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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 months

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Blood and sand - Chapter One

When John Luke was nine, Parker stopped writing back.

It took a while before John Luke was sure, before he allowed the worry to slither into his bones, and take flavor and color away, and leave only trembling cold behind. Parker had never been quiet this long. Something had happened.

John Luke Yang wants his brother back. When he learns about a wish—offered by a god, in exchange for winning some kind of game—he's willing to leave everything behind in pursuit of it.

But the Dreamlands are not safe, and the King in Yellow has gone mad. The Games are not designed to be survived.

Luke has fallen into deep and dangerous waters. Fortunately, he won't be swimming alone.

Written for the @malevolentmadnessmixup. Art by @aktrashpanda.

>>>>READ ON AO3 OR BELOW<<<<

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Chapter One: Before

When John Luke was nine, Parker stopped writing back.

Phone calls were expensive, and even with what Parker sent every month, John Luke didn’t have much change. It all went to their older sister, Phoebe, who meant well—she really did—but she hadn’t planned on caring for her baby brother in the expense of San Francisco, not when she had her own kids to feed.

She’d never approved of Parker going back east, anyway. San Francisco was easier. Safer. There were more people here like them.

John Luke didn’t particularly feel like anyone was like him. He had no friends. He had his big brother, and that had always been good enough.

But Parker stopped writing back. So for a solid week, John Luke ran errands, washed windows, subbed for the paperboy (Toby would do anything to get out of work), and scrounged at last enough money to call Yang and Lester P.I., in Arkham, Massachusetts.

The phone rang and rang, and nobody ever picked up.

Phoebe finally listened to him because the money stopped coming, and she called the police in Arkham. That’s how they learned Parker was dead.

The body had been incinerated. They hadn’t bothered to contact next of kin (“Because he was a—” Phoebe’s husband said, and then used a slur that made Phoebe smack him). They’d sold all his goods at police auction. It was over. Parker was gone as though he’d never existed, and there was nothing left.

John Luke cried a lot. He probably wasn’t supposed to. Someone should, though. Shouldn't they?

Was there someone else? Adults always had other people, didn’t they? He’d peeked into Phoebe’s address book, but all she’d had was Parker’s name, office address, and office phone number… all of which had been lightly crossed out with a single, precise pencil line.

That made him cry again. He couldn’t even verbalize why.

He left her address book open as if forcing her to see Parker’s name could possibly conjure grief from her, too, and tried to continue his life.

When John Luke was ten, he discovered magic.

He hadn’t meant to. He’d been in trouble at school again—the kind he always got into by trying to be good. They said he was sullen when he was quiet. They said he was rude when he just struggled to make eye-contact. They said he was antisocial, when trying to talk to his peers felt like being a bug trying to swim in molasses.

(He knew about molasses. Phoebe and Parker had been living with their parents in Boston in 1919, and he’d never forgotten the nightmarish description of a spider trapped in that horrible flow, unable to lift its limbs to save itself.)

So he was in trouble. They made him sit in the corner with a dunce cap on, even though he had the highest grades in class. It was dark by the time he headed home.

He'd probably be in trouble for that, not that he was ever noticed any other time. He could admit it to himself in the crowded, smelly dark of this night: no one would be upset if he didn’t come home. If he didn’t come home, Phoebe would maybe cross his name out with a light pencil line, and that would be that.

Feeling sick, he slowed. John Luke passed irregular streetlamps and neon lights proclaiming CHOP SUEY and SHANGHAI LOW. Passed the alleys where (he'd been told) the Tong had fought for supremacy only a few years before. And then, he stopped. He stopped at the alley leading to the five flights of stairs that would take him to Phoebe’s apartment. Stopped, because he did not want to go home.

Home was… home was… not here. Home was gone.

He missed Parker.

Strange, sometimes, how these moments hit, unexpected and unplanned, without any warning for how they changed one’s life course. John Luke could not know this was one such moment now. He only knew he could go where he belonged—to disapproval, to cold quiet, to disappointment he’d gotten in trouble, to early bed and (conveniently) no dinner—

Or.

He could walk in the traffic-clogged streets, and pretend he was like them, and stay out all night long, because who was going to stop him? Maybe a cop, but more likely, no one. And that, right now, felt better than going back. So, he walked.

He walked, head down, hands pocketed, unconcerned for thieves because he had nothing to steal. He walked, crying softly, wishing Parker were here, wishing the police had been wrong. He walked, and turned streets at random, and tried not to bump into anyone (impossible), and ignored pickpockets, and found a neon sign he’d never seen before.

CHANGE FORTUNE

That was silly. So silly. He knew all of that kind of thing was bullshit. He knew science was real. Math mattered. Magic was lies. There was no such thing as fortune or luck.

CHANGE FORTUNE

What good would it do to try, anyway? He had no money. (Toby got caught outsourcing, and now nobody could take turns for him anymore.) It didn’t even mean anything. It wouldn’t do anything.

He couldn’t bring Parker back. Not even the old-world stories Phoebe’s ancient mother-in-law told portrayed that as possible.

CHANGE FORTUNE

On the other hand, what harm could it do?

John Luke stepped inside the shop. It was a dark, creaky space, with creaky floors and creaky fans and creaky something that almost sounded like alien voices, some kind of insect choir, impossible beings squeaking some kind of song for whatever they thought songworthy.

The shop was narrow—one long room, lit only by the front windows, with shelves floor-to-ceiling on either side, crammed with unlabeled goods wrapped in dust and mystery. And at the far end, behind a glass counter, sat a little old man.

A little old man who beckoned him forward. A little old man with pale eyes, and lips that did not smile. A little old man who seemed to have fox-ears if John Luke didn’t look directly, and a fox-tail if John-Luke looked away. “You,” the old man said. “You look young, healthy. I need help. Can you help me?”

John Luke’s Mandarin was pretty good, and he understood. “Yes, sir?”

The old man tried to stand, winced (a grimace that showed his pointed teeth), and sat again. “It’s time to pay my rent, but I’m injured. Could you take my rent money to my landlord? He lives upstairs; it won’t be a terrible journey. This way, he won’t hound me, and I can recover from my fall in peace. Please help me.”

Well… what was John Luke going to say, no? It was obvious the old man (who was human, no matter what imagination claimed) needed help. John Luke understood needing help. He took the envelope.

He did not open it. Following instructions, he walked around the outside of the building, found the fire escape, climbed it, and knocked on the window of the second floor.

It was opened by someone he could not see. A darker shape in darkness, with round, frog-like eyes, glinting in the gloom.

John Luke swallowed and held the envelope out. “From the man downstairs.”

“Thank you, John Luke,” said the darker shape in darkness, and took the envelope with a hand (green, mottled, webbed) that fortunately did not make contact.

And John Luke trembled on his way down the stairs, and swallowed bile as he hesitated outside that shop door (CHANGE FORTUNE), and finally went inside because rationally, this could not be real, what he’d seen up there, and if it was, he had no name for it, but if it was real, then he needed to see where it went.

The old man smiled, and offered some steaming tea. “What do you want, more than all the world?”

John Luke did not live in a home or an era in which taking things from strangers was verboten, so he took the warm, fragile teacup and sipped. He didn’t know this brew; it was floral, a strange taste, almost dusty, but so good he suddenly had to fight the urge to gulp it down at once. “My brother.”

Why had he answered that?

“A challenging proposition,” said the old man. “I can’t give him back to you.”

John Luke’s heart ached. Ached. As if disappointed, but he couldn’t be, because that meant he’d hoped for the impossible. “I know. No one can, sir.”

The old man pointed his knobbly, wrinkled finger. “There is one who can. It will cost you; it will take much effort, trial, error, and triumph, but there is one who can. It will cost you. But there is one who can.”

The repeat mattered, made this like a vow, and John Luke stood there holding a teacup that was not his, trembling from head to toe, and suddenly knew this was the hinge his life would turn on. There would be a before and an after this choice—but if he could get his brother back, he did not care about the cost. “Please,” he said, and pretended tears weren’t leaking down his cheeks, hoping the darkness of the room would hide them.

The old man nodded. “Good luck, John Luke.” He held his hand out, palm up, and blew on it, right into John Luke’s face.

And John Luke woke up at home, on Phoebe’s spare children’s mattress. Beside his head, a pile of ancient, mold-spotted books in various languages waited to be read.

Of course, CHANGE FORTUNE was gone. It was an abandoned laundromat, flooded out, walls and floors ruined by water too thoroughly for anyone to bother renovating it. Mold climbed the walls. He doubted the apartments above were clear of it.

He walked around the side of the building, and found that the fire escape was rusted off, broken, completely missing from the third floor down.

Right. So.

It had happened. He knew it had. By kindness to an old man, he’d earned… something.

A chance, his gut said, which was not a guarantee.

It was ludicrous to believe. Insane. Crazytown.

John Luke believed, and in hope he would somehow resurrect his brother, he went home and opened the first book.

[chapter two] [masterpost]

#malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #arthur lester #john doe #dennis collins #luke yang #kiy malevolent #malevolent madness mixup #blood and sand fic #kayne malevolent #oscar malevolent

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size-two-shrimp · 11 months

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dumbasses fell in the sand lmaooo

#i was talking to akans about an old fic idea i had (inspired by r+b=g) where these idiots fell in the sand and melted together a bit #its hard to see because im eepy tired but theres gold on either side of the whiplash where their sides got fused together by it #gonna count this as a wip and wait until i have the other version done to post it properly in the tags. might fix the gold too #also! v2 has to share their blood because v1s pores got clogged (someone teach it how to exfoliate) which is why theres wires #and also why v1 looks grainy #my art

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viking-raider · 7 months

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Viking-Raider Holiday Fics!

I know it's the day before Halloween XD However, I've started work on my Christmas story. This story has been bubbling in my mind for a couple weeks, esp after @winter2112rose and I spoke about holiday fics and she gave me such a great idea for it. I've also finally gotten some energy to write after just being drained by life.

I'm also contemplating a Thanksgiving holiday fic. I know, Henry being a Brit, he doesn't typically celebrate the holiday. Though, he did once or twice in the past for funnies, because Kal's an American Akita. (Silly Boy) I thought of doing it for one of his American characters!

Who do you think I should do it for?

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thesandsofelsweyr · 8 months

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For the guessing game: blood, pet, and/or collar

(from Fanfiction WIP Guessing Game)

These three are excerpts from early drafts of fics in My Arkhamverse series 🙃

Pet:

The room is filled with sunlight. He’s still lying on a cold, hard floor. But it isn’t the filthy floorboards of his cell. There’s a pillow under his head and a blanket draped across him. As the fog of unconsciousness lifts, his mind starts to clear as he takes in his surroundings. He’s lying in front of a toilet. Remembers trying to eat some food, real food—how much it had hurt to chew with broken and missing teeth—and immediately puking then passing out. That’s when the fever took him. He doesn’t know how long he was out of it. Tries to sit up too fast. Head is spinning, throbbing, and he winces as a piercing ringing noise fills his ears, drowning out all other sounds. His hand immediately slides into his hair, over the scar where the bullet grazed his skull. He applies pressure, breathing shallow until the ringing and pain both subside. Terrible memories flood over him. He fights the instinct to crawl in a corner and hide, breathing deep, reminding himself that his tormentor is thousands of miles away, that he has finally escaped. But as always, thinking of escape brings back Joker’s terrifying warning of the consequences he’d face, the mutilation he’d suffer. Panic starts to creep in again, illogical panic fueled by the months he spent as a prisoner. Joker had beaten it into his head—physically and mentally, literally and metaphorically—that he was an object, not a human being. That Jason was his pet: his puppy, his “little bird”...

⚠️ cw: smut, mild dubcon (⚤)

Collar:

Aww, that’s adorable, little bird. You think she actually cares about you. It’s not the Clown speaking. It’s his voice. It’s him. A part of him. The part that crawled out of the pit, not the one who fell in. He sounds so much like the psycho who tortured him for over a year of his life. Who taught him everything there is to know about pain. Who taught him how to hate. She’s using you. Oh God but it feels so fucking good. Taking what she wants from you. She’ll leave you all alone. Broken. And you’ll just let her do it because you’re too weak to say no. It was always easier to submit, to obey. Look at her. She’s beautiful. And what are you? Just a miserable failure covered in scars. She knows it too. She knows you’ll follow her around like the pitiful little puppy you are. The dog he trained me to be. He even gave me my own leather collar! The memory makes him burn with rage. He digs his short, ragged fingernails into her flesh. Look at how little she is. How easy it would be to overpower her. You could make her do whatever you want. She’ll be helpless to stop you. You remember what that feels like. No one’s going to want me… Hurt her like she’ll hurt you—you know this will never last. Take what you want before she abandons you. Just like everyone else.

Blood:

“Are you okay?” That voice again. Softer. Concerned. The Clown is there, doubled over in a fit of raucous laughter. “Leave me alone!” He shouts, voice dripping with anger, hatred, pain. At the Clown. At her. “Please, let me help you…” “GO AWAY!” He roars He still can’t breathe. Can’t catch his breath. Vise is still firmly locked around his skull. The invisible hand is still cranking it, tighter and tighter. He runs a trembling hand through his wet hair, feeling for the scar, the bullet hole, feeling for but not finding fresh blood. He’s desperate to escape this misery. The agony is weighing his body down so much he can’t even crawl. He’s dragging his body across the floor, pulling himself with his hand. Where? Somewhere, anywhere, to escape the pain. “Oh, little bird, this is too much! Even I couldn’t couldn’t come up with comedy as good as this!” “Someone actually wanted you and you’re screaming at her to leave!” “A beautiful broad pops your cherry, and here you are, curled up on the floor, boo-hoo-ing like she hit you with my crowbar.” “Comedy GOLD I tell ya!”

#sands replies #wip guessing game #my wips #my arkhamverse #smutty sands #jason todd #arkham knight #joker #arkhamverse #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd smut #arkham knight smut #jason todd x oc #arkham knight x oc #fic: misery and ecstasy #(blood and collar)#oc: camila alvarez

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lesmond-sycamore · 1 year

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rereading Stable Like Sand (for the love of GOD please read it it's so good) and thinking abt the "small floppy disk" scene and what's gonna become of it in the future... 👀👀👀👀

#professor layton #professor layton au #stable like sand #IT'S SO GOOD I FUCKING LOVE THIS FIC PLEASE. PLEASE GOD READ IT. IT'S MY LIFE BLOOD.#my art

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 years

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Worth The Risk

PART OF THE VIPER & THE WILD THING COLLECTION Writers’ Iron Chef #13

A/N: Thank you so much to @littleferal for putting together this prompt challenge! I actually went back and forth between two characters before landing where I did, so if the universal currents are kind to me I might just go ahead and write the other one, too. ;) I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written anything for TV&tWT, but this prompt fit perfectly with something that I had already planned to write for this collection so I said eff it, let’s go out of order. I’ll be (eventually) filling in the gaps - Joffrey’s wedding and the things that immediately follow - but for now, here’s a peek at what’s coming for The Viper & his Wild Thing.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: descriptions of blood and injuries, pain, violence, angst - oops.

Summary: There was only one thing you could do and so you did it without thinking twice - even though it might end up costing you your life.

Prompt: Patching up a wound / “Why would you put yourself through something like that?”

The cut was small and shallow - the result of a stiff sheet of paper slicing across the pad of your pointer finger as you hurriedly stashed your few belongings in preparation to leave King’s Landing. It barely even registered when it happened, your mind already racing ahead to what was going to happen next. The trial. And then… You’d brought the bead of blood up to your mouth and sucked, clearing it away so it wouldn’t leave a crimson stain on the page that caused it, and in the next moment it had been forgotten, your hands moving quickly to secure the rest of your things. Then Dorne. You took a deep breath that made you dizzy as you let it back out. With them.

Everything between then and now had been a blur, and though the papercut had been easy enough to sweep aside because you couldn’t even feel it, it hadn’t healed. So when you reached for one of the daggers laid out on the table beside you to hurl it across the stone plaza to Oberyn, you’d done so without a second’s hesitation.

The poison that dripped from the weapon onto your finger had worked with the same speed, and you realized it was likely the same or a similar poison to the one that Oberyn had used on Gannon Yast. White hot and blinding, the pain threatened to consume you, obliviate you. By the time Oberyn had sunken the crooked blade deep into the exposed flesh of Gregor’s neck, you had fallen to the hard ground, writhing in insufferable pain. A sharp scream left your lungs and echoed in your ears, the sound one that you didn’t know you were capable of making . Fire. It’s… I’m… Breaths coming short and shallow, you clutched your own wrist and fought to stay conscious despite the fact that your bloodstream was ablaze, every pain receptor in your body at full capacity. Need to… to stay-

“Drink this. Now.”

Blinking your heavy eyelids, you strained to focus on the floating form of Ellaria Sand, her long curls falling around her face and extreme fear coloring her eyes. It’s okay, Ellaria, he’s alive. Don’t worry, he’s… You choked, blood pooling in the crease of your lip as the rest of your thoughts dissolved and your eyes slipped shut.

“No. No!” She shook you by the shoulders and you were vaguely aware of something touching your lips - a glass vial - and then a cool liquid trickling down your throat. “Stay with us,” she pleaded. You peeled your eyes open just enough to watch her turn towards the plaza, and then she shouted for someone before dropping her gaze back to you, muttering your name. “Please,” she whispered. “Do not leave him.”

The world around you was fading, the clash of metal on metal ringing out only coming through to you as muted clangs, but as you struggled to get a breath in without choking on another dribble of blood, a second blurry figure came into view. Oberyn. Your chest heaved as you felt your heart working against you, beating erratically to spread the toxin before the antidote that Ellaria gave you could go to work. But the second that he appeared, you knew that what you’ done was worth it no matter what the outcome might be for you. He’ll live. He’ll live and Gregor won’t. And that’s- You let yourself slip then, releasing the desperate grip you were trying to keep on consciousness as you felt his arms going around you. That’s what matters.

– – –

You woke to the feeling of something being wrapped around your hand and the gentle rock of waves beneath your body. Hmm? What… where- Eyes fluttering open, you blinked to focus them. You were laying in a narrow but comfortable bed, and you weren’t alone, a second body nestled close to yours, curving protectively around you. Oh. We… The boat. We made it to the-

You heard your name - in his voice - and then he let out a broken sound, something between a sigh and a groan as his bloodied and swollen lips raked over your eyebrow. “You’re alive. You’re…” His forehead rested against yours, slick with sweat as tears fell from his eyes and onto your cheek. “You are alive.”

And so are you. Your free hand came shakily up to caress the damp curls at the back of his head, fingers carding weakly through them. “Oberyn.” Your mouth was dry, a splitting, cracking sensation shooting down your throat as you coughed.

“Shh,” another voice - hers - came through then, and you turned to see Ellaria kneeling by the side of the bed. She finished with the bandage that she was wrapping around your infected hand, patting it lightly before laying it down on the mattress. “A salve made from the antidote to draw out any remaining poison,” she explained. “Here.” She reached for a cup from a bedside stool and tipped it to your lips. It felt like a blessing from the old gods, the new gods and any of the ones you hadn’t heard of yet, the cool water immediately soothing the ache you felt from speaking and breathing, and you had to be careful not to guzzle it down. “Slowly, wild one.” She tipped the glass back so that you couldn’t take too much at once. “Slowly.”

“Thank… you,” you managed, fingers of your other hand still threaded through Oberyn’s hair.

Ellaria only shook her head, your name leaving her lips like a prayer of gratitude. “No. I am the one who should be thanking you. If you had not done what you did… If you hadn’t….”

At that, Oberyn lifted his head, your hand falling back to the bed. “Why did you do it?”

His eyes were clear and focused, even though they were still watery, and though you knew he was likely riddled with bruises and possibly even a few damaged ribs from the way that the Mountain had struck him down in the fight, he seemed entirely unaware of his own injuries. You blinked twice, confused by his question. What?

“Why would you put yourself through something like that when you knew…” He licked his lips, his voice cracking as he continued. “I told you never to touch one of my blades unless I place it in your hand. You saw what it did to Gannon.” You gave a small nod. “Why would you-”

“I couldn’t watch you die, Oberyn. I…” Not at that monster’s hands and not… Your eyes shifted to Ellaria. Not in front of her. “I couldn’t do that.”

He stared down at you, a slight look of awe in his expression, and then you felt yourself slipping again. But this time it was into a more peaceful sleep, the pain much more subdued and the panic entirely quelled.

– – –

“I still do not understand, Ellaria.” He lay on the bed opposite the one that you were on, his eyes glued to the movement of your chest as it rose and fell with your steady breaths. “Why would she-”

Ellaria pressed her lips against his pulse point, her fingers trailing gingerly over his heavily bruised torso. Oh my Prince. “Isn’t it obvious, Oberyn?” It is to me. She kissed him again before she felt the closely trimmed hair of his beard moving against her forehead, and she pulled back to see that he had taken his eyes off of you to look down at her, his brow furrowed. “She did it because she is in love with you, my Prince.”

Both of them looked over at you then, the small satchel of things that you had frantically packed two nights ago nestled under the bunk that you slept in. And I will always be grateful that she is.

THANK YOU FOR READING! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @gollyderek @valkblue @pheedraws @alraedesigns @beefcakebarnes @g0ldenlush @thisgirl-knm @writeforfandoms @fific7 @paracosmenthusiast @cannedsoupsucks @revolution-starter @dihra-vesa @disgruntledspacedad @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @harriedandharassed @swtaura @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns

#oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell fic #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #oberyn martell game of thrones #the viper & the wild thing #TV&tWT #oberyn martell #ellaria sand #lissie's writers' iron chef #writers' iron chef 13 #tw: blood

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ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 11 months

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rain, blood, rivulets, runner, daughter, home, you

Regardless, Wilbur likes to come here a lot. It’s a pretty place, a few minutes walk from Pogtopia; it’s right in the wilderness, no buildings or houses or people around. Just grass, and dirt, and a few tiny flowers, and a lot of trees, and a big blue sky. Well, sometimes blue. Sometimes it’s kinda grey, and cloudy, and other times it cries small cold raindrops that splat into your eyes and make your clothes all damp and uncomfortable.

Wilbur doesn’t care if he gets wet, though. He’ll just come here anyway.

~~~

After several seconds of trying, Wilbur gives up, relaxing once more into this odd state of being. He realizes that his cheek hurts along with his neck, because his face is pressed firmly against this thing. It's probably stopping the blood flow right there.

AND!!!

For a moment, Wilbur's vision goes dark, and it takes several rasping breaths and hard blinks to rid it of black spots. Tommy is bleeding. There's blood on him. His eyes are closed. He's bleeding. He's completely still. He's bleeding. His eyes are closed. He's not moving. There's blood on him. There's blood on Tommy.

~~~

Nothing for rivulets!

~~~

Nothing for runner, either!

~~~

Dang. Nothing for daughter :0

~~~

After a few hours, Niki had stepped back, placed her hands on her hips, and looked around. She quite liked the place, if she was being perfectly honest. It felt cozy, similar to a home. It didn't feel like a company or an enterprise, devoid of emotion. No, it felt real. It felt personal. It felt like hers.

~~~

"You're so dramatic," Phil chokes out, chuckling.

AND!!!

"I'm fine," Wilbur assures, brushing off the hand that Phil didn't even realize had moved towards his son's chest. "I can stand on my own, Phil. You don't have to hold my hand."

~~~

Actually I’m gonna share a whole snippet from a story I genuinely forgot I’d started working on so aksvajdgsksgsh here ya go ⬇️

~~~

"Oh, mate... do you need water?" Phil glances at the table, finding a half-full glass of water just as Wilbur answers, "No."

"Are you hungry?"

Wilbur sighs again. "No. I just- Phil?"

"Yes?" Phil finds himself holding his breath.

Wilbur gazes at him for several seconds, and Phil notes with satisfaction that his eyes are no longer pink. His pupils are the usual rich-brown color that they aught to be.

Wilbur gives a slight shake of his head. "I want to go."

Phil stares. "You- go?"

"I want to get off of this couch. I want to get out of this cabin. I want to go, Phil. I want to-" Wilbur thrusts a hand forward, face twisting. "I want to go far away from this cursed land of snow, and never come back. I want to go outside."

Wilbur ends his rage-filled monologue, staring at his hands laid across his chest. His nostrils flare.

Phil watches him for a moment before dipping his head, beginning to shake with laughter.

Wilbur whips his head around to glare at him. "What?"

"You're so dramatic," Phil chokes out, chuckling.

"Wha- I've been confined in this place for weeks!"

"It's been four days, Wil."

Wilbur's eyes widen. Phil laughs harder.

"Only... only four days?" Wilbur questions, and Phil's laughter starts to subside when he hears how uncertain Wilbur sounds. "It hasn't even been a week? Only four days?"

"Yep." Phil nods. "A fever can really mess with your perception of time, can't it?"

Wilbur nods, at a loss for words. He stares back at his hands.

Phil chews on his lip. "You're feeling better, though. Right?"

"I guess."

Phil reaches forward, resting his palm on Wilbur's head. His son goes very still.

"You don't have a fever anymore. Still a little warm, but you're definitely getting better," Phil says, pulling his hand away. Wilbur relaxes instantly.

Phil feels a stab in his heart.

"Feeling- you said I'm better, right? So I can leave?"

"No."

Wilbur lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine. "But I'm better! You said so yourself, Phil! I'm doing better, see? Look, I can... I can stay at Tommy's, and he can keep on eye on me! Right?"

"No," Phil repeats, a small smile appearing on his face. "I'm not letting you leave until you've made a full recovery, Wilbur."

"But you said-"

"I said you're getting better. I never said that you were better. You still have a ways to go, mate."

Wilbur groans, letting his head fall onto his pillow in dramatic fashion. He squeezes his eyes shut. "I don't think I can survive like this much longer."

Phil chuckles, but his brow furrows with concern. "You're not going to be like this much longer. A week, at most."

"A week?" Wilbur's eyes snap open, and he cranes his head around to stare at Phil. "No. You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."

Phil opens and closes his mouth. "I mean... I'm not. You had a really bad infection, mate. You can't just heal from that overnight."

Wilbur stares for a couple seconds longer before laying his head back on his pillow, gazing up at the ceiling. He looks haunted—no. He looks scared.

Phil sighs. "It'll be okay, Wil. You'll get through this. Alright? Just trust me on that. You'll be fine."

Wilbur tries to hide it, but Phil can see how his breathing picks up; how his chest rises and falls with increasing speed; how his nostrils flare; how his eyebrows knit together in quick, barely perceptible movements.

Wilbur's starting to panic. And Phil doesn't know why. It's not like he's being held hostage or anything; he's just on bedrest. Nothing more. He's not trapped. He's not stuck. He's not-

Oh.

#the first one is from a (rare) sickfic type… thing #I don’t actually know where it’s going to go or how it’ll end BUT it has Techno in it!!#he’s fun to write but also so darn TRICKY man #the next two… well. this story has multiple lines with ‘blood’ lol #it’s a very sad fic #I JUST HAVE A FEW SHORT LINES TO GO UNTIL THE FIRST CHAPTER IS FINISHED #AAAAAAAAAH #Niki-centric fic :D #she’s super fun to write my goodness #SAND DUOOOOOOOO #gosh I forgot about this fic #I think I started writing it in… December or something? perhaps??#and then I completely lost inspiration and ran into a crisis with the plot lol #so I don’t know when the heck that’ll be finished #anyway yeahhh :)#ask #ask game answers #story snippet #my stories #c!philza #wilbur soot #c!wilbur #sand duo #oh and the first snippet is from Tommy’s POV by the way lol #he’s just thinking about Wilbur

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ervans · 6 months

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Care for You (Mizu x F!reader)

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, and violence, soft sex, fingering (r! receiving)

a/n: wow. it's been a minute since i've truly sat down and wrote something. i'm absolutely obsessed with BES and mizu, i haven't felt so passionate about something since TLOU. this is my adaptation of what seems to be the most cliche scenario in this fandom so far: reader finding an injured mizu. i'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing so any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, follows and notes as well. i have more ideas for works surrounding mizu (including a brothel fic muahahaha) so keep your eyes peeled for my posts :))

The sound of your sandals shuffling against the ground and your heavy pants were the only noises that pierced the otherwise quiet night. The moon, stars, and faint glow of your home in the distance were your only source of light as you trekked up the hill where the soft orange hue was coming from. The walk up this specific hill usually caused you no trouble, having done it dozens of times; however, this time was a tad bit different. Why? The limp, unconscious body that was currently draped over your shoulder.

Earlier in the evening you had heard a commotion down at the lake below the hill your home rested on. It was normal for stragglers, crooks, and opium addicts to travel through this part of Japan and mixing those groups of people usually ended up in some sort of fight. You had paid no mind to the noise, continuing with your cleaning. It wasn’t until you realized you needed more water for your tea that you made your way down the hill. As you reached the shore and saw the mess in front of you your stomach lurched.

Four bodies laid lifeless in front of you on the sand. From what you could tell they all had various stab and slash wounds across their bodies. Fifteen feet away from the tattered bodies lay another smaller one clad in baggy black trousers and stockings, a dark blue haori, and white scarf around his neck with a brown straw hat, round glasses with an orange tinted lens, and a sword, the telltale sign of a samurai on the ground beside him.

From where you stood you could see his chest still moving as he tried to shallowly breathe in oxygen from the air surrounding his struggling body. That brings you to where you are now, struggling up a damn hill trying to save this unknown samurai’s life. Was he responsible for the four bodies you had pushed into the lake? It didn’t matter to you; you weren’t one to judge in a world where it was kill or be killed.

You push the door to your house open and lay the injured stranger onto your mat near the fire. You start to boil water to disinfect whatever wounds he had and open a drawer to grab a needle and thread just in case stitches were needed. They very much were. You quickly realized the source of what seemed like never-ending blood on the top half of his body as you stripped the bloodstained clothing away. A gash about 4 inches long and deeper than you’d like it to be starting towards the base of his ribcage, skin around it starting to turn a yellowish color. It almost distracted you from the way the stranger was wearing chest wraps. Almost.

You frowned looking down at the shallow breathing of the samurai’s chest. Why would he need chest wraps? You thought, fingers brushing over the once white cloth now stained. Unless? You slowly started to undo the bindings, telling yourself you needed to anyways to properly clean the wound. As the cloth unraveled in your hands your small suspicion was confirmed. Two small breasts sat atop the chest of the slender samurai that laid before you, nipples hardening as they became exposed to the air. Your eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly to the side. A female samurai? How? Questions began to fill your mind as you started to clean the wound, gently washing it with the now hot water. It was unheard of for a woman to even touch a sword as it was said to make the blade impure. Where had this woman gotten her sword? Who did she get taught by? Clearly from the mess on the beach she knew her way around a fight.

You finished cleaning and stitching the larger wound and got to work on disinfecting the smaller cuts and scrapes on the upper half of her body. Once you were satisfied with your work, you began removing the woman’s trousers and stockings, revealing another deep gash running from the top of her knee down to her shin. Sighing you started the same process as her chest and prepared yourself for the unknown amount of time you would be caring for this mysterious female samurai.

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It took three days for the samurai to fully regain her consciousness. In those days you had changed the dressings on her wounds, forced broth and water down her throat for some form of sustenance, and carefully studied her whenever you found the chance to. You noticed small things others would easily miss. The way her face seemed like it was always in a permanent frown, her subtly toned muscles from what had to be from years of training, how her calloused hands would twitch in her sleep, stress being the cause of it you had concluded after watching her for a good hour whilst you sipped on your tea, and how insanely handsome she was. Wait what? Handsome? That thought scared you so much that you had refused to watch her for the remainder of the evening besides checking her wounds thoroughly before you went to bed. But you couldn’t ignore those thoughts that plagued your head as your touch lingered for more time than it should’ve.

You were sat cross-legged waiting for your tea to steep when you heard a thud from behind you. Quickly turning around to find what the source of the noise was, you were met with the samurai staring back at you, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. And oh, were they blue. You had never seen or known something could be as piercingly blue as the eyes that met yours.

“Who are you? Where am I?” The samurai demanded in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer right away, mouth slightly agape with shock at the stranger who had, just minutes ago, been passed out. “I asked you a question, now answer it.” She said sternly after a beat of silence between the two of you.

You blinked, raising an eyebrow and rising to your feet. “Well that’s no way to talk to someone who saved your life now is it?”

The woman, stern frown never leaving her features, quickly looked around the room taking in her surroundings. She then looked down at herself, usual blue haori missing and replaced with a softer red one. You hadn’t wanted to leave her bare in the middle of your home and opted to dress her in one of yours while you worked on scrubbing the stains out of hers.

You saw her tentatively try to move, and the flash of pain the appeared on her face for just a second didn’t go unnoticed by you. She pursed her lips and looked back up at you. “Thank you for stitching me up, but I would rather not stay a hostage here any longer. I have more important places to be.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “Hostage? Are you fucking serious? By all means you can leave, makes my life ten times easier if you do.” You were lying, you quite enjoyed caring for the handsome samurai, but you would never admit that to her. At least not now. “Good luck walking on that knee by the way, I’m sure it won’t be any trouble for you though.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as the blue-eyed woman looked you up and down once more before attempting to get up. After a few minutes she was standing, hand against the top of the fireplace to keep her from falling over. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly from the struggle of just standing. She looked back over at you, still leaning with your arms crossed. “Where are my belongings?”

“On the table to your right.” You responded, eyes never leaving hers. You watched her glance over to the table. It was about five feet away; it should’ve been no problem for her to walk over and grab her things. Should’ve. It took her almost ten minutes to reach the edge of the table, her injured leg making it difficult to have a full range of motion. She opted to shuffle inch by inch over to the edge. By the time she got there she was out of breath, looking down at her hands placed on the wood in front of her. You hadn’t moved at all, the only change being your expression shifting from annoyance to amusement as you watched the fit samurai struggle.

After a moment she let out a shaky breath. You saw her knuckles tighten as if she was having an internal battle with herself. “Can you help me back to the mat?” She asked so quietly you almost missed it. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where she stood, taking notice in the way her legs were shaking from lack of use over the past three days. She refused to look at you as you placed her arm over your shoulders and helped guide her back to the mat on the floor. “Thank you.” She muttered.

You looked at her, worry spreading across your features. “Of course. I’m here for anything you need. Consider me your personal caretaker.” You joked. “Although, a good caretaker should know her patients name.” Your words hung in the air for a moment before she responded.

“Mizu.”

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It had been three weeks since Mizu had introduced herself to you. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, which you respected, instead filling the silence between the two of you with your own stories from your childhood. In that time her leg wound had been healing considerably quick, mostly due to the bedrest you ordered her to stay on. The only time she was allowed to move her legs was when she needed to relieve herself or when you would do small stretches with her to keep her blood flow moving. After some time, she was able to get up and walk for short periods of time on her own. The only problem with her quick recovery in her leg was the fact that her chest wound had hardly any progress to it.

Since Mizu couldn’t walk for some time, she exerted all her energy to her upper half, much to your dismay. She would sit up on the mat doing stretches on her arms and shoulders, sometimes raising them so far up you were afraid a stitch was going to pop. It did.

Mizu had been practicing arm movements with her sword, stating that “If I want to achieve my goals, my skills must always be honed and sharp.” Bullshit you thought. She just wanted to aggravate you. How could you tell? The small smirk that would grace her lips whenever she went to pick up her sword, even after you told her it was dangerous, and she could hurt herself anymore. Alas, she was a stubborn woman and it’s how you ended up rushing inside from chopping wood after hearing a sharp yelp from inside your home.

She sat on her mat, one hand clutching the spot above her wound while the other reached for the needle and thread you always kept close by. Once you realized she was going to try to stitch herself back up you rushed over to snatch the needle from her hands and straddle her lap, careful of the wound on her knee. She looked startled for a moment before her whole face turned a deep shade of red once she realized the position you both were in. You had a faint blush as well as you plucked the thread from her hand as well.

“I’m not letting you stitch yourself. You’re going to make your injury worse.” You said looking down at her. She looked up at you with those damn blue eyes you could get lost in for ages, cheeks still red but an amused expression on her face.

“You don’t think I know how to stitch myself up?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Well, no. I just…you just…you just popped a stitch by doing something I told you not to do! How can I be sure you’ll do it correctly?!” Mizu laughed. A sound so beautiful you were sure it would play through your mind for months to come. “I guess you have a point. C’mon then doc, fix me up.” She smirked. You felt your face grow even hotter.

Still straddling her you pushed her robe off her shoulders revealing her chest wraps with blood from the reopened wound soaking through them. You gulped. To stitch her back up you’d have to remove her bindings. And this time she was awake. And would definitely take notice in the way your eyes would roam her chest. Sensing your hesitation, she smiled looking up at you. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen them before, obviously you have, or I wouldn’t have stitches here.” She was teasing you, you realized. “Here I’ll make it easier for you.” Her hand reached around to begin to undo her wraps. You sat there dumbfounded as they fell to the floor and her breasts were exposed to you once again.

“You just gonna stare sweetheart or are you gonna patch me up?” Mizu’s teasing question broke you out of your trance as you swallowed thickly and got to work on restitching her wound. You felt her piercing gaze on you the entire time and did your best to try and ignore the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Later that night after the excitement of the day you sat sipping on your tea while Mizu slept next to the fire. You couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those beautiful blue eyes, the way her lips turned up into a smirk whenever it seemed you were flustered, and the sound of her laugh plagued you. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Suddenly Mizu woke with a gasp, shooting up from the mat. You turned to her startled as you took in her appearance. Eyes wide with fear, chest heaving up and down, and her hands gripping tightly onto her blanket. “Nightmare?” You asked softly as to not startle her even more than she was. She just nodded as she looked at you, eyes bright in the darkness.

You softly rose to your feet, padded over to where was sat up, and sat down next to her. Her eyes had never left your figure as you made your way to her. You looked down at the blanket, then back up to her asking a silent question.

Slowly she lifted the blanket up and laid back down, giving you room to scoot in next to her. You wrapped your arms around her and brought her closer to your chest in the most intimate position the both of you had ever been in. You had never slept as well as you did that night.

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It had been four days since Mizu’s nightmare, and every night since then you two had slept together, arms wrapped around each other. The dynamic between you had changed drastically, lingering touches and glances to each other becoming a new normal.

Tonight was no different to the past few. You lay facing Mizu while her back was turned to the fire, tracing circles into her rough and calloused hands. The silence was comfortable, but you chose to break it in that moment.

“When do you think you’ll leave?” A flash of hurt ran across Mizu’s face.

“I can leave whenever you want me to, I think I’m healed enough by now. Would you like me to leave tomorrow?” Your heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. You didn’t want that at all.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.” Her eyes softened, moving closer to you she brushed her nose against yours.

“Then I won’t.”

Your lips met her soft ones in a searing kiss, one that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You let out at soft noise as she titled her head, running her tongue across your bottom lip to deepen the kiss and ask for permission to enter. You parted your mouth for her, tongues running against each other as she rolled on top of you, straddling your hips. Her fingers ran down your sides and under your top, tips of them brushing the underside of your breasts as you pushed your chest up into her, silently asking for more.

She pulled away from the kiss, a trail of spit the only thing keeping you connected, and smiled. “I’m going to need you to tell me you want more. Tell me you want it and I’ll stay.”

You moaned at her words. “Yes! Mizu please I want it, I need you.” She leaned down to kiss you once those words left your lips, fingers moving up to circle and pinch your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp into Mizu’s mouth at the sensation and she smiled into you, moving her head to trail kisses down your face to your neck, sucking a purple mark just below your ear.

You raised your arms over your head as she stripped you of your top, eyes lingering on your now bare breasts. “Beautiful.” Was all she said. You let out a whimper at her words. She kissed down your shoulders to your breasts and licked a long stripe up your nipple, the sensation causing you to moan and buck your hips up into hers. As she continued her assault on your breasts, her hand traveled lower down your stomach and slipped her hand into your trousers to run a finger through your slick folds.

You were a moaning, withering mess below her at this point. Between her mouth on your tits and her finger slowly brushing against your clit, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Please Mizu. I need you, please.” You begged, grinding your hips up into her hand hoping she got the message. She did. Slowly she pushed her middle finger into your wet heat, savoring the noise that left your lips as she did. Experimentally she curled her finger, finding that spongy spot at the front of your walls.

It wasn’t enough for you. “More, I need more.” You whimpered. Smiling against your breast, she pushed another finger in, thrusting at a quicker pace. You were close, she could tell by the way your pussy clenched around her digits. You just needed one last thing to push you over the edge. Removing her mouth from your nipple, she brought her forehead against yours admiring the way your mouth was slightly agape and the furrow between your brows.

“Open your eyes. You’re to look at me when you cum.”

At her words and her thumb suddenly circling your clit matching the pace at which she thrust, your eyes shot open meeting her icy blue ones, the last thread keeping you from falling snapping.

“‘m gonna cum Mizu, fuck m’ gonna fuckfuck-“ You were sent over the edge, cunt clenching and gushing around her fingers while your back arched off the mat, eyes never leaving hers as she guided and talked you through it.

As you caught your breath, chest heaving, she peppered soft kisses all over your face causing you to giggle breathlessly. She smiled down at you as you looked up at her still panting. “Give me a second, let me return the favor.” She leaned down capturing your lips once again as she removed her fingers from your core, wiping the slick on her pants and rolling to lay next to you. She pulled you into her chest and nuzzled her nose into your hair.

“You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks, let me take care of you. We have all the time in the world, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

And Mizu always kept her promises.

#blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai netflix #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu smut

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slu7formen · 2 months

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MDNI. luke x fem!reader

you’re back at camp after your quest with Luke, but your mind can’t seem to be able to forget what happened days ago like Luke has, and you’re in the need of a private conversation to clarify some things, and that’s all it has to be, a conversation… right?

part two to this fic <3

warnings: injuries, cursing, arguing, s3x, oral s3x (f receiving), non protected p in v, kissing, biting, slight fluff at the end, kinda dom!luke

lil taglist for those who asked for part two 🫶🏻: @pocototis , @amortiff , @angelfrombeneth , @niceskyler , @onegirlonewriter

₊˚⊹♡

Exhausted. That feeling was clinging to you and Luke like a second skin as you limped back into Camp Half-Blood with Percy and Annabeth at your side. The quest, a blur of adrenaline and monster-slaying, had been a success, but victory came at a price. Luke, his face pale despite the fading sunset, sported a nasty gash across his thigh, a souvenir from an unfortunate encounter with a particularly grumpy cyclop. You, on the other hand, cradled your right arm close to your chest, the throbbing pain in your shoulder escalating with every step.

Despite the aches and groans echoing within your small group, a sense of triumph resonated in the cheers that erupted from the campers milling about the Half-Blood Hill. Your arrival sparked a wave of excited chatter, a flurry of questions about the details of your adventure. The camp bustled with activity, a comforting normalcy after the chaos they'd faced.

"Whoa, guys, you look rough" Grover noted with concern as he approached you. He cast a worried glance at your injured arm.

The Apollo cabin had taken good care of you both. Lee Fletcher, the ever-patient son of Apollo, had fussed over Luke's wound with practiced ease, the gash healing miraculously fast under his ministrations.

"Luke, your cut isn't too bad" Lee declared to him, his voice calm despite the urgency in his eyes. "Just needs some ambrosia and nectar, and you'll be good as new."

You, however, were a different story.

"Dislocated and a hairline fracture" Lee had declared with a frown, his touch surprisingly gentle as he manipulated your injured shoulder back into place. "You've been harboring that injury for a few days now, haven't you?"

You winced, your face flushing slightly. Between the adrenaline rush of the quest and… what happened with Luke, your shoulder was the last thing you thought about besides the pain. "Uh, yeah" you stammered, ashamed even towards the younger camper.

Lee sighed, a hint of exasperation in his eyes, but he gave you a soft smile. “You´ll heal quick, don´t worry, but not as quickly as Luke. You'll have to stay a while longer."

Those "whiles" had stretched into two agonizing days. Two days spent staring at the whitewashed ceiling, the silence broken only by the steps of Apollo campers around you or at the Big House. The days blurred by in a haze of rest and ambrosia.

But you couldn´t stop thinking about Luke.

That-, thing that happened all of a sudden, a moment of raw emotion and desperate vulnerability, replayed endlessly in your mind. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his breath tangling with yours, sent shivers down your spine. It was a betrayal, not just of the rivalry that defined your relationship with Luke, but a betrayal of yourself. You weren't supposed to feel this way about him, the enemy, the bane of your existence.

But the morning after, you just acted as if nothing had happened, you never talked about it. The tension was your new best friend now, a suffocating weight that you couldn't seem to escape. How could you go back to the way things were after experiencing that spark of something —what felt like— more?

Frustration simmered within you. Ignoring what you both experienced felt like burying your head in the sand. Did it mean anything to him? Was it just a fleeting moment of desperation, a shared vulnerability in the face of danger?

Finally, the day arrived when Lee, with a practiced smile and a reassuring pat on your shoulder, declared you fit for duty. Relief washed over you, tinged with a nervous excitement. You practically stumbled out of the infirmary, the familiar sights and sounds of camp a welcome symphony after the sterile monotony of your confinement.

Your eyes scanned the crowded pavilion, searching for the shock of dark and braided hair that always seemed to set your nerves alight. You spotted Annabeth only because she ran to you as soon as she saw you. She pulled you in a hug that almost broke your bones.

"There you are!" she exclaimed. The concern etched on her face as if you had spent three weeks away from her. "How are you feeling? How’s your shoulder?”

“It´s good now, Lee took good care of it” you explained, walking back to the pavilion with her.

The well-wishes of the fellow campers offered a comforting sense of normalcy. Yet, your gaze remained fixed on the Hermes table, searching for a specific face.

"Where's Luke?" you finally asked Annabeth, a knot forming in your stomach.

"Right behind you” came the voice you knew too well.

He stood there, an unreadable mask plastered on his face. The air crackled with tension again, a contrast to the cheerful chatter surrounding you.

"I'm glad you're okay" he said, his voice flat. It was impossible to tell if he meant it or if it was simply a polite formality.

"Same thing" you replied, not really trying your best to put on show for the rest of the campers, or him.

A curt nod was all the reply you received, the gesture felt like a handshake from a stranger. He then turned and walked away, disappearing back to the Hermes table where his half-siblings awaited him.

You settled down at your own table, the clatter of silverware and chatter a welcoming difference to the sterile silence of the infirmary. You reached for the so sacred mashed potatoes you loved, but your appetite seemed to have vanished. Your gaze kept flitting towards the Hermes table, drawn to the mop of dark hair that seemed to defy gravity. He was there, talking with his half-siblings, a faint smile playing on his lips. Sometimes his gaze drifted towards you, his had features tightening, before he quickly looked away. Other times, you'd find his face turned elsewhere, lost in conversation with Chris or the Stoll brothers, who sat in front of him.

One of your cabin half-sisters leaned over, her voice filled with excitement in your ear. "There's supposed to be a party in the woods tonight. Wanna come?"

The temptation was strong. A night of revelry with your friends sounded far more appealing than dwelling on the awkwardness with Luke. But you shook your head instead. "Nah, I think I'll pass," you said, trying to sound casual.

Truth be told, your brain was working with the precision of a well-oiled machine. A hidden party meant curious campers, prying eyes. What you needed was a private conversation, a chance to finally address the elephant in the room.

As the campers began to disperse after dinner, Taking a deep breath, you made your way towards the Hermes table. Most of the campers had already vacated, leaving only a few lingering stragglers. Luke sat alone, a half-eaten plate of food pushed to the side.

His gaze flicked up as you approached. “Ugh. What do you want?” he asks, voice coated with venom.

“Wow, you really are a sweetheart” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “We need to talk”

“What about?” he asked with indifference.

“You know damn well what about” you declared. “Or do you want me to say it, here, how you basically came all over your pan-,?”

“Don´t” he jumped out of his seat, voice dangerously angry and threatening. He looked around, secretly wishing no one around heard you. “Fine. Meet me at the back of my cabin at midnight. I´ll be there”

“Good” you stammered, walking away before anyone else could hear you or see you standing in front of Luke Castellan, talking, for more than five minutes.

The thin wind hit your bare face as you approached Cabin Eleven. The glow from the windows had long been extinguished, replaced by a deep silence that accentuated the nervous pounding in your chest. It was past curfew, a risk you wouldn't normally take, but the need to talk to Luke outweighed the consequences. After all, most campers managed to sneak out for a forbidden rendezvous, why wouldn't you be able to manage a few cabins?

Hugging the shadows, you crept past the silent cabins, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Reaching Cabin Eleven, you tiptoed towards the back of it, the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath your sneakers a sound far too loud in the stillness of the night.

There, leaning against the wall, stood Luke. His arms were crossed over his chest, head down and apparently, lost in thought as he waited for you. Despite the outward facade of coolness he always emerged –or so he tried—, you swore you could detect a flicker of nervousness beneath the surface, a tremor in his gaze that mirrored your own churning emotions.

"Hey" you greeted him softly.

He pushed himself off the wall, arms still crossed over his chest. "Hey. About time."

You rolled your eyes. “I am on time, dumbass”

For a moment, he seemed to be struggling internally, debating the appropriate course of action. Should he maintain his usual bravado, the cocky smirk you hated so much? Or should he shed that facade, acknowledge the vulnerability of the situation, and let it go?

"How's that shoulder?" he finally asked, gesturing towards your shoulder with his chin.

"Good as new" you replied, unconsciously shrugging your shoulder to prove your point. "How's your leg?" you asked, returning the question.

"Fully healed" he mumbled, looking down at his thigh.

The small talk felt forced, the words hanging awkwardly between you. You both knew why you were there, but the silence seemed to scream louder than any accusation. Finally, Luke cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable tension.

"Wanna come in?" Luke finally asked, surprising you.

You blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly. "In?" you repeated.

He nodded, his gaze flicking nervously around the clearing. "It's safer than… well, you know, someone seeing us" he muttered, trailing off. The implication was clear – safer than being caught outside after curfew, safer than prying eyes and whispers.

You considered it for a moment. It made sense. This conversation needed privacy, and venturing deeper into the night, risking further trouble, didn't seem wise.

With a silent nod, you gestured for him to lead the way. You walked towards the front door, slipping inside the cabin in your tippy toes, Luke closed the door softly behind you, plunging the room into near darkness. The silence was thick, and loud. The stage was set for a conversation that could change everything.

"Okay, shoot" Luke finally said, his voice gruff.

"What?" you replied, thrown off guard by his brusqueness.

"What do you mean 'what'?" he countered, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "You wanted to talk. So do it. Speak."

His words felt almost like a demand, and irritation sparked within you. The confident, charming facade seemed to have crumbled, leaving him exposed – unsure and flustered. While your battle-hardened self might have found humor in his discomfort, just like it did when he basically walked in on you half-naked, right now, it just felt frustrating.

"Don't you have anything to say either?" you challenged. "Am I the only one who wants to talk about what we did?" It was hard to believe that the usually eloquent Luke Castellan, the golden boy, was now speechless.

Luke ran a hand through his hair, his face etched with frustration. "Well..." he began, sinking down onto his bed. He hesitated for a long moment, searching for the right words. "It was definitely... something" he finally came out with, his voice barely a whisper.

Gods, was he really this bad at expressing himself? A groan escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands in exasperation. "This was a fucking mistake, gods" you muttered, your voice muffled. "Forget I even came here, Castellan." You spun on your heel, heading towards the door, the need to escape this awkward conversation overwhelming.

Your hand reached for the doorknob, ready to walk out and face the consequences of curfew later, rather than deal with this frustrating silence. But before you could turn the handle, a warm hand clamped onto your wrist.

Luke spun you around, his eyes pleading despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "Don't go” he groaned, clearly frustrated with himself. "It's just – you can't expect me to speak normally to you when that isn't the relationship we have, you know?"

He was right. Your rivalry, for better or worse, defined your dynamic. What you did, that heated and uncontrollable moment that was one of the best sexual experiences that you ever had, had shattered the status quo, leaving you both scrambling for a new footing.

Your silence dominated you, quite a big difference to the nervous energy that had crackled between you moments ago. Luke's words echoed in the room, leaving you both grappling with the reality of the situation. He walked back to his bed, he knew now, you would stay.

With a defeated sigh, you walked over to his bed and stopped in front of him, hesitant to intrude further on his personal space by sitting next to him. "Luke, do you regret it?" you finally asked.

He ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous gesture that mirrored your own churning anxieties. "I don't know" he mumbled, his gaze dropping to his lap. A beat of silence followed, then he said, almost defensively, "But I can't deny that I... I liked it" he blurted out, almost comically frustrated.

"It's just that I never thought I would do something like that with you” he continued, his voice dropping back to a hushed tone. "Do you regret it?"

You shrugged your shoulders, still grappling with your own tangled emotions. “I mean… When it was happening," you started, searching for the right words, "I enjoyed it. But right now, with all the aftermath, I don't think I feel 'proud' of it exactly."

"You're not answering my question, yn." he said, a touch of annoyance creeping back into his voice.

"I don't know if I regret it, Luke, okay?" you admitted, frustration tinging your voice. "It's just… confusing."

The silence returned, this time heavier than before. The playful banter had faded, replaced by a deeper, more complex silence that spoke volumes about the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in. You decided to push the conversation further.

"Is this going to change things now?" you asked, your voice laced with a hint of apprehension.

Luke let out a loud, almost bitter laugh. "Why do you care? You hate me anyway" he said, his voice laced with a sharp edge. "This is the perfect excuse to not talk to me ever again."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Hate you? I don't hate you" you declared, taken aback by his accusation. "I wouldn't be here if I hated you."

"Don't like me then?" he countered, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, not exactly" you mumbled, cheeks flushing a warm heat. "But don't say I hate you. That's not true."

There was a surprised silence from Luke. Maybe he hadn't expected that answer. "Then what is it?" he finally asked, his voice raising up a little, laced with a hint of curiosity.

Frustration bubbled up inside you. "You!" you blurted out, pointing at him. "It's you, it’s you because we never get to have a regular conversation without arguing, because you started this whole picking on me things and it’s been like this ever since we were fourteen, Luke! And I know you and I are pretty good at ignoring each other, but this…" you gestured vaguely between the two of you, "this isn't something we can just sweep under the rug. It's not something we can just pretend never happened.”

"Then what do we do with it?" he continued, his voice trembling slightly in anger "I told you I liked it" Luke repeated, his voice tinged with annoyance. "What else do you want me to say!?"

"It's not what I want you to say!" you yelled back, your voice rising in volume. "It's what I want you to do!"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "And what is exactly that!?"

The words tumbled out before you could think, a desperate plea fueled by confusion and a strange sense of longing.

"Fucking kiss me!"

The words echoed in the cramped silence of the cabin, and a blush flooded your cheeks as soon as they left your lips. You hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the tension, the confusion, the simmering emotions within you – it all came spilling out in a torrent of honesty.

Luke stared at you, his eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, you thought you might have crossed a line, shattered the fragile truce that had formed between you.

He rose from the bed with a slow, predatory grace. You were standing so close that when he stood to his full height, you were chest-to-chest with him. His dark eyes locked with yours, and you felt small.

"So that's it?" he continued, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "That's why you're so worked up? You just want me to kiss you?"

His words, though seemingly lighthearted, stung. Was that all it was to you? A fleeting desire, a moment of impulsive rebellion? The anger you'd felt earlier flared anew, threatening to consume you.

"Is that all you think this is about, Castellan?" you spat, your voice shaking slightly. "Just some physical need?"

"That´s not what I meant" he drawled, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I know that if what happened left you with a physical need, you could go to anyone else. But you came to me, didn´t you?”

You wanted to punch him, to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But a strange sense of honesty held you back. He was right, again. The truth was, a part of you didn’t crave just a taste of his lips, but something else, like an unexpected connection that went further more than physical. You didn’t know where it came from, or when, or why, you just felt it and thinking about it just felt right.

With a shaky breath, you tilted your head up, a silent answer to his question. Your lips brushed against his, breaths twirling together once again. He didn't hesitate or hold back this time. A low groan escaped his lips as he leaned down, his hands finding their way to your waist. His touch sent a jolt of electricity sparking through you, making your knees weak.

And the he kissed you.

It started slow, tender, almost reverent. He explored your lips with a newfound gentleness, as if savoring the feel of them against his. It spoke of exploration, of a tentative truce blossoming into something more. You wanted to feel him, to erase the line that had always separated you.

But then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened. The tenderness melted away, replaced by a desperate urgency. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the soft contours of your cheeks. You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him impossibly closer to your body. The kiss became a whirlwind of emotions – confusion, desire, the thrill of the forbidden.

You noticed the way his breath started to hitch. How whenever he had to fill his lungs with air, he would make sure it was just the necessary amount to kiss you back again. He didn’t want to forget the taste of your lips.

His kisses then started to start a slow, agonizing pace towards your neck. Right under your ear, over your pulse, on dip your collarbone; every hot kiss he placed only made your body unconsciously stick closer to his, head logging back in pleasure as your breaths became hitched too, turned into small gasps and little moans, all caused by the boy that got you on your nerves.

“Y-you haven’t answered my question” you suddenly said.

Luke was too concentrated on attacking your neck to even care looking at your face, but he still answered. “What question?”

“If you’re a virgin”

He could’ve stop right there, he could be mad at you for being so insistent, he could just go and leave you there, hot and bothered with your swollen lips and red neck attacked by his own lips, but he stayed. He stayed while his forehead rested against yours, catching his breath while his broad shoulders went up and down. His own skin was already sprayed with a thin layer of sweat, glistening by the only little peak of a curtain that didn’t fully covered the outside light.

“I’m not” he declared, hands dripping down to your hips. “But I’m not as experienced as you may think”

You nodded slightly. “And, do you-, would you like to experience a little more?” you asked.

See, you had a little problem. You didn’t realize how dangerous words could be, or how it could affect the other person until those words came out of your mouth, and you felt so stupid afterwards. So stupid you wanted to snap your fingers and let the ground swallow you whole and spit you right at the center of the Tartarus.

Luke chuckled. “Are you seriously asking me to fuck you?”. He asked it so casually, so calmly, that if only he had asked you with the tiniest bit of flirt, of teasing, you would’ve handled it easier.

Your blood rushed to your cheeks. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re still so surprised” you try to laugh it off “Look what we’re doing”

“You’re right” he nods. “Yes. I would like to know what it is like to do what we did. No clothes this time”

He didn’t even let you think of an answer. His lips placed over yours again, but only for a brief moment before he started trailing down your throat. His curls tickled your chin, and his nose bumped constantly against the places he kissed. The tiny touch of the tip of his tongue with every kiss left behind a wet trail of saliva that started to go down, down, and down.

Even though he requested no clothes, your t-shirt didn’t seem to bother him at all. He pressed your lower body closer to his when he kissed your sternum. You didn’t know if it was because he genuinely knew how to make a girl feel good, or because it was simply him, but even over the fabric, his lips felt like fire against your skin, and you felt the goosebumps covering your arms.

Maybe it was both things.

He kept kissing until he sat down on his bed again. Your hands crept up his neck, just to have somewhere to hold, you needed to touch him. His neck, his hair, his back, everything.

His hands pushed up your t-shirt and as soon as he had the tiniest bit of skin visible, he attacked it. Just kisses everywhere. His lips were hot and wet, something that only added you both a immense pleasure. You hissed when his teeth took a slight grip of your hipbone, but the slight burning feeling it left behind made you release a stupid sound from your lips, a soft, small and broken whimper.

“Sorry” he said. He looked angelical like that; lips glistening, brown eyes looking up at yours, chin resting on your tummy. You could stay like this forever. “It’s just, you’re-” his fingers buried themselves at your sides. “You’re unreal”

You smirked. You knew this vulnerable and submissive state Luke was at would only last a second, but knowing that you were the one he would float up his surface for, how it made you feel, it was powerful. But you didn’t wanna be, you wanted him to crave you. You’ve been playing this game for way too long, it was time for Luke Castellan to prove what he could do.

You placed your hands over his, feeling your own small and delicate compared to his veiny and big ones. You pulled his calloused palms up your torso, the fabric of your t-shirt tangling in his fingers. He caught the message real quick, pulling your t-shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor carelessly.

He looked momentarily stunned, with parted lips and all. He felt dumb too. This was his second time seeing you like this —except that when he did for the first time, you weren’t wearing shorts—, but something about it was different now. A hundred explanations rushed his brain a second; the lighting, the shorts, the color of your underwear, your hair. Maybe even the fact that you looked so close, but so unreachable.

You didn’t let him stare for too long, forearms crossing over his shoulders as you, once again, sat over his thighs. You didn’t have to lead him into anything this time, he pulled you by the waist even before you finished sitting on him.

He hissed when you rolled your hips once, hands flying to your sides to stop you. “Don’t do that” he said in a low tone. He knew you were just teasing him, but he really didn’t want to deal with you right now, not in that way.

You stopped, it was hard not to when he applied so much force on you that his biceps flexed and his veins popped out. And that reminded you the lack of your clothes, and the excessive amount of his.

His white t-shirt was long forgotten after if joined your own on the floor. He leaned back, hands resting over the mattress as your hand trailed down his torso; a bumpy ride down his body that was strangely appealing to your eyes. You hadn’t seen Luke shirtless before, and that reminded you, why hadn’t you seen Luke shirtless before?

The man was hot.

He seemed to enjoy the way your eyes roamed down his body way too much, also how you suddenly held your breath. He might’ve kept it a secret, but he saw and noticed everything. His hand reached out to cup your breast. “Pretty” he whispered, knuckles caressing the lacy fabric that covered you. He didn’t have to be a genius to realize how that instantly made your skin shiver, most specifically your back, that arched towards his feather-like touch.

He pushed himself up, lowering his head towards your chest. He took your bra in his teeth, pulling the fabric aside just enough for his tongue to lick over your nipple. You moaned, the sudden feeling taking you by surprise. He didn’t want to behave this softly, so tender, so stupidly careful. He needed more.

He repeated his action with your other breast, a tight and strangled moan escaping from your throat. He groaned lowly at your own sounds, discovering a new way of basically communicating with you; if you liked it, he liked it.

His arms wrapped around you with ease, lifting you up just enough for him to place you ever his bed, his body covering yours as his hands placed along your sides. His pulled your thighs apart with one knee, then pressing it against your core.

“Ah, Luke” you moaned out, eyes shutting at the feeling, too good to let it pass.

“Shit, baby” he cooed. His eyes scanned your body under his, the way it rolled so delicious and delicately as you tried your best to push yourself further into his knee, desperate for some friction. “Can I go down on you?” he blurted out.

You opened your eyes, leaning into your elbows on the bed, eyes piercing his. “You want to?” you ask.

“If I’m fucking you, I’m doing it right”

And your shorts disappeared in a second. He moved your panties aside with a hook of his fingers, and suddenly a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

He was seeing you vulnerably and literally open to him now. You felt too self conscious. You were screwed. Your arousal left a wet patch on the inside of your panties; what a sight for eyes like Luke’s. You felt his thumbs slowly pulling your lips apart. He was taking his oh so sweet time with it, and you didn’t know if you loved it or hated it.

You let out a surprise moan when his tongue laid flat against your cunt. He moaned against it instantly, the vibration sending a different type of pleasure. His big arms wrapped over your thighs, providing you of any movement except for the ones he wanted you to do. He ate you out like a starved man; and yes, it sounds cliche, but you never experienced something like this before.

He was so slow with it, yet so deep. He wouldn’t let any drop coming out of you go to waste, he wanted it all. He sucked on your clit, hard, but quickly let go to continue his task on your hole again, tongue slipping in and out. The only time he took a break, was to slightly lift his head up and spit down at you. It was already wet enough, but the cold saliva, falling directly to your clit, only made you want more.

You grabbed his head with both hands, pushing him down against you, and he didn’t complain a bit, mouth instantly opening again to let his tongue dance around you.

“Yes, yes, yes” you moaned, chest heaving up and down. The sounds that came out of Luke’s mouth against your pussy were disgusting; wet and dirty, and you would’ve never guessed you actually liked it better this way. He actually acted like he needed you, and you noticed, because you saw the tiny bit movements he made with his hips against the sheets. “Gods, Luke, don’t stop”

Maybe this was not the perfect time to praise any of the gods above, but you couldn’t help it, you didn’t even know what words came out of your mouth, none really, just little sounds that escaped from your lips like oil, slipping down unconsciously.

Luke felt too good, better than you had expected. Not experienced as you might think? You could easily believe he lied to your face.

The moment he pulled away one of his fingers slipped in between your folds. His fingertip grazed over your sensitive bud, making your body jolt once. You heard him breath out a laugh.

Then he pulled in, slowly, and a second finger joined easily. You grabbed the sheets by your sides, arching your back and letting a moan of relief out. You felt him lean his cheek on your inner thigh. “If you’re this tight on my fingers, can’t imagine what you will feel like when I fuck you”

He could simply cum in his pants again just by the sight of you; legs spread open around his head, his fingers pushing inside you at a perfect pace, your pussy glistening with his saliva. Your moans sounded pornographic, almost too good to be true. He managed to not do it though, he managed to focus on you and only you, on the way your hips rolled, on what made you squirm the most, what made you whine louder.

His fingers scissored inside you. Your moan was guttural when he eventually started to move faster, his wrist started to quickly feel tired, but how could he give up so easily on you?

Your eyes rolled back. He just treated you so good. He knew just when to curl his fingers, stuff them deeper inside you, or just removing them from inside your pussy to focus on your clit, softly drawing circles over it. He knew how torturous it was, almost as torturous as that night, in the motel, in which you couldn’t stop moving over him; wouldn’t stop. He deeply wanted you to stop, but not because he didn’t like it, but because he wanted more, and right now, you wanted more, and he was well aware of it.

“Fuck me already, Luke”

“What’s that?” he asks, head tilting, a cocky smirk on his face. His fingers were still moving around your clit.

You managed to focus your eyes on him, fire illuminating your eyes. He looked so fucking perfect. Shirtless, a thin layer of sweat over his muscles, his camp necklace softly hanging over his collarbone, his fingers covered in your wetness.

“Fuck me, please” you whined, too desperate for your own liking.

He stopped touching you and crawled over you again, his camp necklace dangling over your face. His hand squeezed your cheeks before he stamped his lips on you once again. He swallowed your moan when you tasted yourself on his lips. “So fucking needy, huh? Fuck, look at you” his eyes roamed down your body like a hunter stalks his prey. “All ready for me”

He praised you as if you were a goddess, which was not far from true but, he was not scared to admit how much he would worship you if he had the chance.

You reached out for his sweatpants, pulling them down below his ass before taking his cock in your hand. He squeezed his lips and groaned, eyes flitting shut at the feeling of your hand stroking him over his boxer. Even over the fabric, you felt how warm it was, how hard he had gotten. “I can tell you’re ready too, big boy” you teased.

He didn’t really know where his sweatpants fell, taking them fully out along with his underwear and throwing it somewhere in the darkness of the room. His dick smacked on his stomach, and you lifted your head to peak just a little.

And yes, as you expected, he was big. Not monstrously big but, fair enough to feel a little bit scared of whether is it gonna hurt or not. His tip was so red, you highly doubted he would last long enough before cumming.

“Shit, wait” he said, looking around, brows suddenly frowning in worry. “I don’t have a condom”

You laughed. “So?” you asked. His worried expression was replaced by a confused one. “I don’t mind”

“You don’t?” he blurted out.

“Just pull out. It’ll be fine” you assured with a warm smile. He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of worry still pang in his insides. “Hey” you called out, sitting straight and placing one hand behind his neck. “Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay. You don’t have to be scared. If you don’t like it, we can stop, okay?” you whispered.

It seemed as if he wanted to say something, but he only limited himself to nod, letting the invisible weight of his shoulders fall off. You pulled him towards you, mouth quickly letting his tongue in as you fell onto the mattress again.

One of his hands started to trace delicate figures on your waist, stopping at your ribs to squeeze tightly as he lets the tip of his cock brush against you. He strangled a moan before aligning himself and you lift your hips slightly. His own hips start to move forward, slow. You gasp at the stretching, stealing Luke’s last breath before he let his forehead collapse on the crook of your neck.

You squeezed him fully, tighter every time another inch entered inside you. When you felt the base of his cock against you, he moaned out against your skin once, then his shoulders started to go up and down as he breathed heavily. “How do you feel this good when I haven’t even started yet?” he asked, more to himself that to you.

You tugged on his curls, forcing him to get away from your neck and look into your eyes. “And what’s taking you so long?” you whisper.

He took his bottom lip in between his teeth as he began to pull out just as slow as he had pushed in. He only let the tip of his cock in before moving forward again. You hugged him, his muscles clenching at the touch of your fingertips on his shoulder blades. He started agonizingly slow, but it felt so good. It was so intimate, not only because of the fact that your legs tangled on his lower back and you pulled him in with your heel, but because suddenly, a warm embrace hugged you both. The sudden feeling of hugging him tighter when he started to move faster, and his need to let his fingers mark over your thighs, tightly gripping on the flesh when you moaned into his ear, something about the lines of going faster and how good it felt. He doesn’t remember.

He wanted to keep you like this forever, his legs thrown around his waist, your pussy sucking him in every time he pulled out, your moan and whimpers in his ear, your hands touching him everywhere. Your hands felt so good, so smooth over his rough skin, over his scars. He wanted to kiss them, every single knuckle, massage them, hold them forever. He wanted to keep you forever. Your embrace, your laugh, your voice, your feelings. He wanted you to open yourself to him, to feel safe around his arms, to know that he would always be there, no matter what you need him for.

“You’re greedy, baby. Aren’t you?” he teased in your ear. He whispered so low that your back arched at the sound. “Yeah, like that. Just sucking me right back in, huh?”

You felt speechless. You were. Also, it was hard to speak when he was pounding into you like an animal, grunts and moans filling the room despite the soaked slapping of skin to skin. He tugged at your hair, pulling down and forcing yourself to push your head back further into his pillow. His tongue flattened against the base of your neck, licking all the way up to the back of your ear. Even though you didn’t see him, you felt him smirk. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this for. Wanted to fuck you ever since you wore that fucking dress to the fireworks”

Oh, the dress.

Fourth of July at camp. Well, it got lots of compliments. How pretty it looked on you, how it showed off your curves, how the color fitted you nicely, how you managed to find the perfect shoes to combine them with. And yes, you had noticed that Luke’s stare towards you was intense. He was staring, jaw clenched and his stupid face towards your directions at all times, head following you wherever you went. But you would’ve never guess that a simple white dress, was gonna start it all for him and the painful ache in his cargo pants.

If you knew, you would’ve wore it before. And more frequently.

“Luke” you moaned out when he particularly pushed too deep inside you.

“Say it. Say my name again” he demanded, hand squeezing in between your bodies to touch your clit again, smacking it with two fingers, stealing a high pitched whimper from your lips. He started his expert circles around it again. You tried your best to do as he said, but the pounding of his cock inside you, the skin slapping and the sensitive touch of his fingertips over you was driving you crazy.

You finally managed to call his name, over and over again, like a prayer. He felt too good when you did so, slamming harder against your body when his hand movement became sloppy, stopping momentarily only to start again.

In a swift, blurry motion, he placed both hands on the mattress on the side of your head, pulling himself up and his cock out of you. You covered your face to muffle your screams when he started to rub himself on your clit. The tip of his cock hurt against you, rubbing over you again and again and again. It was fast, not giving you enough time to recover before his red tip caressed over your clit again.

This felt much better than any other feeling you felt with him, maybe even replaced by the feeling of his cock stretching you out. But this, something you never tried before, made your walls clench around nothing and your clit scream in agony, the warm feeling in your belly only growing more and more with each thrust of his hips.

His movements stopped as abruptly as his moans. You only heard him release a held back moan when he let his hips thrust once more, and you felt his warm load fall over your stomach just at the same time that you came. It reached so high up that you immediately felt out of breath, chest heaving up and down as Luke cursed under his breath, and his cum kept dripping down over you.

He would’ve collapsed over your body, but he didn’t wanna get you all dirty. It was a dumb though, considering the fact that you were sweaty, hair messy, lips parted as you cursed too, and a very slight signal of tears in your eyes. You were destroyed, and he was too.

“Wait here” he pointed at you with one finger, carefully climbing down his bed and putting on his boxers, disappearing in the darkness. He later came back with paper towels, taking the first one and folding it, cleaning the parts of your body that were left behind with him on it.

He cleaned himself after, hissing at the sensitivity of his head, before throwing the dirty wipes to a small bin. He hopped on the bed again, arm throwing around your waist as he pulled you closer. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

He kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips, your collarbone, leaving behind his mark on you. He placed two of three kisses on your shoulder as his hand circled your lower back, before playfully biting on it.

“Stop” you pushed him on the chest. “You’ll get me all marked up”

“What if I wanted to?” he asked, head falling down on the pillow. His eyes twinkled when he looked at yours. “Would you let me?”

“Depends. Will we still pretend we don’t like each other?”

He snorted. “Who said I like you now?”

“Ha-ha” you panted, staying silent for a moment. Your finger traced his features, so harsh yet so delicate. His jawline, his nose, his cheeks. His scar. You let your thumb softly touch it, Luke’s eyes closing as you do, sighting at your warm touch. You knew how much he hated it, how much he wanted people to avoid looking at it, how embarrassed he felt about it. You never truly understood why. Yes, he failed his quest but, it gave him such a different type of look. Brave, warrior-looking, fearless, hot. “I like it” you whispered.

“Don’t lie to me” his voice changed, a sudden dark, sad tone.

“No, I mean it” you blinked fast, concerned at his mood change. “It makes you… pretty”

He would’ve expected any word, any. Badass, tough, bad boy-looking. But pretty? He wasn’t prepared for it. “You think I’m pretty?” he asks, shiny dark eyes piercing yours.

“And a pain in the ass, sure”

He let out a laugh, you joined him. It was a soft symphony that momentarily filled the room with wholesome energy. “So what now?” he asked. “What are we?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know” your fingers played with the little wooden pendants of his necklace. “We don’t need to know it now, though”

“But I don’t wanna pretend I don’t like you either” he explained. “ ‘Cause this is actually kind of fun”

“Kind of?” you asked, tilting your head. Luke rolled his eyes.

“Okay, it’s the best sex I’ve had so far” he admitted.

“Thaaank you” you replied. He laughed again, less this time, but still managed to crack a smile. He didn’t know he could smile this much with you. “And, you don’t have to worry about pretending. We don’t have to”

“No?”

“No” you shook your head. “Let it be. Let ‘em think what they want. We were sent on a quest, something happened and now, we’re friends”

His signature grin marked on his face. “Friends?” he asks.

You gulp, visibly flustered now. And yes, friends. Friends who lay in bed naked, friends who fuck, friends who kiss, friends who dirty talk to each other, friends who break curfew to find themselves making out in the most remote places at camp, friends who stare, friends who care. So, yes; “Friends” you assure.

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soaps-mohawk · 2 months

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 14: The Aftermath

Summary: Your heat is over, now all that's left to do is heal.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz

Word Count: 5100 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, handjobs, heat cycles, mating cycles, brief medical stuff, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, fluff, angst, nightmares, PTSD

A/N: Surprise!! Got this one done super early because I kind of just want to move forward with this fic and get to more exciting things so enjoy this bonus chapter. This weekend's update might come a day late, we'll see. Not entirely happy with this one, but it's really just setting up the next part so...yeah. Enjoy!!

Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.

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(Gif found on Google)

A rumbling purr vibrates in your chest. It’s a purr of contentment, of satisfaction. You’re warm, not like you had been nine days ago when your heat started, though. This is a comfortable warmth, a cozy warmth. You’re under blankets in your nest, pressed against a bare chest. You trail your fingers along smooth skin until you hit a familiar scar slicing through the skin, right below his clavicle.

“Got that one outside a bar in Manchester.”

You pause in your movements, tilting your head to look up at John. He’s staring down at you, his own fingers starting to trace a pattern on your back.

“Was years ago. Some bloke was getting rowdy inside. Pulled him out to try and talk him down, and he pulled a knife on me.”

“I can imagine what you did in response.” You murmur, laying your head back on his chest.

John huffs out a laugh. “Left him with a couple missing teeth, and quite the dent in his head.” He smooths a hand over your side. “You feeling alright?”

You hum in response. Your eyes feel dry and puffy from crying, and you’re terribly thirsty. You’re beginning to feel the ache in your body again, the steady pulse of pain between your legs starting up. “Hurting again.” You murmur, smacking your lips. “Kinda feels like I swallowed sand too.”

“Almost time for another muscle relaxer.” He says, glancing at his phone before grabbing an electrolyte bottle from the nightstand.

You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking as you go. You let out a quiet whimper at the ache in your body, eyes filling up with tears again.

“Easy.” John tries to soothe you, brushing the hair from your face. “You’re alright.”

“Sorry.” You sniffle, taking the electrolyte bottle. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not. It’s just a natural part of coming down from a heat.” John says as you gulp down the contents of the bottle.

“My mom cried after her heats.” You say, putting the cap back on the electrolyte bottle. “I heard her once, when I was like seven or eight. My dad had picked us up from the care center on base. I wanted to see my mom, but their bedroom door was closed. I could hear her inside, crying alone. My dad scolded me, sent me back down the hall when he saw me. It never felt right to me, that she was in there alone like that, but maybe things are different when you have pups.”

“I don’t think it was right.” John says as you lay back down against his side. He’s tense, limbs stiff even as his arm wraps around your back.

“There were a lot of things my dad did that I questioned.” You say absentmindedly, tracing circles on John’s stomach to try and calm him. “Maybe it was just that inner part of me that knew I’d be an omega that made me notice it more. My brothers never said anything, but then again, they all presented as alphas.” You shift against John’s side, tucking your head so he can’t see your face. “Maybe I was just unlucky.”

He grunts, squeezing your shoulder gently. “You can’t control what nature decides.”

“Can’t control a lot of things.” You say quietly as he tightens his hold around you. “Suppose I am lucky in one regard.”

“What’s that?” He asks.

You shift yourself so you’re facing him, tears sliding down your cheeks again. “You’re a really good alpha.”

He pulls you against his chest again, pressing your face into his neck. “I don’t know if I’d call myself that.” He says, gently stroking your hair. “Just treating you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“You treat me like I’m a human being.” You sniffle, wetting his skin as you cry. “That’s better than I’ve been treated since I presented.”

You don’t see the way his brow furrows, the frown tugging at his lips at your words. You do feel the way he tenses for a moment, arms clenching around you before he relaxes again, a quiet purr rumbling through his chest as he soothes you.

“I haven’t left your side since your heat started.” He says, taking your hand in his.

“Really?” You ask, brows pinching a bit at his confession.

He hums. “Except to use the bathroom.”

“You must be sick of me by now.” You say.

“Never.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re my sweet little omega. Could never get sick of you.”

You let out a soft purring noise, the sound slipping through your lips before you even realize it. Your eyes widen and you push yourself up out of Price’s neck in surprise. “I’ve never made that noise before.”

Price smiles softly at you, reaching up to stroke your cheek. “Just means you’re happy.”

“Hmm.” You lay yourself back down against his chest, resting your ear over his heart. You suppose you are happy.

Or, at the very least, content.

Standing hurts.

Your legs feel a bit like jelly and your muscles ache deeply. It’s been almost five days since your heat ended, and yet you still feel like you just ran a marathon with no training beforehand. You know part of it is that you’ve been laid up for almost a week, but after that kind of physical exertion, you needed rest. You had only gotten up to stumble to the bathroom a handful of times, leaning heavily on John to avoid straining your muscles anymore than they already were.

You should get up and start moving now, though. It will help with the stiffness, you know, and you should get the blood flowing at least a little.

You’re also starting to go a bit stir crazy cooped up in your room all the time. You can only rearrange your nest so many ways, and you’ve even started to kick John out of the nest, opting to cuddle with your giant bear instead.

You've showered, finally feeling properly clean for the first time in almost two weeks. You dress yourself, opting for the loosest clothes you own, and forgoing underwear. You’re not sure you can handle anything too tight on your skin yet.

“Ready?” John asks, standing near the door.

You nod, putting on your slippers as he opens the door. Arms wrap around you as soon as you step out into the hallway, your feet leaving the floor.

“She lives!” Johnny exclaims, spinning you around.

You grunt at the impact of the excited Scotsman, but wrap your arms around him anyway, taking in his citrusy scent. You have missed him, not realizing how boring life would be without him until now. You’ve even missed Ghost a bit, his looming presence making the world seem a little less big.

“Easy, Johnny.” Ghost scolds the overjoyed beta. “She’s still breakable.”

“Sorry, kitten.” Johnny says, immediately setting you back on your feet and loosening his grip around you. “Missed ye, is all.”

“I missed you too.” You smile up at him.

“Thought ye might never be comin’ out of that room.” He says. “Thought I might have tae go in and save ye.”

You smirk. “You almost had to. Was starting to feel a bit stir crazy in there.”

He grins playfully at you. “Well, yer more than welcome to spend the night elsewhere if yer sick of bein’ cooped up.”

“She's definitely not going to be doing any of that for a while.” John says, stepping up behind you. “R&R is the only thing on her schedule right now.”

Johnny pouts. “But what if I just want tae cuddle?”

“Since when do you ‘just cuddle’?” Ghost asks.

“I can just cuddle.” Johnny pulls you against his chest again, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “I'll do it for our ‘mega. I’ll prove it right now.” Johnny pulls away from you, steering you towards the rec room.

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” Ghost says to Price, giving him a look before turning on his heel, following you and Johnny to the rec room.

Johnny flops down on the couch, pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around you. You lean against his chest, breathing in his scent again. It’s refreshing, after being stuck in a room with the same scents. You could never grow tired of Price’s scent, but when it’s all you’ve been able to smell for an extended period, you start to get tired of it. You remember nearly tackling Kyle in an attempt to get a whiff of his scent, but the sting of scent blockers had nearly brought you to tears again.

You let out a quiet sound as Johnny tilts his head, letting you breathe in his scent directly from the source. You start to purr quietly, nose pressed against his throat. An answering rumble begins in his own chest, his arms tightening even more around you.

“Smell good.” You murmur, your lips brushing his skin. Goosebumps erupt across his neck, a shudder trailing down his spine.

“Easy, mutt.” Ghost grumbles from the chair beside the couch, his eyes on you and Johnny.

“Cannae help it.” Johnny almost whines, trying to ease you away from his neck. He grips your chin as your head lolls, a drowsy smile forming on your face as you blink up at him. “Christ, yer gettin’ scent drunk.”

“Missed you.” You murmur, your brain quieting to a soft buzz as you lean your head on his shoulder, listening to the quiet rumble in his chest.

“Missed you too.” He says, his hand dropping from your face. His fingers ghost over the mark on your shoulder, making you twitch in his arms. “Cannae believe yer officially part of the pack. Seems like just yesterday ye were arriving, all shy and timid. Now look at ye. Purring away on my lap with Price’s mark on yer shoulder.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, a reminder of just how quickly things have changed. It’s only been almost seven weeks since you arrived in their lives. How quickly things have happened, how quickly things have changed. Though, you suppose things could have happened faster. You’re lucky they gave you so much time to adjust. Many alphas would have started the process as soon as you were in their sights.

They’re not like that, though. They’ve turned your beliefs on their head and changed your perspective entirely. Alphas can be good and caring and don’t just always take what they want.

You sniffle as tears pool in your eyes again, Johnny looking away from the TV to stare at you.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asks, sounding worried.

“Nothing.” You say, pressing your face against his shoulder. “I’m just crying cause I’m happy.”

“I know, this is probably the last thing you want to be doing right now.” Dr. Keller says from the end of the exam table. “But, unfortunately, it is necessary.”

You’re silently glad for the numbing spray, the pressure still enough to make you wince, but you can’t even imagine the kind of pain you’d be in if you weren’t numb. You wonder how many omegas have to go through this without it, how many are subjected to the horror without any sort of pain relief.

“And we’re done.” She says, pulling away. “Everything looks good, no tearing or other injuries.” She pulls her gloves off, John helping you lower your legs from the stirrups. “Though, I’d suggest abstaining from any rigorous physical activity for at least another week.”

Your face warms at the implication of her words. You’re not sure you’d want to anyway, at least not for a while. Aside from the soreness, after six days of near non-stop...activity, you might shrivel up and die if you see a naked man again anytime soon.

“Do you feel up to chatting today, or would you rather go back to bed?” Dr. Keller asks as John helps you sit up. “Won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t want to.”

You think about it for a moment, chewing on your lip before you answer. “We can talk.”

She nods, smiling. “Aright. Take your time, I’ll be in my office when you’re ready.”

She leaves the room, leaving you and John alone. You move slowly as you get dressed, still a bit sore and stiff. John walks you to the door, wrapping his arms around you before you can enter, pulling you against his chest.

“Call me, if you need anything.” He says.

You nod, staring up at him before you lift yourself onto your toes to kiss him. He purrs quietly when your lips touch his, his arms tightening around you for a moment before you pull back, staring up into his eyes for a moment before you turn away, heading into Dr. Keller’s office.

You take your usual seat, silently grateful for how comfortable the chair is as you sit down. You’ve been avoiding sitting as much as possible, having spent the last few days lounging in bed with John and occasionally Gaz.

“Comfortable?” Dr. Keller asks.

You nod. “Yeah. Think this is the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.”

“Good.” Dr. Keller smiles. “You tell me if you get uncomfortable or if you want to end early, alright?”

You nod again. “Yeah.”

She nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “So, how are you feeling, aside from the discomfort? Your first heat with your pack, being claimed, that’s a lot all at once.”

“It is a lot.” You acknowledge, picking at your sweatpants. “I’m still...I don’t know, processing it, I guess? It’s...a big step, but it was always going to happen. That’s why I’m here, right? To be their omega, to be part of their pack.”

“That is true.” Dr. Keller agrees. “As much as I could say about it, you are right. This was the end goal of this entire experiment. But, how do you feel about it? Are you relieved that it’s over?”

“Yeah.” You answer. “I’m glad that it’s over, that it’s done with. I...guess I feel lucky too.” You chew on your lip nervously.

“In what way?” Dr. Keller asks.

“John’s a...good alpha. I think I knew that before, but...he took care of me. He didn’t hurt me, he’s never forced me into anything.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “They’re all good pack members. Even Ghost.”

“Good.” Dr. Keller smiles. “I’m glad you feel that way. John is a fantastic alpha. He cares a lot about you and your wellbeing.”

“He treats me like I’m more than just my status. I feel like...like I’m a person again. Not just something that can serve others. I used to think that's just what omegas were supposed to do. At the institute, that's what we were taught. How to serve. But, I can see now how we do so much more than that.”

Dr. Keller practically beams at you. “That’s great! That’s so great that you’re beginning to discover your place in their pack. I think it will get easier, now that you’re official.” She nods towards your shoulder where your claiming mark now sits.

You fight the urge to reach up and touch it, curling your fingers around the fabric of your sweatpants instead. It doesn't hurt anymore, other than slight soreness if you lay on that shoulder after a while. The scabs are beginning to come off, revealing the scar that will decorate your skin for the rest of your life, showing proof of your place in Price’s pack as his omega.

“Do you feel different, being a claimed omega now?” Dr. Keller asks.

You do feel different. Not just because you're a claimed omega now. There's something else, a sort of connection now that you've never experienced, even with your family. You don't know how to describe it, except for a slight buzzing in the back of your brain that only seems to quiet when you're near John. You don't really notice it until you think about it, and then you can't get it quiet until you're near John again.

“Yeah.” You finally answer, trying to ignore the buzzing feeling in your brain.

“The bond,” Dr. Keller says with a grin. “Hard to describe, so I've heard. I've also heard it lessens in intensity with time. Has anything else changed? Any feelings?”

You shrug. “I guess I feel...better about being here. It’s still not ideal but...I feel happier.”

“Yeah? Good.” Dr. Keller writes something down. “That makes me glad to hear. You’re getting along with everyone?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’ve been getting closer to Kyle and Johnny. I know they’ll want to progress our relationships after I’ve healed a bit.”

“Is that something you want?”

You nod. It is something you want. Kyle has already seen you in your most vulnerable state, and you know Johnny has been anxiously awaiting his time. You’d even consider getting closer to Ghost, though, that would be entirely up to him and what he wants. You know getting closer to Johnny will inevitably force you and Ghost closer, but you won’t push the alpha’s boundaries.

That will only end poorly for everyone.

John is awake instantly as soon as the knock comes at the door. He calls for them to enter, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he stares blearily at the computer screen in front of him. Simon’s giant form approaches the desk, sinking into the chair across from him.

“Getting caught up?” Simon asks, looking him over.

John nods. “Slow progress. Hard being out of commission for six days.”

“Well, you didn’t miss much excitement. Laswell called a couple times. Kyle talked to her.”

“That’s what he said.” John leans back in his chair. “Checking up on our girl.”

“Sent over some things that might interest you as well.”

“I see that.” John says, glancing at the email in his inbox. One of several hundred unread emails.

“You look tired.”

“Think I’m getting old, Simon.” John says, running a hand over his face. “I don't remember things being this rough, coming out of it.”

“I’ve heard purebreds are different.”

John gives him a look. “Thank you for holding down the fort.”

Simon shrugs. “Things are going to get difficult now.”

“We have a job to do, above everything else. That was something we knew from the start.” John says.

“Things were different then.” Simon says. “It's going to be a struggle.”

“We knew that too.”

“I'm not talking about the omega.” Simon's voice lowers, taking on the low rumble of Ghost. “I'm talking about you.”

John's back stiffens as he stares at his Lieutenant. “This doesn't change anything.”

“It changes everything.” Simon stands from his seat. “Just how much, we won't know until we're in it.” He turns, making his way towards the door.

“You think you're immune?” John says, making him pause by the door.

“No. But I've been keeping my distance for a reason.” He turns the handle on the door, turning to look back at John. “One of us has to have a clear head.”

John watches as the door closes, something tickling in the back of his mind. He sighs as he sinks back in his seat, eyes moving to the computer screen and his hundreds of unread emails.

He closes the browser, shutting down the computer, staring at the screen until the hum of harddrive quiets. His skin is prickling now, thinking back on Simon's words. Of course things have changed. It would be no different had they added a fifth person to the team. He knows leaving will be hard, but they have a job, a duty to perform. That always comes first above all.

Can he make it come first after this?

He remembers how different things had felt after he claimed Kyle. His decisions became safer, but his actions became riskier to ensure Kyle's safety. It wasn't that he doubted Kyle's abilities. He knows Kyle is more than capable of taking care of himself. That's why he's on the team. It was his instincts needing to protect his pack, to ensure his beta's safety.

What is he going to do now that there's an omega involved?

You won't be going with them, you won't be in the field, but they'll have to leave you behind. It could be weeks before they'd see you again, if they see you again.

The thought has a sick feeling churning in his stomach.

Maybe Simon is right.

Maybe things have changed too much.

John rises from his seat, his joints cracking. He stretches, groaning quietly at the ache still present in his muscles. It's faded for the most part, but he can still feel it if he's immobile for too long. It's not the worst pain he's ever felt, but it's hard to think of a time he's felt worse.

Maybe he is getting too old for this.

He pauses outside Kyle's door, staring down at the knob. He feels bad for what Kyle had to go through the last almost two weeks. He knows it's a natural part of pack life, a natural role for betas, but he still feels guilty.

“Everything alright?” Kyle's voice breaks through his thoughts. The door is open now. Kyle standing there in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

He hadn't even noticed the door open.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “It's nothing. I don't want to bother you.”

“You're not bothering me.” Kyle gives him a worried look. “Just got out of the shower. You can come in, if you want.”

His feet are moving before he even thinks about it, Kyle closing the door behind him. He sinks down into Kyle's desk chair with a heavy sigh.

“What's on your mind?” Kyle asks, grabbing the jar of coconut oil off his dresser.

“Too much.” John answers, looking up at him as he approaches. “Everything's going to change now.”

“Yeah,” Kyle says, setting the jar on his desk before scooping some out. “Things change all the time. We learn and adapt to them. That's what we do.”

John watches him rub the oil on his face and neck, watching the movements of his hands. He's right. Always the voice of reason and logic. They were trained to adapt to anything. It was their job. They had adapted to your presence easily enough, they could adapt to this new development too.

It would take time, but they could do it.

“You're right.” He says, staring at Kyle's glistening skin. He wants to be the one to rub the oil onto his perfect skin, feel the softness of it under his hands. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. You've been a great help through this.” He stops Kyle from grabbing more coconut oil, grabbing some himself. “I owe you a lot for neglecting you these last couple weeks.”

“You weren't neglecting me.” Kyle says, giving him a small smile as John starts rubbing the oil over his shoulders. “You were taking care of our omega.”

A satisfied growl rumbles through John’s chest at his choice of words. “Now let me take care of you.”

Kyle’s breath stutters as John moves behind him, rubbing oil onto his back before moving to his chest. His fingers brush over Kyle’s nipples teasingly, pulling a quiet groan from the younger beta’s lips. John leans against his back, slipping his hands down lower, feeling the ridges of his muscles pulled taught from John’s touch. His lips press a soft kiss to the claiming mark on Kyle’s neck, Kyle’s head falling back against John’s shoulder. John growls in approval at the submissive position, his fingers trailing the waistband of Kyle’s sweatpants.

John gathers more coconut oil on his hand before he slips them under Kyle’s pants, spreading the soft oil across his skin. He’d chosen to forgo briefs under his sweatpants, Price’s hand brushing against Kyle’s half hard cock.

“Fuck...” Kyle breathes, arching into John’s touch.

“How many times did you jerk off to the sound of us this last week?” John asks, wrapping his hand around Kyle’s cock.

“At first I didn’t,” Kyle says, pressing his hips into John’s hand. “Was too focused on making sure nothing went wrong. But then...” He lets out a moan as John begins jerking his cock. “Then I couldn’t take it anymore. The mental image of you two together, the sounds she was making...” Kyle lets out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut as John brushes his thumb over the head of his cock.

“Wanted to be in there with us, huh?” John asks, hooking his thumbs over the waistband of Kyle’s sweatpants, tugging them down so they drop around his ankles. “Did you imagine yourself right in the middle, taking my cock while she takes yours? Or did you imagine yourself taking my cock while our sweet omega sits on your face?”

Kyle lets out a moan, his arms reaching back to grip John’s hips as his legs shake with pleasure. John continues to stroke his cock, pressing a gentle kiss to Kyle’s shoulder.

“We can make that a reality.” John says, squeezing Kyle’s cock, earning a sweet moan in response. “I’ll show you all the places to touch that get her riled up. I’ll show you just how she likes it, how to get her legs shaking around your head.”

Kyle’s nails bite into his skin, but he doesn’t care as he continues to jerk his cock, getting him closer and closer to the edge. Price drags his thumb over the tip, spreading precum on his skin.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Price growls in his ear, pumping his cock faster. “Want to know what she feels like wrapped around your cock?” His teeth nip at Kyle’s ear, his beta’s lips parted as he moans loudly. “Want to know what she tastes like?”

“Fuck...yes!” Kyle almost whines, hips jerking as he cums, spurting all over John’s hand. “Yes, yes, yes!”

John works him through his orgasm, continuing to lazily jerk his cock as Kyle twitches in his hold. He presses his nose against Kyle’s throat, inhaling the intoxicating mix of sweat, coconut oil, and his natural briney scent. He presses a soft kiss against his mark, finally stopping his movements to allow Kyle to recover.

“Good boy.” He praises his beta, wrapping an arm around him to help him to his bed.

“You really mean it?” Kyle asks as he drops onto the mattress, catching his breath.

“We’ll have to ask her, of course.” John grabs Kyle’s sweatpants, cleaning off his hand before tossing them in the hamper. He moves back to Kyle’s bed, joining his beta. “But if she’s up for it, then so am I.”

You’re warm. The ice pack pressed against your forehead does little to soothe the burning under your skin. You’re thirsty, the two empty plastic bottles on your nightstand were not enough to ease the dryness in your mouth.

Hands shift the ice pack, pressing it against your cheek. Your mother is there, seated next to your bed diligently. She’s crying, tears sliding down her cheeks, quiet sniffles breaking the silence in the house.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, bringing your hand to her lips. “I’m so sorry,” She apologizes, as if it’s her fault, as if she brought this onto you.

She gasps quietly as the door opens, her back stiffening as your father enters. His face is stern, mouth almost twisted with disgust as he stares at you. It feels wrong, having him invade your space. If you’d had the energy, perhaps you would have been brave enough to protest his presence.

“Come on.” His voice is gruff, worn down from years of smoking and yelling. “Get up.”

“No, please-” Your mother attempts to reason with him, but he won’t have it.

“Shut up.” He snaps at her, and she has no choice but to sit back and be silent. His voice has something tingling in the back of your neck, almost like a warning. There’s nothing you can do, though. You’re far too weak.

He moves to the side of your bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you up from the comfort of your blankets. The ice pack falls from your head, your skin prickling with warmth almost like it hadn’t been there in the first place. Your brain is sluggish as you try to comprehend what’s happening, your legs giving out as you’re forced upright. You can’t get your body to work, you can’t even force yourself to behave. You want to crawl back under your blankets and lay there for the rest of eternity.

You whine as you’re dragged from your room, knees knocking on the floor as you attempt to get your feet under you to ease the pain in your shoulder. Your father drags you into the living room, two people you don’t recognize standing next to the front door.

“Please, please don’t do this!” Your mother pleads with him, right on his heels as he drops you in a heap in front of them.

“Enough.” Your father snaps at her, looking down at you with disgust. “She’s no daughter of mine.”

You blink up at him, the words registering through the haze. Tears gather in your eyes as you stare up at your parents, your siblings watching tensely from the living room as the scene unfolds before them.

“No, no!” You cry as hands close around your arms, lifting you from the floor. “Mama!” You scream, trying to fight them as you’re pulled from your home, your safe space, your family, your pack.

The last thing you see as the cool air outside washes over your feverish skin is your mother’s grief stricken face before the door closes, locking you out forever.

You wake falling from bed. You hit the floor with a thud, gasping for breath. You slap your hands over your mouth before the sob can tear from your lips, not wanting to wake the others. You’re shaking, your heart thudding in your chest as tears slip down your cheeks, sliding over your fingers as they squeeze over your mouth, desperately muffling the sound.

You hold your breath, forcing the pain and the panic and the grief back in. You can’t have these memories coming back to the surface, not now. Not when good things are finally starting to happen. Not when you’ve finally started to gain a glimmer of hope that things might turn out alright for you. You can’t ruin things now.

You can’t let them see how broken you really are.

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx, @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

#call of duty #call of duty fic #x reader #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #John mactavish x reader

2K notes · View notes

late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 months

Text

Blood and sand - a Malevolent AU

When John Luke was nine, Parker stopped writing back.

John Luke Yang wants his brother back. When he learns about a wish—offered by a god, in exchange for winning some kind of game—he's willing to leave everything behind in pursuit of it.

But the Dreamlands are not safe, and the King in Yellow has gone mad. The Games are not designed to be survived.

Luke has fallen into deep and dangerous waters. Fortunately, he won't be swimming alone.

>>>>READ ON AO3 OR BELOW<<<<

Playlist:

Before

Inciting Incident

A Progressive Complication

The Tavern-Keep

The Arena

The Test

Training

Lessons

Potential

The King in Yellow

Teamwork

The Priest

Drowning

Hastur

John

Dowd

Wish

#malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #arthur lester #john doe #dennis collins #luke yang #kiy malevolent #malevolent madness mixup #blood and sand fic

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 6 months

Note

Hii! I love love love all of your finnick fics! Could I please request a fic where reader is also a victor from an earlier game and she is in an established relationship with Finnick. They both get reaped (not the same district) for the 75th games and reader gets critically hurt in the part where the cornucopia spins. Like she falls into the water after maybe being injured and she can’t swim, so Finnick has to risk everything to save her life.

I’m really looking for like a hurt/comfort with a seriously injured reader and Finnick going through hell to save her because he cannot imagine a life without her in it.

Thank you so much if you’re willing to write this or something like it, feel free of course to change anything to your liking!

two souls, one heart | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick refuses to lose the love of his life. your inability to swim complicates things, especially when the cornucopia begins spinning.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, heavy angst, drowning, death, bone fracture

notes: thank you so much!!! i really enjoyed writing this, shed a few tears but still enjoyed it lmao. listen to 'beginning of the end movement v' by the newton brothers on repeat for the full experience <3

A quiet nursery rhyme was being sung by the water's edge.

The calm waves around the Cornucopia lapped at the rocks, the blistering sun causing the surface to sparkle. Wiress' voice interrupted Peeta as he mapped out the arena's clock-like wedges in the dirt. Everyone was focused on the map; you should have been too.

Dark blue ripples had your eyes captivated. So tranquil. So hauntingly beautiful. Loving the sea was in your blood, as your District Four was your home. You would think coming from a fishing district would mean your swimming abilities were mastered. In reality, they were practically non-existent. No matter how many times Finnick had attempted to give you lessons, they never stuck.

Neither of you seemed to care though, always too enraptured by simply being in each other's company—feeling Finnick's hands support your body as you floated on the surface...

"Don't you let go of me, Finnick Odair, or I swear to god I'll drown you."

"Will that be before or after you drown first?" he chuckled, though ultimately tightening his grip on your body in an attempt to reassure you.

....hysterically laughing when he got wiped out by a sudden wave...

"No way! I can't—" You broke into a fit of laughter— "I can't believe that just happened!"

"Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?" Finnick asked, trudging through the water towards you, his hair drenched and swept across his forehead.

"Yes!"

You doubled over, knees buckling as you struggled to contain your laughter. Despite trying to put up a serious front, Finnick too let a few chuckles slip at the hysterical sight of you.

"Oh really?"

Just like that, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down into the cold water, earning him a squeal just before you crashed together below the surface.

...and washing up on the sandy shore in each other's arms, salty lips capturing one another.

"I'm covered in sand," you murmured against Finnick's lips.

He gave you another kiss before pulling away. "It's okay," he said, pecking your lips again. "I'll help you wash off in the shower when we get back." And then sent you a stomach-flipping grin.

Even though you wouldn't trade those memories for the world, if you had known your life would soon depend on the ability to swim, you would have paid much more attention to the lessons.

Finnick stood closely beside you, his trident digging into the dirt as he gripped it tightly in case of an attack. He had noticed your drifted attention, observing the way your eyes stared at the rippling water, like death was lurking just beneath the surface waiting to drag you down to the murky depths.

He could protect you from most things in the arena, but fear was something entirely different. A trident couldn't defeat the darkness in your mind.

A hand slid onto your lower back, rubbing gentle strokes to gain your attention. Your gaze tore from the blinding blue and settled onto Finnick's face beside you, watching his mouth curve into a light smile. You knew the silent words he was trying to convey: 'You're okay, sweetheart. I've got you.'

For a fleeting moment, the anxiety had disappeared. How could anything ever go wrong with Finnick by your side? The corners of your mouth quirked, preparing to send him a smile in response. But it never came. Something new had caught your attention. The woman by the water was no longer singing.

Wiress had been murdered.

The second Katniss let her arrow fly into Gloss' chest, everything around you seemed to explode into action. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong—Murphy's Law. And it did.

The Careers had initiated an attack.

Charging forward from the waterside was Cashmere, determined to avenge her brother's death. Instinct quickly kicked in and the spear in your hand was sent barrelling through the air and into her chest. As you watched her body slump to the ground, an enraged yell came from the side.

Finnick was fighting Brutus.

With your only weapon lodged within Cashmere's chest, aiding Finnick was impossible. Enobaria revealed herself beside Brutus, displaying her vicious fangs and throwing a dagger that sliced a small cut across Finnick's shoulder. Though the wound was minor, your heart lurched as he cried out in pain.

Before a single thought in your brain could form, your legs were moving. Not towards Finnick, but after Enobaria. Remember who the real enemy is—screw that. Finnick could have died. Your Finnick. He called out your name, his voice hoarse and frayed, but you continued on, hatred fuelling each step. It seemed Katniss and Johanna had the same idea, following behind you with their weapons bared.

Salt water sprayed onto your face, but you paid it no attention. Nor did you notice as the jungle surrounding the island began to blur into one overwhelming hue of green. Only when your body was thrown to the harsh rocky terrain did you realise what was happening.

The Cornucopia had started to spin.

Nothing could compare to the terror you felt as gravity's merciless force dragged your body toward the violent waves surging against the rocks. Just as your lower legs breached the edge, a hand grabbed onto your own. Katniss. She too was hanging onto Johanna whose only lifeline was an axe buried in the rocks.

A moment—that was all you were given to scan your surroundings. Supplies and sharp-edged weapons were flying everywhere. White water was spraying into the air. Finnick, who was thirty feet away, was gripping onto a rock ledge whilst keeping Beetee from sliding into the furious waves. His head turned to the side and even from a great distance, your eyes met.

It was at that moment you knew, you just knew the odds weren't going to be in your favour. God forbid you lived a simple happy life with the man you loved, days spent together on a calm beach. God forbid the Gamemakers gave you one last chance to be in his arms. God forbid you survived.

And with that sudden realisation, the universe, sick as it was, decided it was time.

Your hand began slipping from Katniss's; an unseen tear fell from your eye, and you smiled. A smile of goodbye sent to the love of your life. His face contorted into one of agony, lips moving but you couldn't hear his voice over the roaring waves. Still, you knew exactly what he was shouting.

"NO! NO!"

There was nothing he could do but watch your body disappear into the waves, repeating over and over "no, no, no," and praying his cruel eyes had deceived him. They hadn't.

Dark blue was in every direction you looked. The undertow tossed and rolled your body like a ragdoll in a washing machine and despite your attempts to swim, the surface only seemed to be slipping further and further out of your reach. Darkness engulfed you, so thick that you couldn't tell which way was up or down. That was when the panic set in.

Your arms and legs thrashed frantically, struggling against the water's force, desperate to reach safety or an air pocket. Cold water flooded your throat as you gasped uncontrollably. You screamed as every attempt at breathing felt like fire burning in your lungs. Finnick. Where was he? Where were you? What was happening? Why wouldn't it stop?

Thoughts submerged your mind in terror, and you were powerless to stop them. All you could do was feel. Pain. Fire. Burning

At some point, the Cornucopia had ceased its spinning and your body came to a rest in the water. An eerie calm suddenly washed over you; a sense of clarity stilled your wild movements. This was the end. There was no future. No hope. The world above wasn't yours to call home anymore. You now belonged to the sea.

Of course, your water-logged mind had forgotten that home was where the heart was, and your heart was still beating... above the surface, in the aching chest of another.

Tendrils of hair floated around your face like fronds of seaweed. Rays of sunlight penetrated the surface, turning the surroundings a vibrant sparkly blue. As you sank further down, the water, now a comfortable lukewarm, cradled you in its embrace. It felt safe, like being in Finnick's arms again. Like home.

You gazed at the sun's rays; they looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. But time was running out and the bright light soon began shrouding your entire vision, though not before you witnessed a dark figure dive beneath the waves.

**********

Finnick loved the ocean. He spent most days in District Four down by the beach, swimming, spearfishing, and watching the sun rise and set on the blue horizon. If he believed in reincarnation, he would have imagined himself to be a lionfish or dolphin in his past life, living in an underwater world, free from tyranny and oppression. He loved the ocean.

But that love was incomparable to what he felt for you. So, when he dove into the rocky waters to save you and felt the currents fighting against him, he determined there was nothing he hated more than the ocean. Not as he watched its strong grip drag your motionless body further down below him.

Your back had just touched the soft seabed when he swam far enough down to envelope you in his embrace. He should have swum you back to the surface immediately, but in his distressed state, he couldn't help but foolishly stare at your lifeless appearance. Your skin was blue. It's just the water's colour, he told himself. Your eyes were closed. She's just asleep. Your neck didn't pulse under his touch. She's... She's...

He had no justification for that. Feet planted firmly on the sandy floor, he propelled both himself and you back up to the surface. As Finnick paddled back to the Cornucopia, the others reached down and helped lift your limp body onto the rocks.

"Is she...?"

"Peeta," Katniss quietly reprimanded him.

Finnick paid them no attention. He said nothing but trauma screamed in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling as he frantically checked your pulse again—in both your wrists and your neck; he even pressed his ear to your chest. All he heard was the waves lapping against the rocks.

"No," he whispered again.

It seemed to be all he could say anymore. No. No, this couldn't be happening. You were just standing beside him a few minutes ago; your eyes were just looking into his. However much he tried to deny reality, it didn't seem to make it any less true. You were gone.

He choked out a rough determined breath, interlocked his hands over your chest, and began pressing repeatedly over your heart. Wet strands of tangled hair were strewn across the rocks like dead seaweed. The usual soft pink accompanying your cheeks was nowhere to be seen, devoid of any life.

"Come on, sweetheart," he muttered before pulling down your chin to blow air into your lungs. The kiss of life. And when nothing happened as he pulled away, he restarted the chest compressions. "Oh, don't do this to me," he begged, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Breathe."

Any moment now. Any moment, your eyes would flutter open, the colour would return to your glowing skin, and your heart would beat with life beneath his hands. Your lips would whisper his name and he would pull you into his arms, where he would keep you safe until the end of time.

"Breathe."

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Nothing. He did it again. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Silence. Maybe he should've just ripped his heart out and replaced yours with his own. Death would come for him within seconds but hearing something beating inside your chest would've made the sacrifice worth it.

Life would flash before his eyes and your beaming smile would be the last thing he'd get to see. His last thought would be of relief that you were alive.

Johanna rested a tentative hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Finnick, she's—"

"No, she's not!" he exclaimed, continuing his movements. "She's fine. Aren't you, baby? You're fine." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your soft skin before he pressed his lips to yours and blew twice. "You're fine."

The golden bangle around his wrist glimmered in the sunshine as he pressed on your ribcage. All he had to do was keep you alive until Plutarch rescued everyone. One simple task and he failed.

"Finnick, we have to go," someone said. Who? He didn't know nor care.

Leave me, he wanted to say. Leave me here to die. Let the Careers mutilate my body, take my life, my last breath, but let it be by her side.

Something cracked beneath his palms and he knew one of your ribs had fractured. His arms stilled, half-expecting you to cry out in pain but then he remembered. And with that sickening crack came a devastating realisation—you really were gone.

A sob erupted from his throat and his head fell to your chest, drenching your already-soaked wetsuit with hot tears. Everything else seemed to disappear. The arena, the Careers who could attack again at any moment, the spectators who were avidly watching. Everything.

It was just him and you. He didn't care that his screams and deafening sobs could bring unwanted attention or jeopardise the group's safety. Any tribute with half a mind would know crossing him in such a state would be a fatal flaw. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had meaning.

Finnick pulled your lifeless body onto his lap and cradled you protectively in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. His forehead rested against your own, cold and damp. You always were the cold one, needing his touch to light a fire beneath your skin. He loved having you rely on him for warmth, but not like this.

"Come back to me, baby, please," he begged almost inaudibly. Tears were running down his cheeks as he brushed pieces of hair away from your face. His lips were on yours once more, heartbroken and painfully delicate; not to fill your lungs with air, but to fill your heart with his love in the hopes it would be enough to bring it back to life. "Don't leave me."

Pleas, prayers, begs, and wishes flew past his lips, over and over. And then they stopped and Finnick simply stared. Silence fell across the entire arena. The birds didn't chirp, the other tributes remained quiet, and the trees stood still. Even the water had calmed, resembling a perfectly flat mirror.

Finnick only had three words left on his tongue. Three final words to give you, wherever it was that you were. He slowly leaned down, squeezed his stinging eyes shut, and pressed a long farewell kiss to your forehead. His eyes remained closed as he parted from your skin, unable to take another look as he whispered his final goodbye.

"I love you."

And then, for the first time since he had rescued you from the blue depths, he felt his heart beating again. Just like yours was.

**********

There was a voice, distant yet reassuring—a lifeline to consciousness. Black was all there was. Coldness was all that was felt. It was desolate. But that voice... that voice was so anguished yet so familiar and encouraging that it lit a fire inside your chest, warming you from the inside out.

In the distance of the dark void was a figure, their body made entirely out of a pulsating golden light. Each word the voice spoke enhanced the light's brightness. "Come... me, please..." Brighter. "Don't leave..." And brighter.

The light was warm and comforting, just like the voice attached to it. Whoever's voice it was that brought the light resonated deep in your mind, tugging at the strings within your heart.

Your heart.

The thumping in your chest was weak, almost non-existent, but it was still there. Though it seemed time was running out. Pitch-black darkness outweighed the golden light ten-to-one; you could feel its cold breath creeping onto your back. So, you started running towards the figure. Sprinting. Until all that surrounded you was golden.

"I love you."

Water. At first, it came trickling out in two fluid streams from the sides of your mouth. Then suddenly, it was spraying into the air as choked coughs forced the liquid from your burning lungs. Light flooded your vision—not golden and inviting, but vivid and overwhelming.

There was something warm beneath your legs, against your arm, rubbing at your back, holding you in an upright position. While you heaved, dry-retched, and gasped, that soothing warmth remained.

As your airways began to clear and the expulsion of water ceased, your half-lidded eyes rolled around the area. Still dazed and disoriented, you struggled to make out what surrounded you. There was immense rippling blue, vibrant hues of green in the distance, dark rough grey beneath you, and elongated blobs of colour that stood a few feet away.

"Just–just keep breathing, sweetheart." That voice. The one belonging to the figure of light that brought you back. It was madly repeating the same words over and over. "You're okay", "Deep breaths", and "You're alive."

Shaky fingers brushed the stray wet strands of hair from your face. So warm. With the little energy you had, your head turned to seek out the golden light again. And you found it.

The blinding sun shining down reflected off his bronze hair, turning it a divine golden hue. His brows were raised and scrunched together as though he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. Deep lines were etched into his tear-streaked skin, evidence of his previous turmoil. Those sea-green eyes stared at you, afraid that if he so much as blinked, you would fall lifeless in his arms once more.

"You're here," he whispered.

Finnick. YourFinnick. Your light.

When your eyes met, a splitting grin lit up his face, made up of an inconceivable amount of raw emotion. You weren't sure what to do—smile, laugh, cry, kiss him? Your mind was scrambled, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful golden-haired man in front of you.

Without warning, your face scrunched up and the tears began flowing. You weren't sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because you had just been brought back from the brink of death; maybe it was because you couldn't believe someone actually cared so deeply about you.

Finnick cradled your face in his hand. "It's okay," his voice trembled, tears now cascading down his cheeks. His smile, however, never disappeared. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'm not letting you go."

He took your face into two large hands, brought you to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss to each tear that rolled over your skin. One of your hands rested over his; the other was placed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall so you could synchronise your breaths.

His arms moved to pull you tightly against him, almost like he was trying to merge your body with his. Or perhaps, it was your soul. You didn't care about the pain aching in one of your ribs. You wanted to tell him that his soul was already intertwined with your own, but words couldn't describe the sentiment as profoundly as you felt it.

In the simplest of terms your water-logged brain could muster, you whispered, "You're my light, Finnick."

Brows scrunched together, he looked down at you, fighting back the urge to start sobbing in your arms. If he had been anywhere else, if there wasn't an entire country watching, he would've gone on for hours, explaining how stupidly, selfishly, and incredibly in love with you he was.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. So, he placed his hand over the one you had resting on his chest and readjusted its position. He could feel the thumping, even through your palm.

Your eyes were full of emotion as you stared up into his. You already knew what his next words were going to be and for the first time since you were thrown into the water from the Cornucopia, you smiled.

Rhythmically, your hand and his pulsed together. Finnick's gaze flickered across your face and he grinned. "You're my heart."

3K notes · View notes

moonlitdesertdreams · 1 month

Text

Take the damn shot

A/N: Ohhhhh I've spiraled. Going from Mandalorian fics to writing about a radioactive cowboy with no nose within a couple weeks of each other is totally healthy :) Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence. Summary: A single quiet day in the saloon is all you wanted. But somehow, your Ghoul partner is pulling his gun and you're covered in another person's blood. Honestly, it's just typical.

Word Count: 1.7k+

(GIF Credit to @djo)

The Ghoul hates to admit it, but he needs you.

In the same sick and twisted, goddamned way he needs the Vials to stay sane, he needs you next to him. When poison air grows thick and the scorching sun sinks beyond a brutalized horizon, you’re always at his side. Day in and day out, you stick around. Full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the fucked up world you’re all stuck in.

And Cooper’s not one for generosity anymore, but he gives you credit a lot of the time. He knows he can be nasty, and you don’t mind one bit. In spite of his callousness and general disregard for safety, you put on a chipper attitude and tug him (sometimes physically) along to the next town. Outwardly innocent but filled with a mutual hatred for Vault-Tec and what its influence had done to the world and yourself, you’d quickly become his diamond in the rough.

And you shine particularly bright in the shack of a building the Wasteland called a saloon. You’ve made careful friends with a couple of gray-haired biddies- presumably the owners- in the back of the room, and chat happily with them. Cooper sits off to the side behind you, a bottle of the local brew dangling between his fingers. He’s content for the first time in a while; ass in a creaky rocking chair and boots kicked up on an old milk crate. The brim of his hat is pulled down to hide the majority of his face, but eyes wander lazily from you to the front door.

Cooper didn’t think many things were nice any longer, but listening to you prattle on with the women warmed something in his dead heart.

“You’re awfully pretty for this place.” The older of the two women, sporting a single eye and an impressively neat beehive style, compliments you. “Gotta be out of the Vaults with that skin.”

The Ghoul tenses, knowing the mention of your 200-year prison would strike a nerve.

“Yeah. I’m from before the war, actually.” You say it plainly and chase it down with a swig of liquor. “Fuckin’ Vault-Tec.”

The Ghoul’s familiar with your story, from you finding out about the plan to drop homemade bombs on American citizens to your confrontation with the executive group in Vault 31. Little did you know, you’d be sneaking in with no chance for escape. Cooper tightens his fist at the thought of Hank MacLean shoving you carelessly into a cryopod and slamming the button to lock you in. You’d relayed the story to him with watery eyes, and that’s something he absolutely loathed. He had enough personal beef with Hank that your trauma added to his ever-growing list of things to be absolutely pissed-the-fuck-off about.

Finch and Sparrow, as they were so comically named, clutch their pearls in sadness as you tell your story. They fawn over you, and Cooper makes out a few ‘fuck them Vaulties’ and a ‘well as much as it sucks, we’re glad you made it this far’. You sniff just barely and wipe your eyes.

“Thanks, ladies. It means a lot.”

The conversation turns back pleasant for the most part, and you’re enthralled as the women pull you into the town gossip. Cooper begrudgingly gets up to piss, comfy as he was, but stops at your side to hand off his bag first. You take it with a nod, more interested in the rumor mill than his whereabouts for the moment. He swaggers to the back door of the saloon, where wind whips sand against his jeans and patters the leather of his boots with tiny rocks.

Voices drift out the door from inside as Cooper yanks his zipper back up.

“Is it true what they say ‘bout Vaulties?” It’s a man’s voice, gruff and demanding in comparison to the happy lilt of yours. “Heard your story and always been… curious.”

“If you listened, you would know I ain’t no Vaultie.” Your reply is instant, but the edge in your voice has Cooper stepping a little faster down the short hallway. He reemerges to the sight of a suspiciously dressed man leaning against the wood beam beside your table, a little too close for comfort.

“Sure you are, darlin’. I can tell by lookin’ at’chya.” The man’s face is half-covered by a bandanna, and a pair of sand goggles are pushed up on his forehead, “Like they say.. everything’s… softer.”

There’s suddenly a hand landing on your shoulder, and Cooper sees red. His gun is pulled before he knows it, leveling at the man’s forehead.

“Hands off the girl.” He growls.

On closer inspection the man is probably close to the age you appear. Above the bandanna, weatherbeaten skin turns into frizzy ginger hair. He’s wearing a typical duster type coat, and the goggles are leaving red marks in his forehead. Cooper decides he’s taken shits more attractive than him.

Probably smarter, too.

“Fuck off, Ghoul.” Is the reply Cooper receives, sending a flash of white-hot anger through his already irradiated body. “I wasn't talkin’ to you.”

It was all too common, being brushed off. At this point in his life, it actually brings a smirk to his face. Your mouth is even tipping up at the edges, having had many interactions with the can of worms this guy was prying open.

“Listen man, I think you should let it go.” You warn and try to stand from the broken chair you had been carefully perching on. The red-head doesn’t relent, and pushes you back down into the chair. It wobbles dangerously as Cooper stomps closer. The movement prompts your captor to pull his own gun. It’s a crudely made pipe pistol, but able to shoot flying projectiles into your brains nonetheless.

“Get your goddamn hands off her before I decorate that wall with your fuckin’ skull.” Cooper yanks the hammer back on his pistol, hesitating at your close proximity.

The redhead pulls his bandanna down and Cooper watches you lean away as you recognize the scent and characteristics of a Fiend. His teeth are hanging loosely at crooked angles, and the pock marks around his mouth from scratching his skin open drip blood and serous fluid. His gun is trained on Cooper, but he freezes when he sees the Ghoul shift forward.

“Ah ah ah. How’d you like me to put a bullet in her instead?” The Fiend tugs you to your feet and nuzzles at your hair as he presses the barrel of his gun to your ribs. “I’d love a taste myself.”

The suffocating need to keep you safe and at his side fills Cooper’s corroded veins as you scowl at the Fiend whose nose is pressed dangerously close to your cheek with rotten teeth bared. Rage ignites from the anger he’s already feeling.

BANG.

Cooper’s watching when the red spray of blood washes over half the saloon, but still doesn’t quite comprehend what’s happened. His gun didn’t fire, but the scent of ignited powder fills the air. You fall to the floor along with your captor, and the aforementioned rage boils over. He holsters his gun and scrambles to pull you away in the chaos.

Thankfully, a quick once-over shows you to have no injuries, but the same can’t be said for your attacker. A foot away the Fiend lies still, about five pounds lighter from the gaping hole in his chest. Gore from his wound is splattered thick across your face and neck. Your eyes are pinched closed to avoid anything unsightly entering them, and you lash out blindly when Cooper grasps your arms.

“Let me go, you rotten bastard!” The Ghoul catches your right hand before it can hook into his jaw, “I’ll kill you myself.”

“Quit squealin’ sunshine, it’s me.” Cooper growls

While he’s getting a handle on your flailing limbs, a shadow covers the both of you. Cooper glances up at the one-eyed old woman who’s sawed-off shotgun is still smoking in her left hand.

“I know your brain is shrunken and all, but next time take the shot sooner.” She bites. “And feel free to clean up my damn bar.”

Cooper is torn between staring at the older woman- Sparrow, he thinks- and trying to contain your squirming. He’s not too fragile to admit he really doesn’t want to take a punch from you right now, so he wipes the back of his hand across your eyes and tugs you to sit up beside him.

“Cooper?”

He huffs a laugh at your incredulous tone and flicks away the remnants of blood littering your skin “The one and only. Open your eyes.”

They flicker open slowly, and you pout at the blood congealing on your clothes. “I just got these pants.”

Cooper sets a hand on your thigh and squeezes gently. “I’ll buy you a new pair. S’Long as you promise not to get Fiend all over those ones too.”

You thrust an elbow into his ribs at the jab and climb to your feet. Cooper follows with a dramatic groan.

“Old man.” You tease over your shoulder, observing the carnage from Sparrow’s well-aimed shot. A kick to the corpses’ ribs follows, sending a splatter of blood across Cooper’s pants. You shoot him an insincerely apologetic look. “She’s right, you know.”

The Ghoul follows your gaze to Sparrow, who’s hollering at any remaining patrons that dare tread too close to the mess, damning them for tracking blood around the bar.

“‘Bout what?”

You lean into his space, the scent of blood thick in the air. “Take the damn shot sooner.”

Cooper grabs the back of your neck and yanks you forward in a hard kiss. The blood transfers easily onto his lips, and he licks it off while pulling away. “Fucker deserved more than one shot.”

Possessiveness floods his mind and he squeezes the soft flesh beneath his fingers.

“I’da strung him up by his balls if I got my hands on him.” He mutters, tracing another finger through the blood and popping it into his mouth. “After grabbin’ onto you like that.”

You lean into his chest and let a smile curl the corners of your lips up. “All for little ol’ me?”

The Ghoul pinches your bloody cheek. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

-------------------

thanks for reading, much love ❤