables corresponding to each cabin, meaning each cabin is supposed to sit at their designated tables. Athena kids with Athena kids,” Silena looked at Annabeth apologetically, who was gripping Luke’s arm, not wanting to be separated.

Luke kneeled down to Annabeth’s level, his hands holding hers. “Don’t worry, you’ll be alright with your brothers and sisters there. They’ll take care of you. And besides, I think they love architecture, like you! It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

“But you’re my brother,” Annabeth murmured. Luke sighed, his heart aching for his adoptive little sister. They were family, but Annabeth had siblings of her own that she had to at least try to get along with.

“I know, but you can have lots of brothers and sisters too, you know? Just like me and Thalia,” Luke explained gently. “And it’s not like I’m going to forget you while you’re with them. You’re my little sister; I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.”

Annabeth’s lower lip trembled, still wary of being with others and the possibility of Luke leaving her. “You promise?”

Luke chuckled, ruffling her hair. “I promise. It’s me and you against the world.”

Annabeth seemed to relax a bit, her eyes darting to the sixth table with twelve other kids already sitting at it.

Silena smiled at Annabeth. “You want me to lead you to your table?”

Annabeth shook her head, making Luke laugh at her stubbornness. “I got it, thank you.”

Luke watched as Annabeth trudged forward to the Athena table, where her siblings were waiting for her with big smiles. Annabeth so far was the youngest; judging from the smiles the older Athena kids gave her, Luke knew she was in good hands.

“Don’t worry ‘bout her; she’s going to be okay. You see that girl with blonde hair?” Silena pointed to the girl at the Athena table, welcoming Annabeth. “She’s the head of the Athena cabin; she’s going to take care of little Annabeth.”

Luke smiled, his eyes still glued to Annabeth, who was already smiling and talking to her older siblings. “She’s gonna be alright; I know she will—she’s a fighter, you know?”

“I bet she is.” Silena chuckled. “So, who’s your parent?”

Luke turned to face her, his face turning sour for a split seconf at the question. “Hermes.”

“There,” Silena pointed to a table with kids with the same mischievous look as him. “Just ‘cross ours,” Luke said, turning to table ten, across cabin eleven’s. There were very beautiful girls and very good-looking, handsome boys laughing together.

“Wow,” Luke muttered, his eyes still on the Aphrodite table.

Silena waved at her siblings. “Hey guys!” 

The group of good-looking kids waved back, one of them beckoning Silena to come over. 

“Did Maya get it approved?” One of the girls asked as Silena walked forward, Luke following behind.

“Not yet,” Silena answered, sitting beside a blonde boy around her age. “She’s getting it approved right now, I think. She just went to the Big House.”

“I hope it gets approved; I’ve been dying to show off my new Chanel dress!” A brunette girl squealed. 

Silena laughed, absentmindedly forgetting Luke was standing behind her. “Oh, I almost forgot! Guys, this is Luke.”

Silena’s siblings turned to face Luke, and suddenly he felt his cheeks grow hot. Who wouldn’t when attractive girls were staring at you? Luke awkwardly waved at them. “Hi,”

The girls smiled at him, batting their eyelashes at him. “Hi, Luke!” They squealed, earning the looks of everyone else in the pavilion.

“Easy, guys, he’s new.” Silena laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t overwhelm him.”

“I’m okay,” Luke smiled, causing the girls—minus Silena—to squeal. Luke was sure he had popped an eardrum at how loud a girl’s squeal could be. He was glad Thalia and Annabeth never did, or he would've gone deaf earlier in his life.

Luke turned to face the eleventh table, where he was supposed to be. Cabin eleven, the cabin of his father. Luke took a deep breath before making his way to the table.

“Hi, I’m Luke.” The son of Hermes introduced himself to the oldest kid at the table, who looked around seventeen or eighteen. “Your brother, apparently.”

The older boy smiled, rising to his feet. “Welcome, newbie,” he greeted Luke, reaching out a hand for a handshake, which Luke took. “I’m Matt, head of eleven. Come on in, take a seat.”

Luke gave the older boy a nod, taking a seat beside a dark-haired boy around Silena’s age at the other end of the table.

“Hi, I’m Chris, Chris Rodriguez!” The younger boy introduced himself. “I just got here too!”

Matt chuckled, reaching for the goblet in front of him. “Chris, he got here two weeks ago.”

“I’m nine!” Chris raised up nine fingers, wiggling them in the air, making Luke laugh slightly. Chris was very different from Annabeth; he seemed like a normal kid, unlike Annabeth, who had been forced to grow up so early in her life, fighting for her life at only seven years old.

Judging from how cheery Chris was, Luke thinks he had a good childhood, perhaps a stable mother.

“Have you gotten a tour yet?” Matt asks, taking a sip from the goblet with orange fizzy liquid.

Luke shook his head. “Silena’s only brought me here, so far.”

“I’ll continue that tour for you,” Matt offered. “That is, if you’d like?”

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got nothing to do anyway.”

“Oh, there’s a lot to do around here,” Matt smiles, his eyes shining with a familiar mischief. “But of course, we have to get you settled at eleven. It’s a little bit crowded, but it’s home.”

Luke raised a brow. “Crowded?”

Matt gave him an apologetic smile. “Undetermined kids stay at our cabin. That’s why it's often crowded. But don’t worry, I think we have a sleeping bag to spare.”

Before Luke could utter a reply, a loud squeal—which Luke was starting to hate—echoed throughout the pavilion. 

Luke whips his head around, only to see the girl who he was sure had called him stupid just earlier.

The girl—Luke thinks her name was Maya—ran forward to table ten, her hair dancing like fire in the wind. She had a huge grin plastered on her pretty face, her green eyes sparkling with excitement, making them shine like emeralds in the sun.

As soon as the girl was in earshot of her siblings, she started squealing again.

“Typical,” Matt says, rolling his eyes at the table next to them.

Luke keeps his attention on the fiery girl, absentmindedly smiling in her direction.

“Chiron approved the fashion show!” Maya happily announced, smiling from ear to ear. “He says we can start planning!”

Cheers erupted from the table, earning groans from some of the other campers. “I knew you could do it!” Silena beamed, mirroring her sister’s excitement. 

Maya sat down beside Silena, pushing strands of her out of her face. “I always get what I want,” she chuckled, reaching for a strawberry from the plate in front of her and popping it in her mouth.

“Don’t get fooled by that pretty face,” Matt warned. 

Luke turned his attention back to Matt, brow raised. “Why’s that?”

“That girl is heartless,” Matt simply answered.

Luke furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean? She looks sweet.”

“Sweet?” Matt snorts, rolling his eyes at table ten. “That girl is the devil.”

“Care to explain?” Luke asks, his gaze momentarily moving to the said devil.

“Aphrodite is known for breaking hearts,” Matt explained, glancing at the children of the goddess. “And it’s said that to prove themselves to their mother, they have to make someone fall in love with them and break that someone’s heart.”

“Break their heart?”

Matt nodded. “And that girl, Maya,” He jerked his head in her direction. “She has held the record for the most heartbreaks since she was twelve.”

“T-Twelve?” Luke choked on his own saliva. “Twelve years old?”

Everyone around the table nodded.

Luke turned to look at Maya again. She was talking to her sister when the son of Hermes noticed some boys looking at her like she was the only girl in the world.

Luke had to admit it; Maya was pretty—stunning, even. Beautiful like a rose forever in bloom, gorgeous like a summer sunset.

“I think I can handle her.”

Matt choked on his drink. “What?”

“Two can play the heartbreak game,” Luke smirked, turning to look at Maya, who coincidentally turned his way and rolled her eyes at him.

“Are you crazy?”

“Are you stupid?”

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?”

Luke turned his attention back to the table, a lopsided grin on his lips. “I can do this; don’t worry.”

Matt shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, brother.”

“How hard can it be?” Luke mused, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve got nothing to do anyway.”

Matt groaned, shaking his head. “It’s your funeral, man.”

"C'mon, let me prove myself,” Luke smirks at his older brother, adjusting his shirt and moving a bit too confidently to the girl with an attitude as ablaze as her hair.

“She’s gonna kill him, I know it,” Chris mutters, watching as Luke makes his way to the girl in question. “Never thought we would lose someone this early like this.”

“No, no, it's okay, Chris,” Matt replies, eyes narrowing and arms now crossed. “Guess he had to see it for himself. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson.”

As Luke reached the table, he directed his eyes to the girl with flaming hair, earning all of the members of cabin ten’s attention on him, a few girls smiling at his return, others snickering anticipating his next move.

“Hey,” Luke says coolly, only now earning a side glance from the head of their cabin, a quirk in her features suggesting he continue. Oh shit, Luke thought, mildly intimidated by the girl. “Uh, why don't you show me around?” He asked, softly smiling, trying his best to feign confidence.

Maya, now annoyed, sensing his intentions. “Didn’t Silena show you around?”

Silena shook her head beside her sister. “Only got to bring him and Annabeth here, sorry. ”

Maya sighed, tilting her head to the side. “I’ll be busy,” she said, then turned her attention to another one of her sisters—the ones who have been smiling from ear to ear at the sight of Luke. “Maybe Lou can show you around?”

“Oh, but princess,” Luke drawls, a cocky smile forming on his lips. “I want you to show me what this place is all about.” 

That shows her.

“Wrong move,” Matt mutters from table eleven, shaking his head, knowing what will happen next.

Maya stood up, smiling sweetly at Luke, which was never a good sign to anyone else. He was sure her eyes changed colors in a split second. “You want me to show you around?” She asked, her voice as sickeningly sweet as honey.

Luke nodded, looking a little arrogant as he leaned forward. “What do you say, princess? Are you up for the challenge?”

Maya’s expression turned sour, and before Luke could comprehend what was happening, the daughter of Aphrodite’s fist collided with his nose, causing him to stumble back as gasps filled the pavilion.

“Never ever call me princess again, yeah?” Maya smiled sweetly at Luke, her green eyes shining mischief like dazzling emeralds. "Because, baby, I can hit so much harder than that. Got me?”

Luke groaned as he clutched his nose. Maya knew how to punch; he was sure that she had broken his nose at how hard her fist collided with his nose. But she didn’t seem bothered by the impact, as she didn’t even check her knuckles to see if they were bleeding like Luke’s nose was. The way she threatened him? It was enticing, as if her voice had power over him.

“Aren’t you just a little vixen?” Luke spluttered, blood still dripping from his nose.

Everyone around them started whispering. It was like Luke was in one of those movies he once watched as a child. He glanced at table eleven; Matt was groaning, Chris had his eyes closed shut, and the others were shaking their heads as they suppressed their laughter.

Luke faced Maya again, although he moved two steps back just in case. “Princess,” he bent his head down, slowly looking up at her, still as arrogant as ever.

“You’ve got three seconds to run before I-” Before Luke could finish hearing Maya speak, someone pulled him from behind, dragging him away.

“Are you insane?” Matt hissed, pushing Luke to sit down. “We told you not to mess with her! Look what it got you!”

“What? I made progress,” Luke grinned, wiping off the blood oozing out of his currently broken nose and making a mental note to go back to the infirmary for maybe some ambrosia or nectar.

“P-Progress?” Matt says incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief at the new member of his cabin, who was just as annoying as their father. “You call that bloody nose fucking progress!?”

“I mean, I think she likes me,”

Chris snorts from beside Matt. “I think she knocked his head hard,”

Everyone around table eleven started laughing at poor Luke’s misery, making him scowl. “What’s so funny?”He grumbles, wiping his nose once more.

“You,” one of the younger kids chuckled. “Maya did rock your world.”

Fits of laughter broke out, as if they had just played off the greatest prank of all time. Luke sighed, taking another glance at table ten.

Maya was smiling and talking to her siblings as if she hadn’t punched him just a minute ago. The audacity of this girl, Luke thought. Being pretty and all that, who does she think she is?

Matt, as if sensing his thoughts, gave Luke a pat on the shoulder. “Come on, brother, let’s get that nose of yours fixed.”

Luke gave him a small nod before rising to his feet, feeling a little light-headed but managing to walk nonetheless. The son of Hermes took one final glance at table ten before Matt pulled him out, Chris following closely behind.

As soon as the trio were out of earshot of the pavilion, Matt stopped in his tracks, causing Luke to almost trip on a rock. “Hey! What was that for?”

“First thing’s first,” Matt started, taking a look around to see if there was anyone else nearby. “Amaya Williams is never a good idea.”

“Yeah, you told me the first time.” Luke rolled his eyes, mildly getting annoyed at his older brother. “Anything else?” He asked with a sarcastic tone.

“As I was saying,” Matt continued, grabbing Luke by the shoulders. “She is the devil reincarnate. I swear to the gods, Luke, that girl is more terrifying than Zeus.”

“You’re terrified by a girl four years younger than you?” Luke snorts, raising a brow teasingly.

Matt glared at him, letting go of his shoulders. “Yes, I am; as a matter of fact, I’ve been one of her victims.”

“Wait, isn’t that illegal?”

“Yeah, well, nothing’s stopping that girl when she’s set her eye on something,” Matt sighs. “She was thirteen; I was seventeen. I know, I know, it sounds wrong, but she managed to break my heart in a week.”

“A week?” Luke chuckles, impressed by how quickly Matt got his heart broken. “Wow, that might just be a world record.”

Matt smirked, turning to walk forward. “Her record is three days.”

“Three days!?”

“Come on, lover boy, keep up,” Matt called over his shoulder, laughing slightly. “We gotta get that nose fixed!”

“Yeah, keep up, Luke!” Chris grinned, walking backwards along Matt.

Luke watches his brother’s figure slowly fade from view as he stands there, dumbfounded.

Three days. Maya Williams’ record is three goddamn days.

This is going to be harder than I thought. Luke wasn’t one to be like her, breaking hearts and all that. He was rethinking his decision; he wasn’t sure if he could handle the girl—she was a hurricane of sugar and spice, and it was enough to lure Luke into her blazing winds like an idiot. Who on earth would get into a hurricane for fun.

Sure, Matt and the others have warned him about her, but when has Luke ever listened? He’s lost count of the number of times Thalia has called him a stubborn little shit.

Luke thought back to Maya, her pretty emerald eyes, and how they sparkled with the same mischief he’s seen in his own eyes. He was sure her irises changed into blue, brown, green, and even pink, like a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors. If Luke had stared at her eyes longer, he was sure that he’d be a. hypnotized, and b. attacked for staring at her for a long period of time.

"Luke, are you coming?” Chris’ voice snaps him out of his thoughts, remembering his broken nose.

Instinctively, his fingers touch his nose. It was crooked from Maya’s punch; the blood that spilled a few minutes ago was already dry from the summer afternoon breeze. “Yeah, coming!” Luke calls back, running towards his younger brother. “Where’s Matt?” 

“Matt went to the cabin, he says he’s gonna go fix a place for you so it’s ready after your nose gets fixed,” Chris explains, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Let’s go, I think Sofia’s still at the Infirmary.”

“Who?”

“Sofia, camp’s head healer. Don’t worry, she’s good! She’s healed me too, twice, I think?” Chris raised his arm up, revealing a long scar. “I got this yesterday when we were training with swords with Marco Leon.”

“You good with a sword now, Chris?” Luke asks, smiling at him as the Big House comes into view.

“I think,” Chris says, unsure. “I’m still getting the hang of it.”

“I can help you, if you’d like?”

Chris’ eyes light up at the offer. “Really?”

Luke nods, remembering the times he fought monsters with the sword he and Thalia came upon months ago. “I’ve gotten good with a sword, I guess.”

“Teach me, teach me, teach me!” Chris begs, causing Luke to chuckle.

“Of course,” Luke agrees, still chuckling. “Tomorrow, then?”

Chris smiles at his older brother, wrapping his arms around Luke, causing him to stumble back. “Thank you!”

Luke smiles back, patting the boy awkwardly on the back. He’s never had anyone else hug him like this other than Annabeth. For a moment, Luke thought about his little sister. Would she be jealous that he has another sibling? It was nice to have someone rely on him as an older figure. He felt that for the first time, when he and Thalia first found Annabeth, Luke felt responsible for the first time in his life—he had a family, one he didn’t have growing up.

“You’re welcome, kid,” Luke chuckles as Chris pulls away. “Now come on, let’s get my nose fixed.”

The two stepped inside the Big House, Chris leading Luke to the infirmary.

As soon as the duo entered, Luke was engulfed with the smell of freshly baked cookies. It must be the ambrosia. There were cabinets—a lot of them—lining the walls; they were filled with jars of nectar and cubes of ambrosia wrapped individually and sitting in baskets. There were also tables with medical equipment—like bandages, gauze, antiseptics, and more. Luke wondered why he and Annabeth hadn’t noticed the contents of the room earlier; maybe they were just too tired to even notice.

“I see you have a broken nose.” A voice spoke, startling Luke. The girl looked around Matt’s age; she had short blonde hair with pink ends and was wearing scrubs. She reminded Luke of the nurse in the show Thalia showed him once. “Hi, I’m Sofia.” she smiled, reaching out a hand for him to shake. 

“Luke,” Luke smiles back, taking her hand. Sofia seemed kind; that was good. Luke had a fear of nurses before; when he was in kindergarten, he needed a flu shot, and the nurse who gave him the vaccine was not very nice.

“Let me guess, a certain Aphrodite kid?” Sofia asked, pulling her hand away with a knowing smile.

“How’d you know?”

“Well, with the number of kids I had to fix up in the past two years, I’d say I know who the culprit is. A pretty little devil, she is.”

Chris sat down on one of the beds, his feet swaying back and forth. “Maya punched him super hard, and it’s his first day,”

“And on your first day?” Sofia chuckles, making her way towards one of the cabinets, grabbing a basket full of ambrosia and a few jars of nectar. She placed them on one of the tables; maybe it was a refill of stocks, but Luke wasn’t sure. “You’ve got guts, huh?”

“You could say that,” Luke laughed sheepishly. “I just tried to be friends with her.”

“Yeah, right,” Sofia laughs, not believing Luke in the slightest. “Sit beside Chris, I’ll clean that blood off,” she says, jerking her head in Chris’ direction.

Luke nods, making his way to sit beside his brother as he watches Sofia get some cotton balls and alcohol from the tables around the room.

“Here, eat this,” Sofia gave him half a square of ambrosia. It smelled like the cookies his mother used to bake—the good ones that weren’t burned to a crisp. Luke muttered a quick thank you before taking a bite.

Sofia poured alcohol onto the cotton ball. "Okay, so what did you do to earn a broken nose?”

“He tried flirting with Maya,” Chris answers with a grin. “We tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“You should’ve listened,” Sofia hummed, cleaning the blood off Luke's skin. “That girl? She’s a feisty one.”

“Yeah, a real spitfire.” Luke snorts, shaking his head slightly. His thoughts went back to the girl in question, her voice as sweet as honey replaying in his head. Luke wondered if every child of Aphrodite was like her, with a voice so enticing.

“There,” Sofia says, putting the used cotton ball to the side. “All clean! Just finish up the ambrosia, and you’ll be good, unless you get acquainted with Maya’s fist again.”

Probably will. “I won’t, thanks.” Luke hopped off the table, Chris following suit.

“Thanks, Sofia!” Chris waves before getting out the door with Luke.

“Don’t get into trouble!” Luke hears Sofia call out, making him chuckle. Trouble, what a strange concept for a runaway son of Hermes.

“Come on, let’s go to our cabin. I bet Matt’s already got you somewhere to sleep.”

“Why is everything so far apart?” Luke mutters as the two walk out of the Big House.

“Dunno,” Chris shrugs. “I think everyone’s just gotten used to it.”

“You’re used to it?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, but I try to. I mean, I’m not gonna get anywhere if I don’t walk.”

“Fair point,”

The two continued to walk, passing by the volleyball pit with high school age kids playing a heated match and then the canoe lake, where a few kids were chatting and others were paddling on boats. 

Finally, they arrived at the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. Each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), and they looked absolutely nothing like Luke expected. 

Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight that it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a common area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops. In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined fire pit. 

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old camp cabin, with an emphasis on Old. The threshold was worn down, and the brown paint was peeling. Over the doorway was a caduceus. Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls—way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over the floor. Luke thought Hermes was the god of money, and he can’t even afford a bigger cabin?

“Luke, over here!  ” Luke heard Matt’s voice calling him over. He made his way towards Matt while Chris sped off to some of the other campers who were all hunched over something Luke thought to be interesting to a nine-year-old.

“I got you a sleeping bag.” Matt jerked his head towards the sleeping bag on the floor. “And some toiletries from the camp store. Grover brought over your things too.”

“Thanks, Matt,”

“No problem.” Matt smiles, giving him a pat on the arm. 

Luke took a look around the worn-out cabin. All the campers were younger than him, even the ones during lunch were significantly younger too. He wonders how on earth Matt managed to look after a cabin full of kids. Since with Thalia and Annabeth, Luke was on the verge of pulling his own hair out.

“Hey, Luke?”

“Yeah?” Luke hums, his attention going back to Matt.

“I’m going off to college by the end of August,”

“Oh,” Luke murmured, wondering why he’s telling him that he’s going to college in two months. “Good for you.”

“You’re the oldest, after me,” Matt explains. “I think you’d be a great head counselor for eleven.”

“Me?” Luke asks, confused as to why Matt thinks he’d be a great counselor.

“Yeah, you’re the best candidate, since you’re fourteen and quite responsible.”

Luke sighs, shaking his head. “I’m honored, Matt, really, but I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Of course, you can! You’ve taken care of a kid before, right? Annabeth? It’ll be fine, trust me. And besides, you’ll get my bunk!”

Luke raises a brow at him. “That’s comforting, how?”

“Come on, it’s a good deal. I mean, you get a comfy bed.” Matt pushed, hoping Luke would agree.

“Again, how?”

“You’d have a few benefits, like staying out late, chaperoning trips to Olympus, and giving out orders and punishments.”

Luke thought about it. Staying out late did sound nice, especially when he wanted to get some time alone. Chaperoning seems a little overwhelming, but giving out orders and punishments is tempting. “Alright, I agree.”

Matt clapped his hands together. “Great! I’ll tell Chiron by the end of next month. But you’ve got to keep it a secret, alright? We don’t need people getting mad about the decision.”

“My lips are sealed,” Luke chuckles, running a finger over his lips, as if he were zipping them.

“Now, come on, let’s get you toured!”

Luke stumbles into the dining pavilion with Matt and Chris, laughing heartily. The boys, sweaty and hungry, made their way to their table for dinner—barbeque brisket and mac and cheese, which made Luke’s stomach grumble at the smell alone.

“I’m starving!” Chris says, plopping onto one of the seats of eleven. “I think I can eat a whole bowl of food!”

Luke sat beside him, grinning from ear to ear. “Me too; I think I could eat a whole pegasus,” he laughs, reaching for a grape from the bowl in the middle of their table as he takes a look around the pavilion in search of Annabeth.

He spots Annabeth, smiling happily at one of her sisters, as she explains something—about architecture, Luke assumed, since Annabeth babbles about it most of the time—to her. Luke waves at his little sister, who beams at him and waves back before turning back to face her sister.

Luke's gaze then fell on the table right across his, flaming red hair settling into his view. Maya had her hair done in some sort of braid, Luke didn’t know what it was called, but it was pretty. It made her look like a Greek princess—duh—as she talked to one of her brothers, a strawberry blush on her cheeks and lips matching her locks.

“You’re staring at her,” Matt whispers in his ear with a chuckle. “Careful, you don’t want another broken nose.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Luke scowls at his brother, rolling his eyes. “I was thinking of how to make her fall in love with me.” 

“Tough luck, kid!” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “She’s a hard one; as I’ve told you, she’s the–”

“I know, she’s the devil reincarnate, you’ve been telling me the whole day.”

Matt sighs, taking a sip of his drink. “So, stop trying your luck, it’s not worth any of the trouble.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to admit that it’s fun.” Luke chuckles, reaching for the goblet in front of him. “What do I do again with this?”

“Ask it for whatever you want to drink, non-alcoholic, of course,” Matt answers before chugging his own drink. “Like so, raspberry lemonade.”

Luke watches as the cup fills on its own with pink liquid. “Woah,” he mumbles, before turning to his own. “Cherry coke.” The goblet in his hands filled as quickly as Matt’s did, fizzy dark liquid right in front of his eyes. “So cool!”

Luke wonders what Annabeth asked for in the goblet. His little sister never liked fizzy drinks; she says it makes her tummy feel funny. Maybe she went for a lemonade, like Matt, or an orange or pineapple juice because of its benefits, as she’s told him and Thalia so many times to even count. Thalia would prefer a crisp root beer. No more questions with that; Luke’s learned that the hard way.

Luke’s eyes landed again on Maya, making him wonder what her favorite drink is too. Maybe strawberry soda? Or maybe she doesn’t like soda? Maybe she prefers juice, like Annabeth does. Whatever she preferred, Luke was sure it was delicious, like his cherry coke.

“You coming to the bonfire later or are you heading straight to bed?” Chris asks through bites of food, sounding a little unintelligible, but Luke manages to understand.

“What do you guys even do at bonfires?”

"Well, for starters, we sing,” Matt chuckles. “But usually, the Aphrodite kids request songs that are, in my opinion, better than what we got used to singing. Down by the Aegean? Hell no, Uptown Girl is better.”

“I heard Chiron’s going to announce whether we have Capture the Flag next week.” One of the campers in table eleven piped up.

“Capture the flag?”

“It’s a camp tradition, kind of like War Games,” Matt answers, seeming a little excited. “It’s a weekly game, although it’s been canceled for the last two weeks because of a flu outbreak. It’s where two teams are given a flag each to protect. To win, one team must capture the opponent’s flag and bring it over the creek, which is the border.”

“Sounds fun,” Luke comments. “Which team are we on?”

“Blue,” Matt grumbles, turning to look at the Ares table. “With cabins six and seven.”

“Athena and Apollo, right?”

“Yeah,” Matt nods, sighing softly. “The losing team.”

“Red always wins,” Chris says, a frown making its way onto his lips. “Ares, Aphrodite, Demeter, Dionysus, and Hephaestus. Matt says it’s been years since Blue won a match.”

“Aphrodite plays in the games?” Luke snorts. “Aren’t they supposed to be prissy princes and princesses?”

“Wish they were,”

Luke turned to look back at table ten. Maya was sitting on the table, legs crossed over each other, as she laughed with a boy around their age. Luke was sure that the boy wasn’t her sibling—judging by the way he looked at her, that weasel of a boy had intentions. Luke wasn’t that worried, since Maya looked like she knew what she was doing. Another notch on her belt, perhaps, that boy.

All of a sudden, an idea came into Luke’s mind. The son of Hermes stood up from his seat, fixing his shirt (as if that would help) and messing his hair up slightly. 

“Where are you going?” Matt asks, eyes narrowed at Luke. “Don’t you think about it, Luke,” he warned, despite knowing that Luke would.

“Watch me get the girl,” Luke smirks at his brother, before sauntering over to the table right across eleven’s.

Matt groaned, shaking his head. “Why must you give me stubborn siblings, Dad?” He mutters, running a hand over his face in frustration.

As soon as Luke arrives at table ten, he smiles at the daughters of Aphrodite before slinging his arm over Maya’s shoulder—who didn’t seem to notice his presence until now.

The head counselor of cabin ten glares at him, but before she could utter a word, Luke turned his attention to the confused boy in front of them. “Hey man, what are you doing talking to my girl?” Luke asks, raising a brow at the boy standing just a few inches away.

Maya scoffs, pushing Luke’s arm off of her. “I am not-”

“You can go now,” Luke tells the boy, waving his hand and dismissing him like a servant he’s seen in shows before. The boy glares at Luke before making his way back to his own table, which was Hephaestus’.

“You son of a bitch!” Maya hisses, pushing him away from her. Her eyes turned an angry shade of black, and she glared at him intensely. “Do you have any fucking idea who you’re messing with!?”

“My, my, princess, such vulgar language,” Luke grins, leaning forward, leaving little over an inch of space between him and the devil.

“Let's not repeat lunch, shall we?” Maya says through gritted teeth, her eyes shifting back to emerald green as she takes three steps away  from Luke.

"Oh, but princess, I don't think you'd want to hit me with Chiron around, do you?” Luke smirks, leaning against the table slightly, looking a little arrogant for Maya’s liking.

“You think I won’t, newbie?”

“I think,” Luke starts, rubbing his chin dramatically, like he’s seen Thalia do before when they acted out shows for Annabeth. “You’re pretty hot when you’re mad.”

“You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?” Maya scowls at Luke, folding her arms over her chest.

“What? I’m just trying to be nice, princess.”

“I swear to the gods, if you call me that one more time, newbie,”

“You’ll what?” Luke taunts, taking a step forward, a smirk on his annoying face.

“You’re fucking asking for it.” Maya growls, grabbing his arm and twisting it over his back with a hard thrust. Everyone was looking at them, and it got Luke wondering why anyone hasn’t stopped her yet. 

“Ouch, woman! Violence is never the answer!” Luke struggled in her grasp; for a girl, the son of Hermes had to admit that she was strong—stronger than Thalia, perhaps? Maybe Luke could beat the daughter of Aphrodite in a sword fight, though. 

Maya let go of his arm, pushing him slightly away. “That should teach you,” she smiled, that sickeningly sweet smile of hers that was beginning to grow on him. The head of cabin ten turned around, making her way back to her seat, her long hair dancing like flames in the evening light.

“Damn, princess, you’re making this harder for me than it is for you,” Luke smirks, shaking his arm to make sure he can still move it after Maya’s attempt to break it. 

Maya stopped in her tracks, just barely an inch from her seat beside Silena, and before Luke Castellan could avoid it, Amaya Williams charged at him, her fist colliding with his face, again.

taglist: @lilmaymayy @mxtokko @ma1dita @jennapancake @sc4rl3ttdafoxx

#luke castellan story #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan fanfic #pjo luke #luke castellan x oc #luke castellan x aphrodite!oc #luke castellan x amaya williams #luke castellan x maya williams #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan series #luke castellan fic #pjo luke castellan #luke castellan #percy jackson #pjo #pjo fanfic #luke x amaya #luke x maya #maya williams #amaya williams #fanfiction #pjo series #luke pjo #luke castellan x oc!daughter of aphrodite #aphrodite cabin #hermes cabin #camp half blood #fanfic

[jinuaei]

Different Route

Heyyyy remember that idea I had for self aware Resident Evil 4? I made a small fic/drabble for it but got hyperfixated on hazbin hotel so it wasted as a WIP until I started to miss Leon and now here it is!!! I forgot how this was supposed to go so like the last 10% might be shit

I miss my babies so much 🥹

Warning: VERRYYYY small yandere behaviour

This is insane, everything is too crazy!

Ashley grips the lantern closer to her, the heat of it warming her up despite the shivers running through her body due to the cold marble floor she was  laying on. Tear streaks can be seen as she laments how awful everything has been. She still can't believe what has happened to her the past couple days, god, even what transpired an hour ago felt like a nightmare she desperately tries to wake up from. They were so close to escaping the castle, or at least she thought so.

After Leon successfully put together the heads of the chimera statue, gold bars, akin to jail cells, suddenly sprung up from the floor, surprising both her and Leon. Realizing that he's stuck, Leon tries to find a way out before rapid footsteps are heard from below the staircase. He then quickly commands Ashley to run, which she promptly follows by stumbling into the unexplored room behind her. While in there she proceeded to complete a puzzle that can help Leon escape the cell, encountering multiple scary moving armours on the way. Luckily, the blue lantern she found earlier helped her immensely, although she did lose it after trying to grab the key inside the strange mausoleum. The armours swinging its swords down almost made her pass out.

Once Ashley arrived at the elevated platform just above Leon, she was able to grab a key that could free Leon from his holding cell. However, before she could come back down to where he is, someone grabbed her from behind. Immediately struggling against the cultists grip, a sharp pain in her head stopped her from further movement. The pain was so immense that she could feel herself start to pass out, darkness started to creep in her vision as her ears rang loudly against Leon's screams of…pain? Her head lulls to where Leon is and she sees him drop to his knees and clutch his head, gripping his hair in pain. She tried to shout for him but she couldn't even produce a sound, she was only able to mouth a small 'Leon…' in the process. Just as she was going to lose consciousness, she heard two voices echo against her skull, loud and clear amidst the ringing in her ear.

"NOT HER…NOT YET," the first voice growls, masculine and very very familiar.

"Not her… Not again," the second one begs, soft and comforting, she almost cried hearing such a melodic voice. Perhaps this was an angel sent to bring her soul to heaven? Nonetheless, the pain was too much to bear and she passed out at the same time as Leon.

Given how Ashley has been the target of Los Illuminados, she would think she would wake up tied up in a pole, being forced to become one of the monsters that has been hunting her. Instead, she felt the cold floor pressed to her skin, waking her up from her unwanted sleep. Sitting up, she notices a warmth coming from right next to her.

On her side was the lantern, glowing brighter than she remembered, it flickered momentarily as her hands hover to grab it. Something tells her to keep this lantern very close to her, and she does. Orbs start to surround her, covering her with warmth, caressing her skin with the blue glow emitting from it.

Sobs come out from her mouth when the sudden feeling of love and affection rolls over her, it might be just from her starting to go crazy, but she doesn't care. This lantern is the only thing that made her feel safe with everything that happened. Sure, Leon has been there protecting her, but she admits that he's a bit weird muttering to himself about how ‘They came back’ or how he’ll ‘make sure that They won't leave him anymore, not again’. But that doesn't matter anymore, not when Leon needs help, not when she has the lantern with her. 

Ashley clutches the lantern tight against her tear streaked form, determination filling her as the thought of Leon needing her help filled her mind. She knows she needs to help Leon and even though it's scary, the blue light has given her enough confidence to proceed. Something tells her that nothing bad will happen to her when she's holding the lantern.

“Leon… wait for me, I'll save you!”

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #yandere leon kennedy #yandere resident evil #yandere x reader #Ashley graham x reader #yandere leon kennedy x reader #Self aware resident evil

[vilevenom]

I asked for a sad prompt, and MAN, did you deliver, @bitterbunny07! I'm definitely still working through some writers block, but it felt so good to get this done within a couple of hours. So, yeah, obvious trigger warning: mentions of miscarriage. Nothing is described, however.

Enjoy!~

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. After everything he'd already gone though, how could this be happening?

Branch's ears were ringing. He knew Poppy and the doctor were talking to him, but he couldn't hear them. He couldn't breath.

~

Branch hadn't seen Poppy in a week. He knew she'd brought him back to the bunker after the doctors appointment, and he was pretty sure she'd come by the bunker once or twice since then, but he hadn't seen her. He made point of staying holed up in his room, only venturing out once in the last week to grab a few rations from his pantry, though he barely touched them. He felt like he didn't deserve to. Not after…that.

So, it was a little surprising when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.

"Poppy?" he asked, his voice slightly croaky from crying near endlessly over the last week.

"Sorry, bud," a much deeper voice than Branch had been expecting said, before the bedroom door opened to reveal his oldest brother, "But she did ask me to come check on you."

"I don't blame her," Branch sniffed, rubbing at his eye and hunching his shoulders under the pile of blankets he'd buried himself under, "For not wanting to see me."

"Hey, now," John Dory scolded quietly, moving across the room to sit on the edge of Branch's bed. He reached out and gently pulled the blankets away from Branch's head, revealing the starkly grey face below. "Who said she didn't want to see you? That has nothing to do with it. She's worried about you, Bitty B, but she thought you wouldn't want to see her."

"Why would she think I didn't want to see her? I'm the one who…I…our egg," Branch choked on his words, covering his mouth with a hand as he gagged. John Dory reeled back quickly, glancing around and snagging a waste basket from near the bed as Branch dry heaved into his hand.

"It's okay, B," John soothed, holding the bin near Branch and shifting so he could rub his baby brother's back. Or, at least, where he assumed his back was through all of the blankets. "Let it out."

"I-" Branch began, only to snag the bin from John's hands and heave into it, what little contents he had in his stomach escaping in a mad dash.

"That's it," John hummed, wrinkling his nose at the retching sounds, but otherwise doing his best to stay calm and soothing.

Once Branch was done he sat back, settling the bin in his lap as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth as a quiet sob bubbled up from his throat. "Why did this happen?"

The nearly inaudible question caught John Dory a bit off guard, but he collected himself quickly, taking the waste basket from Branch and setting it on the floor so he could gather his littlest brother and all of his blankets into his arms. "I can't answer that, Bitty B. I'm sorry."

"I did everything right," Branch sniffed, leaning into John, "I took all the vitamins, I was careful with my hair. We sang to it every day…But it still-it still died."

John gave Branch a squeeze, nuzzling his chin gently into the top of his brothers head, where he knew the egg once sat. "Sometimes…sometimes these things just happen. Without rhyme or reason."

"That's not good enough!" Branch suddenly snapped, wrenching himself out of John's grasp, his blankets falling down around his waist as he turned a tearful, angry scowl on his brother. "There has to be a better explanation! Even the doctor couldn't figure it out! It's not fair!" Branch hiccupped, his anger quickly burning out as tears he should, by all rights, be too dehydrated for began to tumble down his cheeks. "It's not fair."

"I know, Branch," John sighed, reaching for his brother again, only to have his hands slapped away.

"How would you know?! How could you possibly know what this feels like?! This-this awful, hollow feeling from knowing that, no matter what you could've done, no matter how much you wanted it, that your body rejected and killed something so defenseless? Something so small?"

John let his brother rage at him, a look of sympathy on his face. He let out a quiet little sigh, before digging into his hair and producing three small photos. He looked them over for a moment, before holding them out to Branch. His younger brother took them with a confused frown, his nose wrinkling as he tossed the photos back towards John after glancing at them briefly.

"Are you trying to rub something in my face?" Branch snapped, watching as John quickly and reverently picked the photos back up.

"No," John sighed, brushing his thumb over the edge of the photos, "They were mine."

Branch opened his mouth to snap at his brother again, only for his brain to lethargically catch up to what he just saw and heard. John didn't have kids, but he had pictures of eggs. "…Were?"

"Yeah," John gave a little nod, a sad smile on his face as he fanned the photos out and tipped them so Branch could see them again, though he did not offer them back over. "I didn't actually get a picture of the first one, since I sort of blacked out? And my partner at the time took the egg before I could do anything, but…yeah. I took a pictures of the rest. None of them survived past week three."

"I…John," Branch began, eyes wide as his brother tucked the pictures back into his hair.

"Hey, this isn't about me. I just wanted to let you know that I get it. I've been where you are. It's hard, and nothing I say or do will probably ever make you feel better. But, I just want to let you know I'm here. And so is Poppy," John said as he reached out to gently squeeze Branch's knee.

"When were they?"

"Hmm?"

"The eggs. When were they?"

"Oh," John sat back and fidgeted slightly. "Probably in my mid to late twenties? My partner was really, uh, affectionate, let's just say, but not…they weren't really present. It was a fair few years after the band broke up, and I made some really piss poor life decisions."

"And you wanted them?"

John sighed, rubbing at his face, before slumping over to lean on the headboard of Branch's bed, a far away look on his face. "So much. My partner sucked, but I loved kids. And, honestly, thinking I was gonna get to raise a kid of my own, it made me feel like I was getting a second chance to be better. I messed up so bad taking care of you guys, I thought it was the universe giving me a another chance. But that…well, obviously that wasn't really the case."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey!" John sat up, reaching out to tug Branch into a hug, glad that this time his brother fell into his chest without complaint, "Again, this isn't about me. This is about you."

"But…I couldn't imagine going through this again, and again…how did you manage?" Branch murmured, turning his face to bury it against John's shoulder.

"Honestly? I didn't. I wallowed a lot, and I just sort of floated through life. Pretty sure I was grey for a good chunk, too? I honestly don't really remember much. All four of them happened within the span of, like, two years."

"…If I ever find out who your partner was during all that, you know I'm going to send the K-Pop and Reggaeton trolls after them, right?" Branch muttered, half muffled by John's shoulder.

John snorted, rubbing Branch's back as he chuckled. "Yeah, I'm not gonna tell you that. Plus, I would have to honestly say that, with the amount of, mmm, illicit activities they enjoyed, I wouldn't be surprised if time already beat you to that punch."

They sat quietly for some time, John quietly humming as he stroked his fingers up and down Branch's back, while his shoulder became damp with his youngest brothers silent tears. Finally, when he deemed a sufficient amount of time had passed, and his knee began to protest the way he was sitting on the edge of the bed, he gently pushed Branch back so he was sat up. "How're you feeling now?"

"Horrible," Branch stated bluntly, sniffing rather loudly and earning a soft smile from his brother.

"Yeah, I could've guess that," John chuckled, offering Branch a handkerchief from his hair, "You look like garbage. But, do you think you're feeling well enough to see Poppy?"

"…Does she really want to? See me, I mean?" Branch wiped at his face, while he glanced at the fingers of his free hand. "I'm even grey again. This isn't what she signed up for."

"I think you should probably let her decide what she signed up for, Bitty B," John murmured, standing up from the bed and letting out a groan as his back cracked and his knee popped.

"Yeah," Branch sighed, absently wringing the handkerchief in his hands. "You can tell her, whenever she wants to, she can come over. We should talk about this."

"That sounds good," John hummed turning his head slightly, "You hear that, your highness?"

Branch jerked in his spot on the bed, turning wide eyes on his bedroom door as Poppy pushed it open, a bashful, tired little smile on her face as she waved at Branch. "Sorry, I-I really didn't know if you'd want to see me? And you were so sad, so I knew you needed someone to talk to, but I didn't think it being me would've been a good idea, and I couldn't think of anyone else you would let in here, let alone actually talk to, so I just-"

"Poppy!"

Branch let out the first quiet laugh he had in over a week as Poppy's mouth snapped shut with a click of her teeth, while he lifted the blankets in a silent offer to the queen of pop. She let out an audible sob, before rushing the bed and snuggling up into Branch.

"Yeah. You kids'll be okay," John muttered to himself, turning to let himself out of the bedroom as the two began to speak in hushed tones to each other under the blankets.

"John, wait!"

John Dory paused in the doorway, turning a curious glance back at his brother, who was already beginning to look a bit lighter. Not blue, not even close, but not the dark charcoal grey he'd been moments before. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being here, and talking to me."

"Whenever you need, you know where to find me," he said with a small nod, before heading out the door.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls branch #trolls john dory #tw: miscarriage #trolls fanfic #prompt fill #things that i wrote

[nobodywritingao3]

.

#ive already expressed what i want to express but i still feel jorrible #i havent felt this badly triggered in months #my skin is crawling' heart wont stop beating' ears are ringing' cant sit still but cant focus on anything #the mental health center isuakly go to already closed for the day #i dont trust myseld to drive anywhere #i know im safe but my body is on fire #i cant stop worrying #theres a part of me that i resent that is afraid that w.soot is gonna try to kill himself #at the same time i feel so sick at all the stuff hes done #all the women coming forward specifically #ive lost faith in someone i really admires #oddly enough im not having flashbacks? #memory loops definitely #i want to sleep but my body literally cannot stop shaking #i have been shaking for hours #i think its literally been 10 hours at this point of non stop shaking #i dont want to admit myself to a psych ward but i think im reaching a point where i might have to go #i havent been there in over a year & i hate it cuz the temperature controls are broken and they wake you up at 5am to make sure youre alive #im safe but i dont want to be alone with this #i dont want to be awake right now #my body wont stop shaking

[applejarjar]

The first sleeve I made for my costume! I'm going as a Druid who can shift into a dragon 🐲

First time making chainmail and actually building a costume myself!

And of course included in the photoset is the necklace that inspired my scalemail, it was a gift I got from my family

The lighting in my house makes everything look so blue but it's all pride themed! Can't wait to take some pics in the sun so the purple can really shine through!!

#Btw I made this for a ren Faire costume #I'm going to make a matching sleeve for my other arm too! #The links are done I just need to get some leather to lace it up with and also strengthen some of the rings #Might add a few links to what I'll call the 'flight' scales on the sides because they lay kinda funny #But I'm super happy with it!!!! #Definitely worth the like 2 hours of just planning the pattern and figuring out how to hold the pliers #I altered a hat one time for a pirate cosplay but that was just some glue and patience #This is a whole other ordeal lol #Not the most polished project but I'm positive the second one will be much better #Then when I get the rest of my materials. hopefully soon. I can begin on my skirt #Sadly I couldn't find the Grey scales that're in the necklace anywhere #Apparently they were painted pewter and have been discontinued :/ #But still! I'm also planning on building a skirt that'll have all 4 colors in it so hopefully that makes up for the lack of Grey in these #And my other scalemail type stuff #I got some custom earrings and a cloak clasp that I'll add to my outfit as well #It's gonna be so cool all together!!! #I just hope everything arrives on time 😭 #I still have to get my dress to my sister or be altered and learn the pattern for the skirt oof #Shouldn't be too hard once I get my stuff but I couldn't even begin cause I was missing the most important ring size #Of course it'd be to where I couldn't preassemble all that much ahead of time when my whole plan hinged on that #It's a unit based pattern so it seemed perfect for me in case I ran out of time assembling enough I could string them together #But I can't even start the first piece!!! #Also the larger rings probably would've been better to start learning on #These tiny ones were a pain in the ass lol

[blessedshortcake]

Pants update

#im ready to burn the house down #someone actually sedate me i spent 3 days 3 fucking days working on it #AND ITS STILL. OFF. COLOUR. IM RUNNING OUT OF DYE #I BOUT 13 THIRTEEEEEEEN FUCKING BATCHES #OF DYE #AND IM RUNNING #OUT #DO YOU KNOW #HOW MUCH #THAT IS #ive cried about. 8 times the past 4 hours #i. i csnt. i cant fucking. i cant. take this shit. how. why. why. why how and whyyyyy #ive had more caffeine than what should be humanly possible and my ears are ringing like i just got flashbanged #i really really badly need a hug or at least Any human contact ive been locked in here Alone since friday #like to Speak to someone or or i dont fucking know ill take ANYTHING at this point #i think i am losing it like i thought there was nothing beyond where i was before but i guess i was wrong /lh #how do you make friends these days i Need more people to talk to i have 2 online friends i talk to almost every day #and that is it. i have Occasional friends whom i still love but i think being stir crazy is partially from my ass having no one to #talk to. idk tho im still just losing it rn so i am literally just rambling 😭 help

[racke7]

So... recently I moved, because I didn’t like having a daily commute of 3 hours to the office. Especially with icy roads and all that.

Yesterday, I was given a job in the same town that I used to live in. And I was given that job instead of the guy who used to have that job (a guy who lives there currently), because they wanted him to work 100% at a job that was closer to me.

Both me and him have voiced doubts about how that makes sense, our client is also voicing doubts on our behalf, one of my bosses seems to be sympathetically shaking his head at how the hell this mess got created, and it’s possible that the decision will be reversed at some point in the future.

Whatever. Today I drove to the office an hour earlier, so that I could take out the gear I’d need, and then drive over there. Once there, we had a bunch of “this is what you need to know”-stuff to get through before I could start doing the job they’d hired me to do, and I was pressed enough for time that I shortened my lunch the maximum amount (half an hour) in the hopes of getting it all done in time. I did, and then I went back to the office in order to store my gear there. I arrived half-an-hour past my usual work-hours, and then the alarm started trying to turn me deaf (it’s a really fucking stupid alarm, I hate it so much), before I finally made it back on the road to go home.

In other words, from the way I’m counting this, from entering the office in the morning to exiting the office in the evening, I’ve effectively worked 2 hours overtime.

And I’ll be filing it as that.

We’ll see if that might help convince them that perhaps this is a really stupid idea.

#and yeah - the alarm? it's a touch-pad with invisible keys - so you can't see them and if you hover over them it counts as pressing #even if you don't touch anything - and also it'll double-press the numbers at random - or forget to press others #(and again - it's fucking INVISIBLE - bcs that's such a nice feature for actually giving it the code that it demands) #and when it inevitably goes off it'll go off like a goddamn car-alarm - my ears are still ringing and it's been an hour #personal stuff #work

[samwisefamgee]

my tooth hurts so bad I can’t sleep

#I’m visiting friends #it was supposed to be a relaxing break 🙃 #because now that it’s dropped below 30 degrees living in the trailer gets a lot harder #so ya know it’s nice to visit and beat the cold for a while #but nah instead I’ve been having a really really quiet breakdown for two hours while my friends sleep #cause they gotta get up early for work ya know? and my anxiety already makes me hate being here even though they invited me #because it’s still on the pretense of getting out of the cold and even though they’re friends I don’t want them to feel obligated to me just #just cause it’s cold out. that’s not their job #so they bring me into their home to do me a favor and I repay it by being neurotic in the middle of the night. sorry. again #bruh I just wanna catch a break. even my breaks are exhausting #the tank is running empty yall #I haven’t been able to afford going to the dentist for over a year and a half #and I’ve desperately needed to go. I wasn’t even able to afford everything I needed the time I went before that #so my teeth have been extra shit and only getting worse #I just hope the pain goes away #this was supposed to be a break….. #if I don’t focus on other sounds the ringing in my ears becomes unbearable #I’m sitting near a rather noisy heater and it’s drowning even that out at times #and as per usual. god won’t let me die

[orcelito]

Out of the concert. It was LOTS of fun

+ I was Pretty Close 👀 enough so that my camera could semi-clearly catch them as individuals.

I filmed a LOT of it. My camera roll looks like this now lol

#speculation nation #traffic getting out is kinda insane. very glad we have a hotel bc the idea of being in the car for SEVERAL HOURS after this #it would be . a Lot ... #but yea i had lots of fun. my voice is shot. but ear plugs r a beautiful invention #god ive been to concerts so rarely that it's still a novel experience. especially as of late #i really cant get enough of that feeling of the music in my chest. Especially since i had ear plugs this time #all the benefits of the Extremely loud music without the drawbacks of ringing ears!!! #lmfao there was a part where they were having the fans randomly put on camera to dance #and i was just. shying down into my seat. i did NOT want it hfskhfjd #god i loved the fashion of everyone there. Very goth & alternative. #makes me wish i dressed up more lol but it's fine #im so used to my usual all black getup setting me apart. but i was Underdressed here!!! crazy #anyways yea chicago. i sure am in it. Hotel Time in soon lol

[glassfullofsass]

lets normalize turning down the volume

#my god #my ears are still ringing and it's been half an hour since I left the rink

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

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[snowyves]

Who knew this orc suitor of yours would be laying panting and desperate beneath you in a span of 2 weeks? Absolutely no one.

There that ginormous, muscly and beefy orc sweating and whimpering just for you, begging you to atleast touch him a little on his swollen balls, maybe just a peck on his lips would be just as perfect, but enough to make him explode and release all the load he's been compiling over the week, he hoped to unload it inside you though but as long as you're satisfied, he'll gladly kneel down for anything.

You lay comfortably on top of him, peppering sloppy kisses all over his lips, his neck, almost gobbling him up, he just embraces your waist and accepts your affection like the good boy he is, isnt he? Oh but he wouldn't take that unless you say it.

Being a little too carried away into the moment, you didn't even notice the way he's slowly trying to hump unto your pelvic area, just trying to get the slightest bit of friction on his full dick, but of course that angelic face of yours comes with a oppositing teasing demeanor.

"Patience.." that one word shuts off all his motor skills truth to be told, he's not even his own monster anymore, he's just yours, there to please you, to let you toy with him, let you use him, break him even.

"My sweet please.." trembling voice begging, just begging you to let him have a taste, but in all honesty, you were the one getting impatient.

"Just a little then okay?" Your sweet, sticky voice whispering in his ear, giving him that cue to start lapping you up like the starved orc he is, a thirsty man hungry for that cunt, its that only thing that could truly hydrate him, nothing more.

What was little about any of that when your juices are all up on his face, with 2 of his fingers pumping inside, deeper, deeper, and then completely out, and then inside, and deeper and deeper and out again, the squeelching noises is all you can hear inside your room, his pants, his desperate groans and little side comments like "all f' me" and "jus' what i need"

You attempt to close your legs a little to give yourself a little break, but his beefy arms just stop it and completely spreads it to its maximum flexibility, giving him the full access to the delicacy infront of him.

You cum, clear liquid gushing unto his mouth and he still continues to lap you up with vigor, the overstimulation gets to you and you scream with so much pleasure, gripping the sheets and your eyes rolling back and your mouth wide agape.

Its been minutes, maybe hours? And the bedsheets are soaked, this man not tired, and your pussy quivering from making out with that gorgeous mans' mouth.

You sweared on the heavens above you NEED to get this man a ring on his finger.

It came to the point where you were in doggie, your legs stuck to each other, you can feel your cunnies lips squished together, and this mans' tongue lapping between that tiny gap, then completely mouthing your whole pussy, he grips your hips and pushes it deeper into his face, the pressure of his hooked nose pressing unto your labia and ass is just too much, you try to wiggle away but something about that awakens your orc's instinct, he pulls your hips deeper, deeper unto his face, the grip that his fingers have on your hips is just diabolical, but nothing more than being eaten out from the back right?

"Just give me one last sweetheart, okay ill be good i swear.."

Whats what he said the last time

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