Jul 15
Courtland Gentry Masterlist - Let-Love-Run-Red
AO3 Link
⚠️- extreme content warning | 💞 - contains smut
Content/Tw's are listed at the beginning of each chapter and tagged
***
One Shots
All of It
Teenagers
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Russia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from France
seen from Türkiye
seen from Canada
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Sweden
seen from China
seen from Japan
seen from United States
Courtland Gentry Masterlist - Let-Love-Run-Red
AO3 Link
⚠️- extreme content warning | 💞 - contains smut
Content/Tw's are listed at the beginning of each chapter and tagged
***
One Shots
All of It
Teenagers
Y'all I think it's time for my Long Dreaded master list overhaul
All of It
He’d never been good at words, and it was two in the morning and he couldn’t think straight. Maybe in the morning he’d have the words to express just what you meant to him, how much he valued you. Even if meeting you meant being pepper sprayed in the eyes, all of it was worth it to come home to you.
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3k words of fluff with Courtland reflecting a bit on how life has changed since he escaped the Sierra program, how he's reconnected with his brothers, how he gets to come home to you each night, featuring some evening cuddles
Pairing: Courtland Gentry x reader (no use of YN)
Word Count: 3,032
AO3 Link | Courtland Masterlist
**
The Sierra program. A team of the elite, the best in their field. Sierra Six alone had a higher kill count than any of the rest, capable of tearing through highly specialized operatives with ease, trained like a dog to a whistle.
He was also forty-five years old, no longer Sierra, and exhausted.
Courtland Gentry grunted as the key finally turned in the lock and he turned the old, rusted knob. He’d have to fix that this week. He rested his weight against the door, and it didn’t budge. He grumbled and thumped his shoulder against the door, pushing a little harder, and stumbling on his bad knee when it finally slipped from the frame. He hissed when the hinges squeaked behind him entirely too loudly in the house for 1 in the morning.
He huffed and pushed the door shut behind him, trying his best to stay quiet. The last thing he needed was a moody teenager chastising him for coming home too loud. He emptied his pockets onto the counter, unloading every knife, gun—unloading the bullets from the gun and clearing the chamber—spare ammunition, his wallet, keys, and phone from his pockets and dropping them in an unceremonious heap.
They were another problem for morning Courtland.
He sat on the small bench beside the door, the one you’d insisted on keeping there. He thought it was a waste of space where he could keep a go bag, you said it was useful for taking off shoes. And when he sat down to start unlacing his boots instead of balancing awkwardly on his bad leg, he was reminded again that you were usually right.
After doing a sweep of the house, checking every window, every closet, behind every door, and every place he would hide if he were still Six, he finished vy checking every door lock. Twice. When he was satisfied there was nobody hiding in the house and nobody working on Denny Carmichael’s orders to hunt him down, he finally made his way to the bathroom to start on a shower.
He let the steam clear his sinuses as the hot water melted the aches out of his muscles. Not nearly as well as it did when you rubbed his back, but it would do.
He figured he’d be cut out for it with his history as Six, but he’d learned the hard way that private security was a different animal entirely. He was trained to locate and neutralize targets, not to catch crowd-surfers being thrown over the barrier at a metal concert. Beer in the eyes didn’t burn as much as pepper spray, but he was not allowed to throat strike the twenty-something year old boy who threw it in his face.
His ribs ached from where a crowd surfer had kicked him on the way down, his lip was split from what he was pretty sure was a demonia to the face, his ears rang from forgetting his earplugs, and it was fair to say he’d had a bad day.
So he squeezed a generous amount of your black cherry and orchid body wash onto a loofah, and scrubbed at his skin until it was red and tender and he smelled like you. He needed to scrub off the sweat and the smell of weed before he could even think of climbing into bed with you, of making the soft black sheets smell a thing like that damn concert venue.
When he was satisfied that he was finally clean he shut the water off and toweled his hair dry. He slipped on his favorite worn pair of gray sweatpants and shut the light off before leaving the bathroom so he wouldn’t wake Claire.
He cracked open the door to her bedroom, peeking in to make sure Claire was still sleeping soundly. The soft night light cast a warm golden glow through her bedroom, barely illuminating the shape of her bundled under all the blankets and the stuffed bear tucked between her pillow and headboard. He quietly crossed the room and brushed her hair away from her face, watching her nose wrinkle as he tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Mmf, Six?” She grumbled, squinting against the night light. The only person still allowed to call him Six. He shushed her and smoothed her hair down.
“Yeah, just checkin’ on you.” He whispered. She swatted at his hand and he huffed out a soft laugh when she rolled over and pulled the blanket over her head with a muffled “go away.”
He relented, satisfied that she was safe, that the house was secure, that he had finally cleaned enough of his day off, finally worthy of you.
He finally cracked the door open to your bedroom, the one he shared with you, and let out a breath when he smelled your perfume and shampoo and saw your delicate form under the comforter.
He kicked his sweatpants off before pulling the covers back, sliding under them with you, immediately gathering you in his arms and pulling you closer until your back was against his chest.
God you were so warm, so soft in his arms. He wrapped an arm tight around your midsection and crossed the other over your chest, ducking his head to bury his nose in the crook of your shoulder and nuzzle into you. You shifted and sucked in a breath as he pressed feather-light kisses to your skin.
“Hm, Court?” You whispered, voice scratchy with sleep. He hummed softly against your skin, rubbing his cheek against your throat. You giggled as his beard and stubble scratched against your skin. You reached back and cupped his cheek, turning to look at him. He pressed his cheek into your palm and you kissed the scar on his eyebrow. He lifted his chin with a soft hum and you met his lips in a tender kiss, slotting your mouth into his. He let out a quiet whine as the split in his lip stung but he’d endure it all if only to kiss you a little longer.
You pulled away and Courtland made a displeased sound. “I was asleep.” You teased, voice thick with sleep as he continued to nuzzle into you, dragging you further out of your comfortable slumber.
“Hm, need this.” He countered, pulling you tighter against his chest to nuzzle you. You ran your fingers through his beard and scratched softly at his jaw and Courtland sighed into your throat.
“Bad day?” You asked, a little more clear now. Courtland nodded wordlessly and pressed his forehead against the back of your neck. You squirmed and he grumbled in protest, but loosened his grip just enough that you could roll onto your back. Courtland allowed you to get comfortable before you reached for him and cupped his cheek again. He turned to kiss your palm and smiled into your hand before moving to settle his weight between your thighs. He laid down so his chest was pressed against your stomach and his head was pillowed on your chest just under your chin. You tucked your head and kissed his temple, then followed it with a kiss to his brow. Courtland lifted his head and met your lips again, hand squeezing the flesh of your hips as you threaded your fingers through his soft damp hair and smoothing your other hand over the scarred planes of his back.
You’d met Courtland Gentry fourteen years ago when he dragged himself through your bathroom window bloody and bruised from whatever mission he’d been on. He’d fallen into your bathtub with a massive commotion as he dragged every bottle of soap off the windowsill with him and landed in the tub with a very loud “fuck!” and a bruised shoulder.
He was twenty-eight and on his first mission by himself and had gotten out of it no worse for wear, If you didn’t count the box cutter blade sticking out of his side (And every time he told this story you insisted the box cutter did count as “worse for wear”). You were a registered nurse that had just gotten home from a twelve-hour shift and ended up pepper-spraying him in the face before he even got a chance to explain. After you had both calmed down, and you saw just what state he was in, you ended up dragging him to the kitchen to stitch him up.
He’d started showing up more after that day, usually in various states of injury ranging from a cut on his arm to being hit by a truck. Usually with blood coating his teeth, asking you to patch him up, but always with the same sly smile and flirtatious quips. He’d crash for a day or two and then disappear mysteriously. Sometimes he’d leave a note, once he’d left his jacket and you weren’t sure if it was on purpose or not but you started wearing it anyway, and when you finally upgraded from a landline to a cell phone he made sure his number was saved in it.
He finally told you exactly who he was on his 35th birthday. You had a feeling he would show up, he’d made a habit of stopping by on his birthday and your birthday whether he needed medical attention or not. You were lying in your bed, just like you were now, with his nose tucked against your throat and your hand rubbing over the scratches you’d left in his back, and you asked him what he did for work. He’d paused and you were afraid you’d pushed it too far, that he’d get up and put his clothes back on and leave like every time before.
Instead he’d taken a deep breath, and explained to you what a gray man was and how he came to be one of the CIA’s most invaluable assets. He explained that he was a murderer, killed his own father. That he was trained to be a weapon, an asset, that before he gave it to you he barely remembered his own name. He told you he wouldn’t blame you if you wanted him to leave, but you just pulled him in for a kiss, and let him stay. He’d never really stopped staying the night after that.
He groaned against your lips when you dug the heel of your hand into a particularly sore spot under his shoulder blade. You pulled back with a soft chuckle and smoothed his hair down before dragging your fingers through it again, fluffing his hair. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips that Courtland chased when you pulled away, before you pushed at his shoulder. He grumbled but relented and rolled to the side. He huffed again when you slipped from beneath him.
“Where you goin’?” He complained. You hummed in response and sat up beside him, gently rubbing his back. Courtland settled flat on his stomach, grabbing your pillow and shoving his face into it. He shifted and shuffled as he got comfortable, tucking your pillow under his chest and turning his head to face you. He cracked an eye open and quirked his brow to watch you. Once he was comfortable, you swung one leg over his hips to straddle him and he groaned at the weight on his lower back. You smoothed a hand over his spine and he let his eyes flutter closed.
You massaged his back, and Courtland groaned as you pressed your hands into his sore muscles. This was something you’d started doing after the third time he’d shown up at your place, when he’d jumped out of the back of a truck and tweaked his back. He’d been hesitant at first but damn, it really did help. And now that he was older and fully recognizing the extent of just how badly he fucked up his body, he would never complain about a back massage.
“You want to talk about the bad day?” You asked, slowly running your hands down his back, pressing lightly to feel for any tense muscles. You knew him, knew his body, so well by now that you could usually find what hurt and fix it in just a few minutes. He grumbled and shifted his weight under you.
“Not much to talk about, took a boot to the teeth, had a grown adult dropped on my head, the usual.” He quipped. You hummed and pressed your thumbs into his lower back on either side of his spine.
Courtland let out a pleased grumble when you pushed your palms into the muscles of his back, pushing up towards his shoulders. He was, admittedly, getting way too old for the line of work he was in. You’d encouraged him to find something he liked, something that made him happy, but he’d been “six” for so long it was taking him awhile to learn who “Courtland Gentry” was again.
His first priority when he got Claire back was keeping her safe. You’d been a great help at that, offering your home, helping him get Claire enrolled in school, even finding her a therapist (trying to convince him to go, though he wouldn’t agree to go for at least four months).
His second priority was staying with you. That was easy, you stayed with him through all of it. Through the nightmares, through the diagnoses, while he figured out his medication, all of it.
His third priority was learning who Courtland Gentry was, what he wanted, what was important to him. And when he mentioned he wanted to reconnect with his brothers you’d supported him in that too.
And when Colt and Ryland had, at first, spat in his face and cursed him for leaving them, you were there to catch him when he fell apart.
He let out a quiet yelp when you pressed into the knot of muscle under his left shoulder blade, ripping him from his thoughts. You apologized softly as you continued to work out the sore spot and he burrowed his face further into the pillow.
“Oh Court, you sure you’re up for tomorrow?” You asked, breaking the silence as you worked out the knot under his left shoulder blade. He winced and nodded.
“Yeah, ‘m good.” He grumbled, letting out a growl when you pressed harder under his shoulder. The biweekly dinner just so happened to fall on his birthday and Claire insisted on setting up a party for him. Which meant Courtland got roped into grilling burgers and hot dogs on his birthday.
“They’d understand Court.” You reasoned, letting the pressure off of his shoulder and lightly dragging your nails down his back. Courtland shuddered and hummed contentedly. They would.
His brothers had come around eventually, and now the biweekly dinners were their way of staying connected to each other. Courtland loved those dinners, loved learning more about his brothers' lives. Loved the way Ryland had started to hug him again and Colt started trying to roughhouse with him as much as his bad knee and Colt’s bad back would let them.
Ryland warmed up the fastest to him. He’d been close with both of them when they were young (thirty years ago) but Ryland had always been the one who leaned on him the most, the one who climbed into his bed on the hard nights. Colt was always more hard-headed. But Ryland had talked some sense into Colt and convinced him to take Courtland up on his offer for dinner, on him, just to hear him out. Shortly after that you suggested regular dinners, so the three could get to know each other again. After the first few Colt had even started to bring his wife Jody.
Which of course led to Colt relentlessly teasing Ryland, lightheartedly, about being the only single brother. Ryland would laugh, and tease Colt right back, and Court would just smile because it almost felt like they were still kids again and the twins were poking fun at each other for their crush of the month. Until the day Ryland admitted, face bright red, that he actually wasn’t single anymore.
“We’re ‘sposed to meet Simon tomorrow,” Court countered, “can’t cancel on Ry when he’s finally letting me meet his boyfriend.” You smoothed your hand over his bare back and traced the scars over his shoulders. He shifted to look at you over his shoulder.
You let his gaze and smiled softly. “You’re a good brother.” You lowered yourself to lay against his back and kissed his shoulder gently. He hummed and shifted to nudge you.
He turned away from you, cheeks burning, and pressed his face into the pillow with a muffled grumble of protest.
“You are, but I’m too tired to push it.” You slid off his back and laid down beside him. You immediately burrowed under his arm and Courtland rolled on his side. You slipped your arm over his waist and tucked your head under his chin, kissing the hollow of his throat before settling against his bare chest. Court nuzzled his nose into your hair and squeezed your hip, before letting his eyes flutter closed.
“I love you big guy.” You whispered. Courtland smiled, feeling his heart thump hard in his chest, the way it did every time you said you loved him. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you against his chest and you let out a soft “uff.”
“I love you too.” He confessed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you.”
You yawned and pressed your nose into his throat. “For what?” Your voice was already heavy and slow with sleep as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers over the scars on his lower back.
He took a breath, trying to find the right words. “For all of it.” He whispered into your hair and cringed. He’d never been good at words, and it was two in the morning and he couldn’t think straight. Maybe in the morning he’d have the words to express just what you meant to him, how much he valued you. Even if meeting you meant being pepper sprayed in the eyes, all of it was worth it to come home to you.
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NOTES:
Please forgive this fic, it's a midnight rambling and the first fic I've written in AWHILE and scribbled between work and the trials of adult life but I love Courtland so very much, so have this (:
Please note: NO AI was used in the making of this fic, all natural garbage from my own mind
I DO NOT CONSENT to any of my work being put through AI in any way, shape, or form.
It’s barely been a year and a half since we lost my grandma, it’s almost been a month since you’ve left and I miss you, mom.
Soft Launch
Pairing: Sylus x MC (can be reader insert)
Summary: "Sweetie, what is a soft launch?" You nearly snorted and had to cover your mouth. There was no way the leader of Onychinus was asking you what a soft launch was.
AO3 link | Masterlist
----
“Sweetie?” Sylus’ baritone voice called from the bed. You poked your head out, toothbrush still in your mouth, to see him lounging back against the massive pillows with the plush quilt pooling around his hips. He looked like a dream, reading glasses low on his nose, hair slightly ruffled, and scowling in confusion at his phone.
“Yeah?” You asked. He looked up at you, brows furrowed.
“What am I to you?” He asked. You raised a brow and turned back to the bathroom. You quickly spit the toothpaste from your mouth and rinsed your toothbrush before leaning against the bathroom doorway.
“You’re my boyfriend. Why?” You pressed. He tilted his phone towards you. You stood from the doorframe and crossed the room to sit at the edge of the bed. He passed you his phone. He had Moments up and had been scrolling through your friends feed. One of your coworkers had posted a photo of them holding hands with, someone, who’s face wasn’t shown in the photo. A few others had posted similar photos. You scrolled for a bit.
Pumpkin patch excursions with scarves covering half of their partners face. Photos from behind of a girl walking through an orchard with all the colors of fall leaves in the background. Photos of happy couples that left the mystery partners identity a mystery.
And of course Tara being Tara had her own moments post with a light-hearted quip about all these soft launches making her wish she had her own relationship. She’d even tagged you in her post and said “maybe us single girls need to attend that speed dating event.”
“So you’re single now?” He pressed when he saw you’d reached Tara’s post. You bit your lip. According to everyone at the Hunter’s Association, yes. You were. Your relationship with Sylus had been kept under close lock and key in Linkon City and doubly so within the Hunter’s Association. His files required the highest security clearance to access. He was a closely guarded secret in your organization. So anywhere outside the N109 zone, you had to pretend you were single and entirely uninterested in dating.
You leaned in and kissed Sylus’ cheek. He turned to catch your lips in a soft kiss and you curled up against his side. You handed him the phone and he read Tara’s post again, eyes tracing over the words as he did. You watched his expression closely.
“It’s alright, I know better.” He turned to press a kiss to the crown of your head before turning back to the post. He tilted his head back, holding the phone slightly further from his face. You raised a brow as you watched the confusion written on his face.
“Sweetie, what is a soft launch?” His tone was full of utter confusion. You nearly snorted and had to cover your mouth. There was no way the leader of Onychinus was asking you what a soft launch was. Sylus continued utterly oblivious to your attempts at holding back your laughter.
“I do of course know about it in a business sense but, I doubt your friends would announce a new business venture like this.” He scrolled back through the photos that preceded Tara’s post.
You did laugh now. Not a full laugh, more a chuckle, and Sylus huffed indignantly. He removed his glasses and set them on the nightstand.
“You’re sitting in my bed and laughing at me kitten?” He rumbled and you turned to press your face against his bare chest in an attempt to hide your smile. You felt a soft pressure at your waist and glanced down to see black and red mist circling around your midsection.
“Sylus.” he ignored the warning and used his evol to lift you to straddle his lap. He growled softly and pressed his face into your neck. His breath huffed against your skin and you shivered under the sensation. His arms tightened and he nosed against the soft spot under your ear.
“You allow your friends to think you’re on the market,” He pressed a soft kiss against your pulse point and his fingers dug into your sides, “laughing at my confusion, and you say I’m the heartless one.” He rolled suddenly, dragging you with him as you yelp at the sudden motion.
“I just found it amusing that you’re asking me about slang.” You countered. He adjusted the two of you so you were lying on your back with him lying on top of you. Only half his weight was on you, but you were effectively pinned under him. Sylus tucked his nose into the crook of your neck, nuzzling further into you and you slipped a hand into his hair. He hummed in smug satisfaction.
“Why is it so amusing I’d ask you about slang that your friends are using?” He pressed. You swept his hair away from his forehead and leaned in to press a soft kiss there. You felt his nose wrinkle at the “nauseating” sweetness but he didn’t pull back.
“Because I didn’t think you were so old you wouldn’t know what a soft launch is.”
Sylus immediately sat up so quickly he would have headbutted you if you hadn’t pulled back.
“I am not. Old.” His brows were furrowed and you had never seen him frown harder. You pursed your lips to hide your smile and his frown turned into a scowl.
“Sy, you have reading glasses.” You countered. He huffed indignantly.
“I don’t have my contacts in. How old do you think I am?” He asked. He shifted so his weight was resting on his forearm and he could effectively glare at you. You pressed yourself further back into the plush pillows and finally let your smile break through.
“Fifty?”
Sylus’ jaw dropped open and he let out a sound of utter offense that nearly sounded like somebody had strangled him. You giggled and he used his evol to press you further into the mattress.
“Fifty sweetie that better be a joke.” His fingers drifted to your ribs and he poised his hand to tickle you, pressing just enough to be a threat.
“Okay okay,” you giggled again and scooted closer to him chest and away from his hand. “I know you’re forty.” He glared down at you and you smiled again.
“I’m sleeping on the couch.” He declared, pulling away from you and rolling off the edge of the bed to stand. You whined as he walked away.
“Nooo Sy come on,” you reached your hand out to him and he stretched languidly with a groan. “oh tell me that's not a sound a forty-year-old man would make!” You demanded. He turned to stare at you over his shoulder before kissing his tongue against his teeth and grabbing his bath robe from the wardrobe.
“Luke and Kieran will be better company anyway.” His tone betrayed his true intentions as he pulled the robe on and stalked towards the door. You flopped dramatically on the bed and huffed. He paused, hand on the door handle, and turned back to you.
He raised a brow, a silent question, one last chance until he either made good on his promise to sleep on the couch or pounced on you and tortured you in his own way until you admitted he was still young.
“Okay, you’re not old. You’re only almost thirty.” He rolled his eyes but couldn’t deny that you were right. He sighed heavily, before turning back to the bed. He shrugged the bathrobe from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor in a heap. He dropped onto the bed, your side this time, and groaned.
“Alright sweetie, you’re right. I am almost thirty, so help an old man understand what the kids are saying these days.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he adjusted to lie on his stomach, hugging a pillow to his chest, arms wrapped under it as he turned to look at you. You rolled to face him and reached out to trace the lines of his face.
He let you for a moment, eyes drifting closed. It was rare that he was ever patient enough to sit still and just, let you appreciate him. You brushed his hair away from his face, letting your fingertips trace over the outer edge of his eyebrow, down to his cheekbone, in and across his nose. His lashes fluttered against his cheek when you dragged your fingertip down the bridge of his nose from the base to the tip. His nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed. You huffed.
“You’re my favorite old man y’know.” Your voice was soft and he huffed. You gently traced his lips and his hand caught yours. His eyes were still closed when he used his thumb to extend your fingers out and kissed your fingertips. When you lifted your gaze from your hand back to to his face, his crimson eyes were focused on you.
“Alright alright,” you relented finally, “a soft launch is a social media thing.” You started. You sat up and dug through the blankets to find his phone again. He reached under his chest and found it, handing it over to you. You unlocked it with your own fingerprint and pulled up the Moments posts that started this conversation.
You turned to show it to him again and he squinted. He pulled back, craning his neck, tilting his head to try to get a better look. You wordlessly reached to the nightstand to retrieve his glasses and hand them to him. He glared up at you and you turned away from him as he unfolded the arms of the reading glasses to put them on.
“So a soft launch is when you have a partner, usually a newer relationship, and rather than announce it outright you just post, teasers.” He raised a brow and looked between you and the phone.
“That seems dramatic and unnecessary.” He declared finally. He locked his phone and dropped it on the bed between you. He took his glasses off again and passed them to you. You carefully folded the arms of them and set them back on his nightstand.
You turned back to him and he’d pressed his face further into the pillow now that his question had been answered. You laid down beside him and snuggled against his side. He huffed as you dragged your nails lightly over his bare shoulder.
He lifted his shoulder to press against your hand, and you rolled your eyes. You knew exactly what he was after. You sat up and moved to straddle his waist while he still laid on his stomach. You rested your weight back on his hips and pressed your hands into his shoulders.
He let out a satisfied groan only barely muffled by the pillow. You rolled your eyes at the sounds that came from Sylus, the big bad boss of Onychinus, as you massaged his back. With every press of your hands as you kneaded his muscles Sulus groaned and mumbled against the pillow. The sounds were downright sinful and you were certain Luke and Kieran would assume you were up to something more degenerate.
“Are you sore old man?” You mumbled and he turned his head to look at you over his shoulder. The eye with the Aether core. It seemed to glow in the low light of the room and you dragged your nails down his back.
“You’re letting me get away with that?” You teased. Sylus closed his eyes again and shifted his hips. Youd pressed your palms flat to his back to keep your balance before nearly falling forward.
“Mm. Feels good.” His speech was slurred,and he refused to open his eyes. He looked so good you couldn’t help but lean down so your chest was pressed flush to his back and nip at his bare shoulder. He sighed and you could see a hint of a smirk tug at his lips.
You pulled back to kiss from his shoulder down to the center of his back, following his spine down, hands ghosting over taut muscles. Your fingertips ghosted over stretch marks from where he’d grown too tall too fast and scars from wounds that healed wrong. You kissed and nipped until you reached his lower back where you knew he ached when it rained and you pressed your thumbs into the muscles of his lower back and hips just above the waistband of his boxers.
He jolted and you weren’t sure if he groaned or yelped at the pressure but the sound soon melted into a satisfied moan as you worked out the knots in his lower back. Your eyes traveled back up the expanse of his back and smiled. Your earlier conversation, Tara’s post, your coworkers photo dumps, had your mind racing.
“Sylus,” you prompted. He let out a questioning Hm? Which was the only response you were going to get from him with him this relaxed, “would you let me post a soft launch?”
His breathing paused and you wondered if that was suddenly a step too far.
He’d said he thought it was dramatic and unnecessary. Your relationship with him wasn’t exactly allowed by your Association. And you weren’t sure he wanted it plastered all over the N109 zone either.
But on the other hand, you knew Tara’s quip about you being single had gotten to him even if he didn’t show it outwardly. It bothered you too, if you were being honest. And he looked so damn good, was it really unreasonable to want to show him off? Even if you didn’t reveal his identity?
“Why on Earth would you want that?” He asked and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. You could brush it off, truthfully. Play it off as a joke. And you knew he wouldn’t buy it, but he’d let it go to spare you. But you wanted to push this one.
“Oh, you don’t mind everyone in the Hunter’s Association thinking I’m on the market then?” You continued your ministrations on his back which effectively disarmed him. “Good to know.” He grumbled and shifted to prop his forearms under him but when you dug the heel of your palm into his shoulder just under his shoulder blade he grunted and dropped his weight again.
“Guess you’re okay with all the free coffees and dinner offers I’m getting too.” With that, Sylus sat up and reached behind him to loop his arm around your waist and drag you under him. You yelped as he pinned you and shoved his face into your neck again.
“Absolutely not.” His voice was gruff in your ear and he nipped at your neck. He pressed his lips to your pulse and followed it with a soft nip, threatening to leave more if you would only give him permission.
You sucked in a sharp inhale as he shifted more of his weight onto you and continued his infuriatingly soft kisses down your neck to the juncture of your shoulder. You shifted but got nowhere under him.
“Sylus you’re crushing me.” You squeaked out and he chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours. He bit harder then at the soft spot between your neck and shoulder and you gasped. He mouthed at the spot, soothing the sharp bite with soft lips and a small lick.
“Should I leave some proof that you’re taken sweetie?” His voice was low and you shivered at the timbre against your skin. You sighed and nodded.
“Yeah, I think you should.”
Sylus didn’t need any further prompting. He let out a breath and pressed his lips to your pulse point before he sucked at your skin hard enough to leave a mark, alternating between biting and sucking at the soft spot on your neck. You whimpered and tried to arch your hips against him as he moved down, following the curve of your throat to your collarbones, leaving smaller bite marks in his wake until your neck was a masterpiece of his ministrations.
When he reached the hollow of your throat he pressed a gentle kiss there and rested his chin on your chest to look up at you. His weight still pinned you to the bed, and his pupils were blown wide with want leaving only the thinnest ring of crimson around the edges. You ran your hands through his soft silver locks and fisted your hand at the nape of his neck. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed.
“It would make me happy.” You finally breathed and let go of his hair to smooth it back down. He opened his eyes again and looked into your own. You smiled sweetly, pleading with him, and he let out a resigned sigh.
“Alright. If that will truly make you happy,” He moved so his head was resting on your shoulder, face mostly hidden against your neck, his arms around you, “then yes. You can use me to shut your friends up.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of finally being able to flaunt your absolute specimen of a boyfriend who was currently draped across you like the world's most muscular throw blanket.
“Thank you!” You kissed his forehead and he huffed against your neck. You reached for your phone from the nightstand on your side of the bed. You held the phone up over Sylus’ back and opened the camera to take a few pictures.
There was nothing obscene, but the scene definitely hinted at more. The lamp on Sylus’ bedside table cast a soft glow over the marks on your neck, your hair was mussed, and your smile was positively satisfied with yourself.
And then there was Sylus himself. There was nothing that could be used to identify him in the photo, but his presence took up the entire frame. The well-muscled expanse of his back, shoulders flexing with the way his arms looped around you possessively, his impressive jawline the only part of his face that was visible. There was a small, possessive, bite on his shoulder from where you’d nipped at him earlier and his silver hair was messier than your own.
You smiled brightly as you set to work drafting the post. Luckily, only your friends followed your personal Moments account and would be too hung up on the fact that you had a boyfriend to fuss with who that boyfriend might be.
You held up the phone to show the draft to Sylus for his seal of approval before posting. He lifted his head to look and squinted at the screen. You read the post aloud to him.
“Happy cuffing season.” Sylus raised his brows and rested his head against your cheek. You turned to kiss his temple and he hummed before setting back onto your shoulder with a small nod. You finally hit post and locked your phone to drop it on the covers beside you. You wrapped your arms around Sylus’ shoulders and scratched his back.
“Are you satisfied?” Sylus asked. You could feel him smiling against your throat and you nodded. You lifted one hand to card through the longer hair at the nape of his neck and he sighed contentedly.
“I am yes. Thank you Boss Man.” You squeezed him and he huffed against your neck again.
Your phone suddenly dinged in rapid succession beside you. You reached to silence your phone but Sylus was faster. You didn’t try to take it from him as he unlocked it with your passcode. He squinted at the notification and held the phone an arm's length from his face. You bit your lip.
“Sy, do you want your glasses?” You asked gently. He scowled and handed you the phone before dropping his head back to your shoulder.
“No. I want you to read it to me.” He demanded. You chuckled as you looked at the notification. Tara had seen the post, somehow at 1 in the morning.
“It’s Tara.” You explained and Sylus snorted.
“The one who wanted you to join her in speed dating?” He pressed. You confirmed and opened her response to the Moments post... And her corresponding text messages.
“Okay, her comment says, ‘we were supposed to go speed dating together’ with three exclamation marks and a sobbing emoji,” you read the comment aloud to him and he chuckled lowly against your neck. “there’s a text too hang on.” You navigate to your conversations and open the most recent one just under your pinned conversation with Sylus.
“Okay, it says ‘(y/n) who is that and why is he built like a brick house’ with four question marks and three flame emojis.” You stare at the message for a bit and Sylus laughed against your neck then. A full laugh that shook his shoulders.
“A brick house?” He nosed against your neck and he pulled one arm free from under your back to let his hand slip under your shirt to rest comfortably on your waist.
“Just means you’re big.” You explained. You rested your cheek against his head and your phone dinged with another message from Tara.
“She says ‘you better fill me in on everything when you’re back from vacation, I want to hear all about where you found him and if he has any friends’ with like, three of the eyes emoji’s.” You tap out a quick response with a laughing emoji and a promise to fill her in when you get back before locking your phone, silencing it, and setting it on Sylus’ night table beside his phone.
“I doubt she’d be interested in any of my friends.” Sylus quipped. You laughed at that and settled back against the pillows. He reached down then and grabbed the blanket that had been kicked to the bottom of the bed to pull it up to his hips. He was plenty warm on his own, the quilt was more for comfort than anything.
“Ah she might like Luke or Kieran!” You countered. Sylus sat up, eyes narrowed on you, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Sweetie, I have seen Tara,” he tilted his head and raised his brows, “and you have met both Luke and Kieran. Do you honestly think either of them would be a good match?” You shook your head.
“You make a good point.” You leaned in to kiss him and he didn’t resist when your lips met his. You moved in synch for a moment, soft, purposeful, meant only for comfort. You had another two days off with him, there would be plenty of time for heat later. For now, you were just enjoying being with him.
When you pulled back he rested his forehead against yours. You turned your head to brush your nose against his, nuzzling your nose against his cheek. He pulled away just far enough to press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose before he laid back against your chest. You huffed when he dropped his weight onto you unceremoniously, but you would never truly complain about Sylus using you as a pillow.
He was quiet for so long you’d nearly drifted off with the soft sound of his steady breaths beside you when he spoke again.
“Sweetie, what is cuffing season?”
I'm begging for those killerverse thoughts!!!
Hi some territorial killer and luke crumbs were requested by @10473051329 which is honestly real asf so here are some thoughts 💭
ok so i think obviously luke and killer are a bit possessive of each other when they start dating (thats being generous tbh) like of course theyre weird and possessive as a couple they were weird and possessive as friends too 😭😭
so as loser teenagers ofc they have moments of super petty jealousy (and u see it when rhey first kiss too) BUT i feel like as a couple they might just maybe tone it down a little bit. they feel so secure with the other and now that theyve finally admitted their feelings i feel like they wouldnt worry nearly as much about some random stealing the other away. bc well. theyre in love and they know it!!
however their relationship is also a SECRET lol. so theyre trying to keep everything on the low but that means theres moments where one of them just isnt strong enough lol… I imagine killer watching luke have a conversation and thinking Why are you laughing so loud at his jokes. My Boyfriend’s jokes. Jokes made by my boyfriend who is Mine. but obviously she cant say that so killer just like appears out of the blue whenever luke is spending a little toooo much time talking to someone else lol
anyways since i think their possessiveness during their relationship is a lot more quiet and subtle i think the PEAK of their “territorial”ness goes super hand in hand with the peak of their protectiveness. and Boy oh boy the most protective luke ever is is right after they get to camp.
Just picture it…theyve spent all these years living on their own with no one to rely on but each other (+ annabeth and thalia who just DIED right in front of them… rip girl) so the second they get to chb they’re still kind of settling into what its like to be somewhere safe because they just spent the last years needing to watch the other person’s back at all times
i think its really funny to compare luke to a feral dog because he kind of is in my mind. and lets just say he totally resource guards killer LOLLL. i posted an excerpt from demigod diaries a while ago and iirc luke basically was like “i have to take on the role of a dad rn” when hes with thalia and annabeth. so i imagine when they first get to camp his brain is still wired into like full blown defense.
they definitely cling to each other (as expected. its like when u go somewhere new and only know one person there lol) but i think luke definitely clings in a defensive way. doesnt let killer go anywhere without him, constantly is trying to keep her in his eyesight, the whole nine yards lol.
and like she loves him duh but it makes it kind of weird whenever shes trying to make friends in whats basically their new home because hes a LURKER. and a starer. 💔 dont get me wrong luke is still as charming and as sweet as ever but whenever killer talks to someone new the other person can just Feel him nearby. like his presence just feels so heavy lmfaoo (probably cos hes lowkey evil) but anyway hes staring the stranger DOWN. which is crazy because at camp everyones so young so hes literally analyzing these thirteen year olds and u can literally see him get antsy when they stand too close to his friend
the dating rumors start not long after they get to camp. as expected.
when they start to settle in and get used to their new life the territorial act definitely chills out a little bit! but sometimes when they reminisce killers like “lol dude remember when we first got here and clayton tried helping me out of a kayak” and luke just groans bc he knows whats coming. and she just laughs and is like “i cant believe you accidentally pushed him into the water trying to help me first” and hes like “😐😐😐 that didnt happen.”
(it totally did btw)
36 LUKE PLEASE ☹️🙏
36 — “lifting the other one up” + luke castellan
Your helmet hits the grass with a dull thud. One of your sisters jumps over it to leap into her friend’s arms, the both of them cheering and high off adrenaline.
You’re sure you look gross from the sweat that comes with the August humidity and the exhaustion of playing Capture the Flag, but you can’t even care. Your team has just won in what’s arguably the biggest upset of this year; a defeat acquired in just twenty-four minutes.
One of the Hermes kids was able to convince the other team’s defenders that he’d nicked the flag, and then promptly scurried fifty feet up a random tree. He’d done it with a red t-shirt he’d been wearing under his blue one, and waved the fabric around while he threw sticks at his pursuers. While a group of five kids struggled to climb up after him, someone was able to get the actual flag before disappearing off to your half of the woods.
How not a single one of them realized was beyond you, but you weren’t complaining. You had bet quite a few things on the outcome of this match, and your team even ended up setting a new camp record.
“How the hell did that work?”
You turn around what’s probably a little too eagerly, something that is absolutely not excitement making a smile pull at your lips.
“Luke,” you say, trying not to make your entire face light up.
He drapes an easy arm around your shoulders, and he’s really hot (in both senses of the word) but you don’t push him off of you. You have it so bad you let his forearm, sticky from the heat, press right against your upper arm.
You wipe the smile off your face before it has the chance to form. Your completely casual crush on Luke Castellan is exactly that — casual.
You will forget about his stupidly pretty face by the end of the summer if it’s the last thing you do.
Kevin, the hero of today, gets lifted into the air, waving around his crimson shirt like it’s the American flag. The rest of your team chants his name while they carry him toward the beach.
“That wasn’t really what I had in mind when I told him to come up with a distraction,” he says, letting his helmet hit the ground next to yours. “He’s insane.”
He watches your team with a smile on his face, everyone still coming off the rush of such a fast win. His curly hair hangs down past his eyebrows, the strands slick with sweat.
“Did you take a dip in the lake?” you tease, tugging at one of the curls.
Like a wet dog, he shakes his head from side to side, making droplets of sweat land on your shirt. His grip on your shoulders tightens when you try to squirm away.
“You’re so gross, Luke,” you complain, though you have a feeling it sounds a little bit too giddy.
Ah, fuck, you’re doing it again. Saying his name in every sentence like an actual loser. Kissing him with tongue would probably be less obvious than whatever you’re doing right now.
You have to snap yourself out of whatever sick hypnosis the sight of his face puts you in. Quickly.
Kevin is kind enough to offer an ample distraction in the form of him rallying the crowd up. He whoops and hollers stuff you can’t quite hear, and then he’s tossed up in the air.
“He’s never gonna shut up about this,” Luke says, his hand sliding to the small of your back so he can lead you in the direction of the growing mass of kids.
Your legs almost give out, and your entire body tenses up on the spot. You wonder if you would be able to attribute passing out to heat stroke and not him being so close to you.
“Kevin’s crazy,” you agree when you find your voice again. “But I need to thank him, ‘cause our win means I am officially free from all my chores for the rest of the week.”
Luke laughs, and the smug smile the sound brings to your face is actually beyond ridiculous.
Pull it together, you remind yourself. There’s no way you’re acting like this over some guy.
“You’re kidding.” He nudges you with his shoulder, and the two of you make your way to where the rest of your team is still throwing Kevin into the air. “Which fools did you manage to get to pick up your work?”
“Dead serious,” you say rather proudly. “Marcia’s doing my laundry and Steven’s doing my dishes. And I don’t know if Carlos remembers, but he now owes me ten drachmas.”
Luke whistles, his smile lopsided and charming and directed solely at you. “Nice hustling.”
“Learned from the best,” you say before you can stop yourself. Against your better judgment, you nudge him back.
(It’s like you’re watching your plans to get over this stupid crush get washed down the drain.)
Someone calls out your names, and you find that you have to literally drag your eyes away from Luke’s face.
“Get in, you two!” Lauren says, her old camera clutched in her hands. Her face is half hidden with the way she’s looking in the viewfinder, trying to get everyone in the frame.
You hadn’t realized everyone had been huddling around for a picture, and most of your team are beckoning for the two of you to hurry up.
It’s easy to slide into the back of the crowd. You feel yourself get jostled around as people try to push Luke to the front, excited for their captain to be front in center in the photo.
You really try not to think too much about it, but he remains planted firmly where he is, one of his hands reaching for one of yours.
You fan your face with the hand not clutched in his, suddenly in what feels like a fight for your life.
Luke towers easily over the crowd, a smile plastered on his face while he takes in everyone’s matching grins. It’s easy for him to be seen over the group of kids since he’s on the taller side, and he’s already smiling for the picture.
On the other hand, you’re not so lucky.
“Oh,” Luke says, eyeing the guy standing in front of you, who’s a good head taller than you. “C’mere.”
What happens next is honestly kind of hard to explain.
(As expected, because you think you black out for the next thirty seconds.)
As casual as can be, Luke wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you clear off the ground — right into view of the photo.
“Say cheese!” you think Lauren says, because everyone choruses it back to her.
You have no idea if you smiled for the picture.
You have no idea if you’re even looking at Lauren’s camera.
You realize, absolutely mortified, that it’s entirely possible you’re staring wide-eyed at Luke’s face instead.
The next time you blink, the group is dispersing. Your sneakers are flat on the ground, and Luke is staring at you. His head is tilted.
“You okay?” he asks coolly.
He’s smiling at you so easily, like the feeling of his arms around your waist hadn’t literally stopped the beating of your heart.
“Absolutely!” you chirp back.
You want to strangle him.
a/n. this is entirely unedited and was written while half asleep but hiiiii! hoping this makes sense