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fawnindawn · 9 months ago

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even at our worst, we know we'll still be okay (luke castellan x apollo fem! reader)

summary: Where Percy's insistent pestering forces Luke to rethink on his possibly not platonic feelings for you, his best friend, and Percy's questions are answered for him with Luke's reaction to you being heavily injured on your return from your quest.

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader

a/n: i'm actually in love with this, maybe it's just the friends-to-lovers in me (where a love confession happens because one of them was near death's door-) but man.. also, i love including percy so much he's such a kid.

masterlist for this series next

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"Face it, man. You're whipped."

Percy watched Luke choke on his water, coughing as he tried to swallow past the sudden accusation. Wiping at the excess that dripped past his chin, Luke raised a brow at Percy.

"Whipped? For who?" Luke questioned, eyes averting and staring straight ahead, beyond the training grounds towards the meadows in the distance, seemingly searching for something or just doing a poor job at avoiding Percy’s unimpressed stare.

“I’m not blind, as much as Annabeth claims, to this...love stuff.” Percy huffed, half in exasperation and half in exhaustion as he leaned forward using his sword to balance himself. “You’ve been depressed ever since she left for her quest.”

Luke doesn’t need to hear your name to know who Percy was referring to. It’s been weeks since you were chosen by your father, Apollo, to descend on some mighty quest to fetch back his lyre that had been stolen. It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous quest, but Luke had felt his gut sinking when he first heard the news from you.

“Why does he need to send you out there, where you could possibly be tracked down by monsters to get back a musical instrument of all things?” Luke snapped, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his curls, pacing back and forth in the Hermes Cabin, while you laid on his mattress looking undeniably calmer than he was.

“Luke, my dad won’t purposely send me on some death trap. I'll be fine.” You tried to reassure him, waiting for him to calm down in his pacing before you extended your hands in his direction right as he turned to make another round through the cabin for the seventh time. “Hey, come here.” You gestured. “Sit with me.”

He hesitated, stopping in his tracks as he finally took the time to look at you, noting your concerned expression at him. As if you weren’t about to descend on some ridiculous quest to god knows where all because your father couldn’t pluck up the effort to collect the instrument himself.

The longer your hands stayed outstretched for him, the more his anger and frustration dissolved into the overwhelming need to be near you. One second, he’s standing and the next, he’s laying in bed with you, your arms wrapped around him to stabilise him even though he should be the stronger one. The one to look out for you.

Laying his head on your shoulder as he wrapped one of his fingers around your hair, curling it in his palms, he spoke again in a soft whisper only for you to hear. “I’m worried.”

“I know.” You responded, your hands tracing at the curve of his shoulder, stopping at his collarbone, before your finger moved to tilt his face by the chin to look at you. “You trust me, right?” You ask, knowing his answer but wanting to hear the reassurance all the same.

“Course' I do.” He replied immediately, his eyes intense as he made eye contact with you. That was without question. You could ask him to walk into blazing flames, and he'd trust you would ask for good reason.

“Then you can trust that I’ll make it back alive.”

“Alive can mean lots of things.” He muttered, his eyes growing distant, the ghost of blood and a stinging burn running down the half of his face appearing uninvited in his mind.

“I’ll make it back alive and unharmed.” You reiterated, a knowing look in your eyes as you unconsciously traced at his scar, leaving warmth where it resides, making him shiver instinctively. “It’s a promise, Luke.”

He stayed silent, before slowly moving his hand to cup yours that rested over his scar. “I’m counting on it, sunshine.”

That promise rested over Luke’s conscience, gnawing at the back of his heels, chasing him daily from the early hours as he forced himself not to break over the stress and anxiety before putting on his golden boy facade, to pretend that he wasn't constantly distracted and nauseous over the thought of something happening to you without him being there to protect you.

He would've snuck out of camp if he could, just to find you, but Chiron had been tight-lipped on your destination, his all-knowing gaze piercing right through Luke when he had tried to nonchalantly ask about your whereabouts.

"I wish I could help you, Luke." Chiron had told Luke a few days after you had gone. "However, Apollo's request was clear. Only she shall take on this quest. No one else." The pin-point gaze Chiron had locked onto Luke made it clear he was talking about him.

"I am not whipped." Luke denied. "She's my friend. Like how you're my friend."

"I don't think your friendship with her is normal though." Percy fired back quickly, sipping on his own water as if he didn't casually demolish the older boy. "I swear I caught you bringing her back after curfew to your cabin, a few times in fact."

Luke felt his cheeks flush at Percy's sudden interrogation, smashing facts after facts on an early Tuesday morning. "I've been having.. nightmares lately. She's the only one who keeps them away." He didn't know why he felt like he had to explain himself to the kid, but the longer his friendship with you went under fire, the faster he wanted to get out of this conversation.

"You don't think that's something you should think deeper about?" Percy muttered with a shrug.

Luke is left speechless, his mind short-cutting at the sudden implication of.. him feeling something more for you? His most recent memories flashed through his mind. You tucked under his blanket as you laid beside him for the last night before your quest, a sleepy smile etched on your lips before you whispered him goodnight and he pulled you into his chest so he could feel your heart beating against his to push away any tricks currently playing on his mind, bringing light to how you're the only person he believes could calm him down and bring him peace-

"She's my best friend." Luke replied, more to himself than to Percy. "I'm just worried for her. A quest like that shouldn't take so long, and I keep imagining-"

He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to say his fears out in the open in fear that his words would jinx it, but Percy knew where he was getting at. Percy inched closer to Luke, moving to pat him awkwardly on the back in an effort to comfort him. "It's normal to be worried. From what I heard from Annabeth, you two are really close. I didn't have much conversations with her before she left, but she seems brave, and smart too. I have no doubts she'll make it back. If she's half as good as you, there's no way she wouldn't."

Luke felt a real smile crossing his face, the corners of his lips quirked up at Percy's words. "She's not half as good- she is better than me." He turned to look at Percy, that shine in his eyes noticeable as he talked about you. "Don't let her hear that when she gets back though, she'll talk my ear off for ages."

Percy returned his own smile, elated to see Luke have some improvement in his mood, proof being the first genuine smile Percy's seen in weeks coming from him.

"So.. do you want to stop for today?" Percy attempted with a casual tone.

"Why? Backing out already?" Luke teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he inched towards the kid jokingly with his sword raised.

"No!" Percy denied frantically. "I swear I'm not using the sympathy card as an excuse to get out of training-"

The sounds of a horn cut off his words, groaning across the camp, reaching the training grounds in record time. Luke felt his heart palpitate, nearly crashing into his rib cage.

He barely had time to think, yelling to Percy with urgency flying off his tongue. "Catch you later, Perce!" Then, he was off, his legs carrying him up the hills and back towards the camp entrance.

He heard Percy yell his name in confusion, but he could apologise later for his sudden departure.

You had come back to him.

The journey seemed too long, his shoes scrambling for ground, barely scraping the dirt as he ran towards the front of camp. He didn't know what to expect, a celebration with cheers from the other campers on your arrival, a glimpse of your face with that smile he loves. What he didn't expect was the silence as he came towards a slow jog before ultimately stopping at what seemed to be a crowd gathering around something- or someone.

He pushed his way through, barely making the effort to apologise over the thought of seeing you. His eyes finally caught onto what the onlookers were staring at, and his heart dropped.

You laid on the ground, passed out with what seemed to be dark, angry coils covering your skin, ranging from your neck to the outstretch of your back that was exposed from the gash in your shirt. That stupid lyre laid not too far from you, its golden strings ripped apart.

The sound that tore from his throat barely sounded like his voice, yelling out your name as he pushed through the final barrier in the crowd before reaching for you. He nearly made it before someone dragged him back, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

The curses that left Luke's mouth would make anyone wince, and he had to resist the urge to punch whoever was holding him back as he twisted his head to face his repressor. "Chris! Get out of my way." Luke hissed, still trying to make his way to you, fury twisting in his gut as he couldn't fathom why no one's helped you yet.

"Calm down, Luke!" Chris pleaded, desperation in his eyes forcing Luke to falter. "I know you want to help her but you have to listen to me. Whatever attacked her left something contagious on her body. Someone already tried helping her but it spread to their skin too!"

Wait? While whatever was attacking your body seemed to grow more intense by the minute, as Luke's gaze locked onto your form and watched the sickening, black coils spread further and further up your neck.

"Rodriguez, does it look like I care if it spreads to me?" Luke spat out, giving his friend a final push. "If she dies, I won't ever forgive myself for standing on the sidelines. Let me go now."

The cold venom in his tone made his friend loosen his hold just enough for Luke to rip himself out of his arms to drop his knees beside you. He grabbed hold of your shoulder, which still had shreds of your shirt to prevent him from being stung by whatever was infecting you, but his other hand which grabbed hold of your back did not face the same fate. The coils snaked onto his palm, and he gritted his teeth at the burning sensation.

Just as he turned you around so he could lift you up, he heard the familiar sound of hooves stamping against the soil and he looked up to see Chiron approaching with a grim expression. No words needed to be said as Luke met eyes with the centaur, a mutual understanding as Luke wrapped his arms around your torso and legs.

He pushed through to help carry you up, barking orders for the crowd to part way as he made his way to the infirmary. The longer he held onto you, the more every bone in his body seemed to scream to let you go, but he only focused on every step it took to get you closer to help, his eyes unable to look away from the paleness of your skin, the blue to your lips.

It seemed unfit for a child of Apollo, a child of the sun, to be dull and lifeless. You looked dead, and if it wasn't for the faint drumming of your pulse he could sense from your wrist, he would've struck the name of your father with such unbridled hatred, Apollo himself would descend from the heavens to condemn him.

"Please." He begged, holding onto you tighter despite his body's cries not to. Begging to who, he did not know, but if any being could save you from the fate you did not deserve, and pass it to him instead, he would gladly offer his prayers and worship. If it meant saving you, he would take your pain and suffer it tenfold just to see you open your eyes again.

It took you five days to recover. The infirmary had been quarantined and no one save for Chiron and Will, the main healer from the Apollo cabin, was allowed in. In those five days, no one dared approach Luke, who seemed near death's door despite having received his own small dosage of ambrosia to heal the coils that had managed to sink into his skin. He had begged Chiron to let him visit you, but Chiron deemed him too unstable to be near you, your recovery process a fragile thing that required tentative hands and patience.

Waiting to see you was a torture not even he could have envisioned for himself. He had been torn apart at the seams, of his belief in the gods and the scars that were immortalized onto his body. He had lived through days of water and nothing but false hope, hiding from monsters and other horrors before he made it to camp, arriving as a scrawny boy with eyes having witnessed events no kid his age should have to go through. Yet, no pain he had experienced could compare to his fears of losing you. If he-

He couldn't think of it without wanting to puke, but if he lost you somehow, he would lose his faith in this world. There would be no one to hold him back, no you, to stop him from letting go of the world that failed him and tearing it down.

It didn't help that in those five days, he had dreams. Of a different world, of salvation. A dark, ancient voice called to him, older than time, with whispers of promised glory and revenge. There was no you, none of your soothing touches or voice to wake him. In those five days, his strength faltered and he made a deal.

On the sixth day, he was woken frantically by a shake on the shoulder from his sleep. He roused awake, dizzy and still-half asleep to see Chris talking to him in rushed incoherent words.

"Awake- She's awake, sleepy-head!"

Luke was half-dressed, still fighting off sleep with aggressive rubbing to his eyes as he tugged on his t-shirt, rushing towards the infirmary with Chris hot on his heels.

He burst through the front door, holding his breath when he finally saw you, propped up on two pillows talking to Will. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he rushed over to you.

You turned to him then, just in time to see him blink his tears away. "Luke." You called to him softly, and time seemed to stop just for the two of you, and he could only see you in his vision.

"Can you guys give us some privacy?" You asked politely, eyeing Will and Chris, but your eyes never drifted far before moving back to him.

"Of course." Will responded, quickly getting up from his chair towards the exit, dragging a confounded Chris with him with a tug on the back of his shirt. "Hey! I wanted to see her too-" "Give the two lovebirds some time alone, you idiot."

Luke inched closer to you, his heart beating so loudly in his eardrums he swears you could hear it too. You lifted your arms to him and he didn't waste time, taking you in his arms and embracing you so tight, and yet he felt he couldn't be close enough.

"You were dying. In my arms. I felt it when I carried you in here." He muttered into your shoulder, shaking as he finally let out the exhaustion and pain he had been feeling since the day you left.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." You apologised, rocking him back and forth as your voice croaked up. "All I thought of was you. When I fought against that beast, I kept repeating my promise to you. That I would come back to you. You saved me."

He shook his head, feeling his tears wet his cheeks as he pulled back to grab you by the chin, a gentle touch like he was afraid you would disappear if he couldn't see you talking to him, that your voice would be a hallucination he concocted. "I should've stopped you from going. I had a bad feeling since I heard about it. I should've protected you- prevented you from getting hurt in the first place-"

You stopped him with a kiss, desperate yet shy, before pulling away and pressing your forehead to his. "I love you, Luke. I was so scared I would never get to tell you and it would've been my biggest regret. I love you so much, Luke, and I'm sorry if this ruins anything between us but I can't hide it anymore-"

Luke cut you off the very same way you did, but with such intense hunger you gasped when he kissed you, sloppy and with even more desperation, tugging at your bottom lip and pulling you closer with his hand at nape of your neck. "I love you." He muttered through quick breaths. "I love you, it actually hurts because of how much I do." He admitted, grabbing your hand to place right above his heart, which is owned completely and only by you.

He leaned in once more, addicted to the taste of you, kissing you with one hand holding yours to his heart, the other pulling you close so that there was no space between the two of you. When he had to stop so you both could gasp for air, he pressed his forehead back to yours, the first smile stretching at his lips in days. "I never want to be apart from you ever again, you hear me, sunshine?"

You giggled at his words, nodding slightly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Extra: Luke reappears with you the next day when you insisted on wanting to get out of the infirmary after being cooped up away from the sun for so long. ("You're such an Apollo kid." Luke teases, which you ignore with a roll of your eyes.) He's with you every step of the way, and now that your feelings are out for each other in the open, he doesn't hesitate to kiss you on the cheek or fawn over you without hiding his intensity.

When he makes eye contact with Percy over the room, the damn kid gives him a wink and a thumbs-up.

a/n: i want to expand so much more on this, with kronos taking advantage of luke's weak mind during your recovery and more, OMGGGGGGG. tell me if you guys want more pls and i'll make more parts. thank you for reading if you made it this far <3

update: I am officially making this into a series called ‘everything in between’. To those who want to follow more on their story, you can comment on whether you want to be added to the tag list for this series or check the masterlist!

#luke castellan #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x apollo!reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #pjo #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #im actually dying inside #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan angst

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librababe99 · 3 months ago

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Savage Devotion

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Logan (X-Men: Origins specifically), Fem! Reader, established relationship, heavy smut, animalistic tendencies, rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, degradation, P in V, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) overstimulation, slight breeding kink (if you squint) word count: 2.5K

Summary: where pleasure and pain blur, but Logan shows you exactly what it means to be taken by a beast.

A/N: I was in the mood for something a little spicy tonight 🤭 soooo I hope y'all enjoy this one! Please feel free to comment, like or reblog! Happy reading <3

(Marvel Masterlist)

You had always known Logan was a rough man. His reputation had preceded him long before you'd ever met him, tales of the Wolverine, a man with claws of adamantium and a growl that would make even the bravest quiver. You’d heard the stories, seen the aftermath of battles he’d been through, and yet, none of that had prepared you for the real thing—the man in front of you, the beast in your bed.

It wasn’t the first time. You weren’t naïve. You knew Logan carried a roughness in him that most men didn’t, a raw and untamed energy that hovered on the edge of feral. But there was something about the way he looked at you, even through his gruff exterior, that made you shiver—made you want more.

Right now, Logan loomed over you in the dimly lit cabin, his eyes glinting in the low light, like a predator sizing up its prey. He had that look on his face, the one that always sent a tremor through your core—a dark promise in those eyes, a wicked curl to his lip. Your wrists were bound above your head with a thick, coarse rope, tied to the wooden headboard. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not quite, but the tension in the rope was constant, a reminder of the control he held over you in that moment.

You shifted beneath him, testing the bonds, and his eyes narrowed. “You tryin’ to get free, sweetheart?”

His voice was like gravel, low and rough, sending a surge of heat between your legs. He was still fully clothed, wearing the same worn leather jacket he always did, his jeans sitting low on his hips, but that did nothing to hide the coiled strength beneath them. You bit your lower lip, knowing exactly what kind of game you were playing.

“Maybe,” you teased, letting your hips arch slightly off the bed, a subtle challenge.

Logan’s gaze darkened further, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath. He reached out, one gloved hand cupping your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re gonna be a brat tonight, huh?” His thumb pressed hard against your lips, forcing them open slightly, and you couldn’t help but flick your tongue out, just to taunt him.

That earned you a growl. Low, dangerous. Logan wasn’t the kind of man who played soft, and tonight, it was clear you’d pushed a button. He wasn’t going to be gentle. But that’s exactly what you wanted.

“Always trying to get a rise outta me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice dripping with the weight of a threat. “You want to see how far I’ll take this, don’t ya?”

His thumb slid further into your mouth, forcing you to suck on it, and you complied, tongue swirling around the rough skin. It tasted like leather, like the residue of smoke and iron. Logan was in no rush, his thumb slow and deliberate, controlling the pace of your mouth on him. He watched you with a hungry gaze, his body hovering over yours, dominating the space.

“I think I’ll teach you a lesson tonight,” he muttered, pulling his thumb from your lips with a soft pop. He leaned back, taking a moment to shed his jacket, revealing the taut muscles beneath his fitted shirt. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric, the outline of scars, both old and new, that littered his body.

You tried to wiggle your wrists, but the ropes held firm. It was intoxicating, the way you were trapped, fully at his mercy, even though you trusted him not to go too far. Your heart pounded in your chest as he moved closer again, this time bringing his knee between your thighs, spreading your legs wide as he knelt between them.

“You don’t get to squirm,” Logan ordered, his voice deep and authoritative. “You wanted this, didn’t ya? So now, you’re gonna take whatever I give you.”

His hands, rough and calloused, slid up the inside of your thighs, teasing, but not gentle. He wasn’t here to pamper you tonight. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes raked over your body with a predatory gleam. This was Logan in his element. Raw. Dominant. Unforgiving.

You were already soaked, anticipation pooling between your legs as his hands pushed your thighs further apart. His fingers teased at the waistband of your panties, hooking underneath them, but he didn’t pull them off yet. Instead, his fingers just hovered there, barely touching your skin, and it drove you wild.

“Logan, please,” you whimpered, trying to shift your hips toward his hand, desperate for more contact. But he pulled away just as quickly, his hand coming down hard against the inside of your thigh, a sharp slap that made you gasp.

“What did I say about squirming?” His voice was a growl, sending shivers up your spine. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, sweetheart. You don’t get to beg yet.”

You whimpered, trying to compose yourself, but the heat that pulsed between your legs was unbearable. You wanted him—needed him. Every inch of you was on fire, burning with desire, but Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you. He liked to make you wait. Liked to see you unravel beneath him.

He leaned down, his mouth grazing the skin of your inner thigh, right where he had slapped you moments before. His teeth nipped at the tender flesh, and you squirmed again, biting down hard on your lip to stifle a moan.

“Sensitive tonight, aren’t ya?” he muttered against your skin, his stubble brushing over the sensitive area as he kissed his way higher, dangerously close to where you needed him most.

But still, he didn’t touch you where you wanted. His fingers teased the edges of your panties, his breath hot against the damp fabric, and all you could do was writhe beneath him, restrained and helpless.

“Please,” you gasped, voice hoarse with need. “Please, Logan, I need you.”

His response was a low chuckle, dark and full of promise. “Oh, I know what you need, darlin’. But I ain’t giving it to you until I’m good and ready.”

His fingers finally hooked into your panties, pulling them down agonizingly slow. The cool air against your exposed skin made you shudder, and Logan took his time, admiring the sight of you spread out before him, bound and at his mercy. He didn’t say a word as he tossed your panties aside, his eyes roaming over you with a hunger that was almost palpable.

You could see the bulge in his jeans, the way his body was already coiled with tension, and yet, he was holding back, savoring every second of your anticipation. The bastard loved it—loved watching you squirm, loved making you beg. And god dammit, you loved it too.

Logan’s fingers slid between your folds, slick with your arousal, and he growled low in his throat. “So wet already,” he muttered, his fingers spreading you open, teasing at your entrance but not pushing inside yet. “You really are a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying to stifle another whimper as his fingers circled your clit, slow and deliberate. He was toying with you, building you up slowly, and it was driving you insane. You needed more—needed him inside you, needed the roughness, the way only Logan could fuck you.

“Logan, please,” you begged again, voice desperate. “I need you. Please.”

His fingers stilled, and for a moment, you thought he might finally give in. But instead, he pulled his hand away entirely, leaving you empty and aching.

“You don’t get to call the shots, darlin’,” he said, his voice hard and unyielding. “I’m in control here. You want me? You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’re gonna say thank you when I’m done.”

He stood, his presence towering over you, and you watched as he undid the belt on his jeans, the sound of leather sliding through metal sending a shiver of anticipation through you. You watched, breathless, as he pulled his cock free, hard and thick, the sight of him making your mouth water.

But Logan wasn’t in any rush. He stroked himself slowly, his eyes locked on yours, making sure you could see just how much he enjoyed watching you squirm. “Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your throat tight with need.

Logan smirked, crawling back onto the bed, his body pressing down over yours as he lined himself up with your entrance. “You better be ready for it, ‘cause I ain’t going easy.”

And then he was inside you, a single, brutal thrust that filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, the stretch of him sending a white-hot pulse of pleasure through your body, and you cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth as he kissed you, hard and demanding.

Logan didn’t give you time to adjust. He set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into yours with each thrust, driving himself deeper inside you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you hard, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure and pain through your body.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice a low rumble in your ear, “taking me so well, even when you’re all tied up. You’re such a good little slut for me, aren’t you?”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly, a mixture of humiliation and lust that made you clench around him. You could barely respond, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he pounded into you relentlessly, each thrust a reminder of just how much control he had over your body. The ropes around your wrists burned slightly as you pulled against them instinctively, desperate for something to hold onto, something to ground you in the whirlwind of sensation.

Logan’s grip on your hips was bruising, fingers digging into your flesh as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building, that tight coil of pleasure deep in your core that threatened to snap with every thrust, but Logan wasn’t letting up. He was relentless, taking exactly what he wanted from you, the sound of your moans and the wet slap of skin filling the small cabin.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you clenching around me,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned down, his stubble grazing your cheek. “You like it when I’m rough with you, don’t you? You like being used.”

The degradation hit you like a punch, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, your body arching up to meet his brutal pace. You hated how much you loved it, how much his cruelty turned you on, but Logan knew you too well. He could see the way your body responded to him, the way your thighs trembled as you hurtled toward the edge of oblivion.

“I want you to come for me,” he demanded, his voice sharp as his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight, firm circles over the swollen nub. “I want to feel you come around my cock. But you better thank me when you do, understand?”

You nodded frantically, tears of pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes as the sensations overwhelmed you. His pace was merciless, the rough pressure on your clit pushing you right to the edge of orgasm, but Logan wasn’t going to let you go until you gave him exactly what he wanted.

“I said, do you understand?” he snarled, his voice commanding, and you gasped, nodding again as the words tore from your throat.

“Yes! Yes, Logan, I understand!”

“Good girl.”

That was all it took. The coil inside you snapped, and your orgasm hit you like a freight train, tearing through your body with an intensity that left you shaking and breathless. You cried out, your body spasming beneath his as you came hard, the feeling of his thick cock driving deep inside you the only anchor in the storm of pleasure.

“That’s it,” Logan grunted, his own voice rough with barely-contained lust. “Feel how tight you are around me? So good, fuckin’ perfect.”

But he didn’t stop. Even as you trembled and gasped beneath him, the waves of pleasure still crashing through you, Logan kept going, his hips slamming into yours with a punishing rhythm that only seemed to heighten your sensitivity. It was too much—too intense—and yet you wanted more, needed more. Every nerve in your body was alight, each thrust dragging another desperate moan from your lips.

Logan was close, you could tell from the way his breathing had grown ragged, the way his grip on your hips tightened. His pace grew erratic, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, and you knew he was about to come. But Logan wasn’t a man who would take what he wanted without giving something in return.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “So tight, so wet for me. I’m gonna fill you up, gonna mark you as mine. You want that, don’t you? Want me to come inside you?”

“Yes!” you gasped, your body still quivering from the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Please, Logan, I need it—need you.”

That was all he needed. With a final, brutal thrust, Logan buried himself deep inside you, groaning low in his throat as he came, the warmth of his release spilling into you. His body tensed above you, his hips jerking as he rode out his orgasm, and you felt him pulse inside you, filling you completely.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the harsh breathing of both of you, the weight of Logan’s body pressing you into the mattress. You were spent, your body limp and sated, the ache between your legs a dull reminder of just how rough he had been. And yet, you wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

Slowly, Logan pulled out of you, his eyes still dark with hunger as he watched your body tremble in the aftermath of your shared pleasure. He untied your wrists carefully, his rough hands gentle now as he rubbed the red marks left by the rope.

“You did good, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less rough. “Took everything I gave you.”

You smiled weakly, your body still buzzing with the remnants of pleasure. “I told you I could handle it.”

Logan smirked, his fingers brushing over your tender skin as he leaned down to kiss you, this time slow and possessive. “I know. That’s why I fuckin’ love you.”

The words sent a different kind of warmth through you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Even after everything, Logan still managed to make you feel safe, cared for, even when he was at his roughest.

As you lay there, tangled in each other’s arms, Logan’s rough fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, you couldn’t help but smile. This was the man you loved—feral, dangerous, but always wanting to please you. Always wanting to take care of you in his own brutal, primal way.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 5 months ago

Text

Aaah, look at that, some more headcanons no one asked for but that I will be subjecting everyone to anyway.

Was in the process of trying not to hack up a lung when I started this, so logical train of thought went to how our One Piece boys handle being sick.

May do a sister-post of how they handle it when you’re sick, too. But. Like. Not right now.

Anyway here we gooooo

Sick Day

Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Sir Crocodile, Mihawk, Buggy x Reader

SFW! Very fluff! Much cringe!

Wordcount: Like 1.6k-ish

Warnings also include very fluff and much cringe, but not much else. All character x reader relationships are implied to be already established and consensual.

If you enjoy my content, feel free to drop a donation in my ko-fi. My financial situation is quite unstable right now and anything is helpful.

Zoro

“Look, I’m fine, alright? Just...lay off.”

Insisting he is absolutely not sick right from the start, only reason he looks so flushed is because he’s been training harder than usual.

And also because you’re irritating him stop saying he’s sick, dammit—

You’re not going to be able to get him to rest until he literally collapses, hopefully not directly onto the business end of one of his katana.

For someone who enjoys napping so much, he’s still adamant that he does not need to lay down.

Once you finally manage to get him shoved into his preferred hammock he’s going to turn into a clingy baby.

Convincing him to take any medicine would take an act of god. Most he’ll let you do is drape a damp cloth over his forehead.

Which does feel nice, and does calm down most of his protest.

After that he’s going to drag you in with him and use you as a human teddy bear, where you will likely be forced to remain while he sleeps it off.

Sanji

“Well, of course I don’t want to contaminate the food, love, but I don’t want anyone burning my kitchen to the ground either—”

He’s usually awake before anyone else to make breakfast, so you’re concerned from the moment you wake up and find the kitchen empty.

Even more concerned when you find him still in bed, face flushed, grimacing and shivering in his sleep.

Barely wakes up and manages a weak smile when you sit at the edge of the mattress, a contented little sigh when you lay your palm across his forehead.

Admits he might be a little under the weather.

Briefly lapses into panic when he realizes what time it is, immediately trying to get up and go handle breakfast—

All you have to do is give him a firm poke in the chest and he just falls right back into bed, pouting a bit when you point out he could contaminate the food and get the entire crew sick.

Gazing up at you like you’re some sort of celestial being when you assure him you’ll take care of it, and that you’ll make sure no one burns down the kitchen in his absence.

He’s already asleep again when you return with a bowl of miso with rice, but when you set them to the side and sit at the edge of the bed to feel his forehead, he immediately shifts over, drapes an arm across your lap and lays his head there, with a contented sigh and smile.

You’re trapped now. Good luck escaping.

Shanks

“Oh, I’ll be fine, beautiful, you don’t need to make such a fuss over it.”

He plays it off so well that it takes you a while to notice anything is amiss.

There are a couple hints. He’s just not quite as chipper and animated as he usually is, lazing around and looking a bit sour about something, a bit distracted.

Tries to brush it off as a hangover when you ask.

Heavy sigh and defeated pouting when you press your lips to his forehead and inform him he’s burning up.

Lamenting that he doesn’t want to be sick, it will surely sort itself out if he just ignores it.

Maybe a little booze to burn it out of his system—

Pouting only intensifies when you confiscate every bottle you can find in the captain’s cabin, and step out to hand it off to Beckman and explain the situation like he wasn’t already aware, you swear these two have some kind of psychic link

Immediate puppy dog eyes when you return, you’re literally so mean to him how could you, you wound him.

He will only consider forgiving this clear act of mutiny if you agree to get in bed and be his pillow until he’s on his feet again.

Preferably with fewer clothes than you’re wearing at the present.

You’re already rolling your eyes and dressing down as he continues his overly dramatic lamentations.

He’s really too drained and tired to do anything apart from roll over and use your chest as a pillow, draping his arm across your shoulder and combing his fingers against your hair.

Nuzzling down and letting out a contented sigh, commenting with a little smirk that maybe he should fall ill more often.

Sir Crocodile

“I’m not clearing my entire schedule over a runny nose, darling, just leave me be.”

In the foulest of moods about being sick.

Yes, he’s aware his face looks like a tomato, thank you for pointing that out, brat.

No, he is not going to rest, he doesn’t have time to be sick, and if you so much as think of suggesting he put out his cigar—

You’re not going to have any luck in convincing him otherwise, nor any choice but to leave his stubborn ass alone in his office and stealthily check on him every so often.

You can only let out a weary sigh when you find him slumped over his desk hours later, half-conscious and drenched in sweat because he won’t take off that damned fur-lined coat.

You practically have to drag him to the bathroom to get him into a lukewarm bath to help bring down his fever, and he’s still complaining through the whole process about how he doesn’t have time for this nonsense.

Your offer to help finish his paperwork while he recuperates is met with an immediate growl of protest.

Like hell you are. No, if he has to suffer through this pointless ice-bath then you’re getting in with him. He will not be accepting any arguments on the matter.

It’s definitely best to just undress and not protest, as he’s going to pick you up and hold you back against his chest while he gets in whether you’re still clothed or not.

Letting out a low, somewhat weak, still incredibly smug chuckle when you shiver and shift closer to him in the water, wrapping an arm tight around your waist to prevent you from escaping any time soon.

Finally letting out a sigh and laying his head back against the tile wall behind him, admitting to himself (but definitely not to you) that you might be right, and it might not be the worst idea to clear his schedule for at least a day.

Mihawk

“That wasn’t a cough, I was simply clearing my throat. Don't be a pest.”

Only initial signs you’ll have that he’s ill are that he’s somehow napping even more than usual, and he’s more snippy than usual.

It’s not long before his pale complexion makes it clear that he’s feverish, the slightest signs of flushed skin and dark circles under his eyes immediately noticeable.

Rolls his eyes when you mention it and brushes it off, perhaps he just had a bit too much wine last night.

Glares at you any time he sneezes or coughs, like he’s just daring you to say something about it.

It’s allergies. Or it’s this-damned-old-castle-is-too-drafty. Or it’s nothing, stop looking at him like that, he doesn’t get sick, you’re the one who’s being ridiculous about this.

Your best bet at getting him to rest is going to be convincing him that you want to take a nap.

Yes, with him.

Yes, now, unless he has some important plans other than flipping through the newspaper and being impossibly stubborn for the rest of the day.

Your commentary earns you another roll of his eyes, but...well, maybe he is just a bit tired. And he might have a bit of a headache—the latter of which he will be attributing entirely to your badgering.

Still insisting you’re being ridiculous when you shove him into bed and proceed to wipe a damp cloth across his brow, glaring daggers at you when you chide him for acting like an overgrown toddler.

Assures you there will be repercussions for your insolence…at least there will be once he—resigned sigh, rolling eyes—isn’t feeling so under the weather.

That’s as close to an admission as you’re going to get.

Buggy

“I fear these may be our final days together, my dearest! Please remember me fondly--”

Can you not see that he is literally dying??

He is not long for this world, please retrieve a pen and a pad of paper posthaste to take down his last will and testament, everything is fading, he can see the light approaching—

You make use of his lamenting monologue as an opportunity to shove a thermometer in his mouth, more than used to his theatrics, patting him on the head as he stares up at you like you’ve committed some unspeakable crime by interrupting him.

He doesn’t get sick often, he has a fairly strong constitution, but oh boy when he does…

No objections at all to being waited on hand and foot. You don’t really have any issue with it either, he’d do the same for you.

And likely will have to within the next few days—as clingy as he gets, you’re definitely going to end up catching whatever he has.

Oh! but he would give an arm and a leg to be in good health again and so help you if he removes any limbs for a stupid joke you’re going to beat him with them.

Pouting and sniffling at your obviously idle threat, even as you pet his hair and he lays dramatically across your lap.

He’s already on his deathbed how dare you.

At least his sense of humor is still intact. Or he’s delirious with fever. Perhaps both.

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amomentsescape · 1 year ago

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Hello I am craving angst. Hey can you do a headcanon for the slashers? [Maybe Slasher X reader] Like could you do headcanons. What if the Slashers found their SO has been killed? or Maybe headcanon for Slashers if they accidently killed their so?

Sorry if my grammar is bad.

Slashers Reacting to the Death of Reader

Slashers x Reader (Individual)

Warnings: Mentions of death & killing, some cuss words, ANGST

A/N: All aboard the angst train! I kind of combined your request so some of the Slashers are about Reader accidentally being killed by them and some are an "outside" murder.

Freddy Krueger

He specifically told you not to come into his Dream World tonight

It was too chaotic, too much going on

His victim was a lot faster than he had anticipated

So he did his best to catch up with them

But he just couldn't seem to get close enough

So finally, Freddy's anger took over and he caused the sky to rain knives onto the poor teen

Once things were silent, he walked over to his victim, only to see another body laying further back

Freddy's breath caught

He ran over and saw you

You weren't supposed to be here

He told you not to come

Your eyes were already glazed over when Freddy picked you up

His eyes were going hazy, and he was staggering to your shared bed

He laid you down, your blood immediately soaking through the sheets

And it was only then that Freddy screamed a terrible sound into the world

The whole town would soon be reduced to nothing

Michael Myers

God, he didn't mean to

He just couldn't stand it in that moment

You were upset with him, arguing about how he can't just disappear for days on end without so much as a word

But he was just pissed

None of his killings went as planned, he could barely feel a thing, and here you were yelling about him not being around

It was too much, and he just needed the sensory overload to stop

His mind went dark

It felt like just a moment until he gathered his senses

But when he was able to finally focus, your limp frame was in his arms

Your neck was severely bruised, and there were still fresh tears on your cheeks

He couldn't have done this... right?

He kneeled there with you in his arms

He didn't cry, didn't yell, didn't even move

He just stayed frozen in that position, feeling absolutely nothing

Whatever humanity he had left, it died with you

There was nothing holding him back now

Jason Voorhees

There had only been a couple circumstances when a victim escaped Jason

And even then, none dared to go anywhere near those woods again

Except for one

For some reason, the death of his friends was too much

He was seeking revenge

Jason was inside the cabin cleaning up his machete while you were out picking flowers

You were wanting to make him a flower crown

He immediately dropped everything when he heard a single gunshot ring out through the desolate area

He sprung up, walking out to find you

It didn't take long before he saw a man leaning over a body, apologizing profusely over and over again

When he realized who was lying on the ground, he immediately ripped the man's head off, not even wasting a second

He lifted you in his arms, frantic on what to do

With your last moments, you struggled to smile and grip onto his hand, giving him a silent reassurance

He watched you go limp in his arms

He laid there with you for an eternity, feeling utterly lost

By the evening, he had a gravesite set up for you, and he was already packed

He was going to head into town this time

He would make sure there would be no survivors

Thomas Hewitt

It was just a freak accident

Thomas had gotten in up in the middle of the night while you were sleeping, slipping away to the shed

However, you had no idea where he had went

Fearing the worst, you walked out into the night, looking around for him

But in your worried state, you forgot about one of the traps set up outside

You accidentally triggered it and was immediately impaled

Thomas heard the trap go off and quickly rushed over to it

The moment he saw you, his heart dropped

He ran over and held you, trying to get the trap off of you

But you pleaded with him to leave you be, knowing your fate already

He was frantic, begging and crying with you to let him help

But you knew it was too late

You reached out and touched his masked face, offering a warm smile before your head dropped

Thomas took care of your body, having his family help make a gravesite for you

He was never the same after your death, and he became the most brutal killer out of everyone

Bubba Sawyer

The newest victim was willing to do whatever it took to survive

In a frenzy, they didn't even register what was happening

They saw you and immediately stabbed you in the stomach, quickly sprinting away thereafter

You screamed for Bubba, your body unable to move from the pain

It didn't take long for him to come to you, the area being filled with his whimpers and gasps of fear

He tried to turn you over, but it only caused you to let out cries

He was looking around frantically, trying to figure out what to do

But you just asked him to lay with you, knowing that help would never make it in time

He did as you asked, you both crying together

The moment you went silent, the air was filled with his screams

He was inconsolable

The moment he found the victim hiding away, he did his absolute worst to them

He didn't care about food in that moment

He wanted to invoke as much pain as possible

Your body was carefully tucked away in bed, Bubba refusing to leave your side for days

Brahms Heelshire

You were hoping to surprise Brahms, sneaking out in the night to pick some berries for tomorrow's breakfast

He normally slept like a rock, giving you ample time to complete the task

However, this night, he found himself awake to an empty bed

When he discovered you about to walk out the door, he went into a rage

How could you abandon him like this? Didn't you love him anymore?

He grabbed at you viciously, not seeing anything else but red

You tried to plead with him, telling him that you weren't going to leave

But this all fell on deaf ears

He wasn't thinking, he just grabbed at you and slammed you into the ground, your head bouncing from the force

He only stopped his attack when he saw the empty look on your face, and suddenly everything began to sink in

He froze up and began to cry, collapsing on top of your body

He didn't mean to

He pleaded to you that he didn't want to hurt you

He ended up placing your body on the couch, tucking the doll into your arms

At least this way, there was no possible chance that you could try to leave him again

Norman Bates

He blacked out

He didn't mean to, but something inside of him snapped when he noticed Mother's things had been misplaced

When he finally came to, you were lying in your shared bed, a knife sticking straight up from your chest

Norman became hysterical, not understanding what had happened

"N-no, no, no...."

He cried into your shoulder, holding your body close to his

It didn't take long for his mind to become numb, his teary eyes staring dazedly off into space

He ended up pulling another chair next to Mother, sitting your body beside hers

Mother always loved you, and Norman was sure she'd appreciate the company

It's okay, he reassured himself

You're home with him and Mother

He has his family still

Nothing is wrong

How could it be? You're still here with him...

Billy Loomis

You didn't tell him where you'd be tonight

It was just supposed to be a small get together, nothing important

So why did it matter?

But little did you know, Ghostface would be making an appearance

Billy was quick to get through the small group, eventually making his way around the corner to the next room

However, as you turned to figure out what was going on, your body ran straight into him

Not wanting to have a victim slip from his grip, he stabbed the knife into them quickly, not wasting any time

However, the moment his gaze tilted up, he saw those familiar eyes

As your body dropped, he caught you, ripping off his mask

"(Y/N)?! What the hell are you doing here?! You're supposed to be at home-"

"Billy?" you croaked out

"It's me, baby. Oh my god..."

His voice broke and the tears began to slip down his face unwillingly

Your eyes began to flutter, and he started to shake you in his arms

"Don't you dare fucking do that. You stay with me, alright?"

But your eyes soon glazed over, and Billy found himself yelling at your lifeless body

"DON'T DO THIS TO ME! DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME!"

Without you, there would no longer be mercy

Stu Macher

It was supposed to be a fun night together

It wasn't unusual for you to join Stu on his sprees

He loved having you by his side, being there to help him do something he enjoys

But this group was different than the others

They fought back

And when there was only one person left, they somehow managed to grab a nearby kitchen knife and slam it straight into your chest

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Stu screamed

He took his own knife and slashed a gaping wound into they're neck, killing them quickly

He kneeled down beside you, taking your face in his hands

"Hey, hey! You're gonna be okay, alright?"

But you just shook your head

"Look at me. Look at me!"

You did your best to meet his eyes, trying to stay conscious

"I'm gonna get you out of here, and then we'll- (Y/N)?!"

Your eyes had closed, and your head drooped in his hands

Stu began to scream, begging and cursing for you to come back

Eric Draven

One of the first rules Eric gave to you was to never go looking for him at night

It didn't matter how late it was or how long it had been

You stayed home where it was safe, no matter what

But on this night, you broke his rule

Eric was supposed to be back hours ago, and yet you were alone in your bed, worried sick

You eventually gave in and went out into the night, searching for him

But unfortunately, someone else was watching you, quickly jumping out and stabbing you in the neck

They took your wallet and ran, leaving you to bleed out on the sidewalk

But it was only a matter of seconds before a familiar figure ran up to you, placing his cold hands against the wound in your neck

"Goddammit! What did I tell you?!" Eric cried

You tried to speak, but nothing came out but warm blood

"(Y/N), please don't go. Come on, you're strong. Stay with me"

You reached your bloody hand out, caressing Eric's cheek softly before your whole body went limp in his arms

His cries could be heard echoing throughout the night

Without you, he has nothing

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blarshwritezz · 8 months ago

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Yandere psychopath boyfriend x male reader. You discover that your boyfriend killed people and try to leave the forest where he lived, but you end up being caught by him. He decides to punish you through the bed with rough sex and overstimulation

I fw this

Yandere Psychopath bf x Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - general yandere behavior, NSFW, murder, noncon

Your boyfriend has always been...strange, but you never expected this. You thought he just liked nature, and that was why he lived in a cabin in the woods. You thought he liked the peace, like you did. That he just enjoyed growing his garden and living practically entirely off the grid. The seclusion...that was a better way to put it.

You couldn't look at him the same since you saw it. Since you saw him killing someone in cold blood. He had the nerve to act so lovingly to you when he did something like that.

You couldn't get it out of your mind. The way that poor man's blood covered him, the pool of red standing the grass and seeping into the dirt. The way he chopped up his victim and stuffed the bits into a bag. The bag he used for his fertilizer.

You clearly weren't safe. You had to leave.

One night, while he was asleep, you snuck out and ran. You ran like your life depended on it. Because it did.

You didn't make it far. A trap. He had traps set up all over the place. A large net caught you, forcing you off the ground. You struggled to get out, but your adrenaline eventually wore off.

You didn't know how long it was until he came along, holding a bloody knife. "Aw, darling, were you trying to get out? I guess that means you know my nasty little secret, huh?"

He cut you out of the net, not giving you a second to even try running before he grabbed you by the scalp and dragged you back, kicking and screaming. "You should know you aren't allowed to run. I'm gonna have to punish you now."

Getting back to the cabin, he forced you upstairs and threw you on the bed. Before you could scramble to get away, he once again grabbed your scalp and forced you to kiss him, shoving his tongue down your throat.

His free hand, still holding the knife he had, cut your clothes off. He finally discarded the knife and started to roughly jerk you off.

He only broke the kiss when you were practically suffocating. "You think you can run away from me, huh? Think you can just leave?" He roughly bit into your shoulder, licking up the blood he drew. "No, I don't think so. You're mine. All fucking mine."

Letting go of your head, he shoved two of his fingers down your throat. "Suck."

When he was satisfied, or tired of it, he yanked out his fingers, only to suddenly shove them deep inside your hole. He stretched you wide, getting your insides nice and wet before suddenly replacing his fingers with his cock.

He didn't waste a second to start pounding into you like a wild beast. He bit you more, leaving bleeding marks all across your shoulders, neck, collarbone, and chest.

"Thought you could get away with trying to leave me, huh?" A harsh smack echoed through the room as he spanked you. "Think you're too good for me or something?" And another. "You're mine." Another. "And I'm going to fuck it into you until you can't even walk out of this room."

He continued to thrust into you, hitting against that special spot harder and harder. He didn't stop, not for a second.

Even when you came, the first time of many that night, he only got rougher.

He didn't give a second of rest, and he wasn't going to. Not until he made you a moaning, sobbing, drooling mess begging for his forgiveness. Then he'd go back to the loving and gentle boyfriend you knew. But only once he was sure you understood not to leave him.

I feel like the end was a bit rushed tbh

#blarsh writes #yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #male yandere #male x reader #anon ask #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x male darling #x male reader #male reader #male x male #male yandere x you #male yandere x male reader #male yandere x reader #male y/n

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mcuamerica · 6 months ago

Text

Stranded | Part Two

Featuring : (future) Azriel x Fem!Reader, Eris x Reader (platonic), Rhys x Sister!Reader

Summary: Amarantha is dead and you finally get to go home. Requested by @sidthedollface2 here.

Warnings: 18+ only, description of ruined wings and skin scarring, canon level violence, not proofread (i'll do it later), let me know if anything was forgotten...

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Dividers from @saradika

Part One

You felt your magic return to you the day Amarantha died. It was such an ordinary day.

You were in your cabin, that Eris had found for you the moment your wings were burned. You couldn't return to the Night Court without putting yourself in danger of Amarantha finding you, so you stayed in Autumn.

You were cooking when it washed over you, feeling as if you could finally breath again. You tested your abilities, seeing how much you could do. You were able to engulf the entire room in darkness when you were satisfied it returned.

You lost hope 10 years prior, when one of the local villagers said that all of Amarantha's court was bound to Under the Mountain. That meant you wouldn't be getting anymore visits from Eris, and even in the 40 years before that, those were few and far between. You were lucky Autumn Court was on her "good" side, because she never looked too deep into the woods. From what Eris told you, Rhys had taken her to bed.

You knew Rhys, and you could guess that he did it to keep her eyes from turning towards the Night Court. Towards you. Or Velaris.

So, you lived your simple life. The cabin Eris gave you came with a horse, that you would take to and from the local village. You were able to maintain a garden. And the best thing about living in Autumn was you never had to brace a bad winter or a sweltering summer. You missed the seasons dearly, you missed Solstices and Starfalls. Most of all, you missed your family.

It still haunted you that Rhys was taking on the burden of the Night Court by himself. You wished you could be there with him.

And, the rest of your family was running Velaris. Without you. You had to wonder if Azriel and Mor ended up together, being trapped in the beautiful, romantic city all these years. You wouldn't if Azriel regretted leaving you that night. Or if he was happy you were gone.

One thing you couldn't get over, even after all these years, was that he left you. Sure, you could handle yourself, but he left you. His best friend. Even when you were young, you always wanted to be around Azriel. Once Cassian and Rhys stopped tormenting him, you were allowed to be around him. He was always the first one to show you techniques with his sword, or new flying maneuvers. But then Mor came alone, slept with Cassian, and that was it. Azriel had been pining after her since then. You weren't resentful of it until he left you the night everything went to shit. When you lost your magic and your ability to fly.

Even know, when the wind was raging in the forest, you teared up. You wish there was some way to be able to fly again. But you grew up in the Illyrian war camp with your mother and brother. You knew what destroyed tendons looked like. There was no hope. Even after Eris and his healers did everything they could to heal them as best as they could. The membrane was in tact, albeit thinner than normal, and you had full function of stretching them in and out. But, the proper strength to fly would never be resorted.

At least you had your magic back. And you waited for Eris to come find you, to placate his father enough that he had time to tell you what happened. You assumed, knowing the depletion of magic was tied to Amarantha, that she died. You really hoped that was the case. You could go home. You could see your brother. You could ignore Azriel for the rest of your life. It never even occurred to you that you could probably winnow back home. You hadn't been able to do it for a long time.

Instead of Eris bursting through the door that afternoon, it was shadows, followed by a heaving Azriel trying to catch his breath.

"(Y/N)!" Azriel exclaimed, bounding over to you. Before you had a chance to step away, he wrapped you in an embrace. One you couldn't help but melt into. You might be mad at him, but after 50 years of being apart, you were happy to see him.

You pulled away, seeing tears in Azriel's eyes as he looked you over. His eyes landed on your wings. "What did they do to you?" He asked, searching your eyes.

"After you left me that night, three of Beron's sentinels burned my wings." You said, taking a deep breath.

"I need to write a note, and then you can take me home. Is Rhys there yet?" You asked.

"I don't know, I've spent all day having my shadows look for you. I was hoping you made it to Winter... I didn't think you would still be here." He said, pausing as you started to write.

You wrote to Eris, letting him know that you would be going back to the Night Court. You also told him that you would support him if he ever needed anything. You tucked the note into an envelop and left it on the counter.

"Okay... can you winnow us?" You asked, holding out your hand.

He gazed over you again, unsaid words clear in his eyes. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). For everything. For leaving you. For not coming to get you-"

"Azriel.. please.. take me home. And then we can talk about it." You said.

He nodded, staring at you for a few moments before he took you hand and darkness enveloped you both.

Rhys was pissed.

He may have been happy to see his family, and to tell Mor and you about how he found his mate (even if she was with Tamlin), but the instant he saw your wings, he knew something was wrong. Before even asking the rest of his family what happened, he pulled you into a room alone.

After recapping what happened Under the Mountain, and more tearful hellos, he asked you to sit down. "Tell me what happened." He said.

You looked down, taking a deep breath. "That night that Amarantha took your magic, and you closed the borders to Velaris, I got stuck in Autumn. Azriel had left to go help Mor with something. I couldn't even winnow to the Night Court borders." You told him what happened with the sentinels, how Eris found you, and then watched as Rhys settled into the quiet deathly rage.

"He did this to you?" He asked, barely above a whisper.

"No," you quickly corrected. "Eris helped me." There were tears in your eyes now. "He- Let me just tell you how it started..."

Eris brought you to a cabin on the outskirts of the Autumn borders, close to a village but far enough that no one would look for you here. He had his best healers come to help heal you, but with their lack ox experience repairing wings, they couldn't completely heal them. You back even still had scarring on it from how hot the sentinels burned through them.

When Eris couldn't stay because Amarantha sent for all High Lords and their heirs, he had a healer stay with you. Until you were back to your normal health. And then, he offered to help you get to the Night Court. Said he would personally take you to the Moonstone Palace. But he warned you how cruel Amarantha already was, and how she was taking more and more people prisoner (to be part of her "court") Under the Mountain. You chose to stay in the cabin. If you couldn't go back to Velaris, you didn't want to go to the Night Court. Not when your brother was actively trying to get Amarantha to avoid it. The return of the Lady of the Night Court would surely set her eyes towards you. And Rhys would pay the price.

Eris would visit you as often as he could. Since Autumn was on Amarantha's good side, she let Eris and his brothers out more. When he was able to step away from the Forest House, he would visit you. Bring you more supplied, new clothes, sometimes even new furniture or paint to refresh the cabin. All the while, he kept you up to date on what was happened. One day, you asked why he was helping you.

"Because I can... and it was my family's sentinels that harmed you. You had no one else around. If you were to die out here, what would I tell you brother? It would have caused an even worse relationship between us. And I'm hoping to have his support when I overthrow my father. If we can tackle Amarantha first... and.. I'm hoping one day you can counsel your brother to help me as well." He explained.

"So you're helping me for your own gain?" You asked.

"I'm helping you because it's the right thing to do... and I've grown fond of this little escape." He answered.

That's how it was until three courts tried to rebel, and Amarantha barred anyone from leaving Under the Mountain. Even Eris. You wondered why he hadn't shown up when you went into the village to grab some more food, when you overheard the rumors.

"He truly helped you? He never hurt you?" Rhys asked.

You shook your head. "No, he never hurt me. He never tried anything. He... was kind. And caring. And I owe him my life." You said, looking up at Rhys.

He nodded, thinking for a moment. He paused his pacing and looking at you dead in the eyes. "Azriel left you?" He asked, seeming to recall what you first told him.

"...Yes." You said after hesitating.

"I'm going to kill him." He growled.

Your heart skipped a beat, knowing Rhys might just well kill Azriel for putting you in harms way.

"Wait- no. Please.. go easy on him." You said.

He paused, taking a deep breath. Darkness was pooling around his ankles. You could tell he was trying to reel it in. "I'm going to beat him to a pulp."

Better than killing him, you thought. You relaxed for a moment before Rhys rushed out from the door. You chased after him to see the first blow to Azriel's face. Then to his gut. Then to his legs to knock him on the floor. All while Rhys growled out in between each punch,"You. Left. My. Sister. In. Autumn?!"

Azriel didn't even fight back.

Part Three

A/N: Another tough one... I think this will have 1 or 2 more parts... which I probably won't get to writing until Sunday or Monday night (I know, i'm sorry!) Thank you all so much for your support!

Tagging: @feiwelinchen @circe143 @sidthedollface2 @crazylokonugget @i-am-infinite @thestartitaness @buttermilktea11 @tele86 @yearninglustfully @bunnyredgirl

Main Masterlist

#acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fic #acotar spoilers #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #katie writes

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authorscurse · 7 months ago

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Too Protective

[L.C Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] Requests are OPEN Synopsis: Having a protective younger brother is one thing but now you know where he got it. Pairing: Luke Castellan and Poseidon's child reader Warning: Luke does not become bad, chaotic family, teeth rotting fluff, Poseidon and Percy being protective W.C: 2.5k

You knew that Percy could be a protective brother at times, you've seen it multiple times. You found it quite endearing how he's half your height but willing to jump in front of you to protect you. However, there are times you find it very annoying. You never really thought where he got it from. Not until now at least.

Here you were, sitting in the big house with none other than you, your boyfriend Luke, your younger brother Percy, and your Godly father Poseidon. Percy and Poseidon were both sitting across you and Luke with their arms folded across their chests. Both of them were staring straight at Luke and the poor boy could only smile awkwardly.

Okay, let's rewind that a bit to give you a little bit of context. It all started one beautiful day in Camp Half-Blood.

"PERSEUS JACKSON!" Or maybe not..

"Why did you soak Luke with paint?" You furiously asked the younger blonde while chasing him around the whole Poseidon cabin. "It was accidental! He ran into me and Grover's trap!" Percy explained, heavily panting because you've been chasing him around the whole cabin for 10 minutes now.

The whole cabin was an absolute mess. Bed sheets and pillows were on the floor from being thrown or used by Percy to block you from grabbing him. "Accidental? Campers heard you and Grover saying how it was meant for Luke!" You yelled stopping for a moment to breathe. Percy released a sigh of relief but knowing you long enough he did not put the protective pillow down. "Go apologize to Luke, Percy," You instructed him sternly, running a hand through your hair to fix it.

"No, he deserved it," Percy replied stubbornly making you glare at him. He flinches and raises the pillow to his face in fear you'd hit him. "Go, apologize to him, Percy. Now!" You ordered and pointed towards the door of the Cabin. Percy only rolled his eyes and left mumbling about how it was unfair and why should he apologize.

After cleaning the mess you both made in the cabin you left the cabin to do your duties as a camp counselor. You spent your morning training the younger campers sword fighting and helped out the Dionysus and Demeter cabin by plucking strawberries from the bushes.

You were busy cleaning up the arrows from archery class when suddenly two pairs of arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you. You let out a squeal and turned around to see your curly-haired boyfriend Luke.

A wide grin plastered on his face as he placed you down and gave a kiss on your forehead. "Well hello handsome, I hope you didn't have a hard time cleaning the paint off of you," You jokingly said while playing with some of the curls on his head. He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, "Wasn't much trouble. I hope you didn't scare little Percy too much, heard from some campers you chased Percy around the whole cabin," He says tucking a loose hair behind your ear.

"He deserved it," You say placing a kiss on his cheek and smiling at him. "If stares can kill I think I'll already be serving Hades in the underworld by now," Luke joked. You turned around to where he was looking and saw your little brother Percy glaring at Luke. Once the poor kid saw you looking at him his eyes went wide and turned away and almost tripped making you and Luke laugh.

"I was shocked when he came up to me earlier and said sorry," He chuckled while leaning against one of the targets while you removed the arrows from it. "Told him to do so, glad he obeyed me," You said placing the arrows in their respective quivers. "He startled me, he was a bit grumpy about it but still apologized," He recalled making you laugh at your little brother's actions.

"Little protective Percy, wonder where he got it from," You say letting out a sigh. Luke helped you pick up more arrows before you both heard some campers running and yelling. "What's happening?" Luke asked, confused to see multiple campers running towards one direction. "We should see what's wrong," You tell him. He nods in agreement and takes your hand in his before running towards the scene that seems to have caught the attention of the campers.

You and Luke were both shocked to see about 30 campers gathered at the entrance of the camp. Both of you tried to squeeze between the chaos to get a full view of what was happening. The two of you were shocked to find out what got the attention of the campers. You both saw Chiron, Percy and...your FATHER?!

"There's my daughter!" Poseidon says loudly and grabs your arm to pull you in a hug. You could hear campers whispering around you about how lucky you were and how shocked they were to see the literal sea god in Camp Half-Blood.

"What are you doing here?" You asked still shocked to see your dad. He released you from the hug and it was then you only saw what he was wearing. He was wearing his Birkenstock sandals, khaki Bermuda shorts, a shirt with coconuts and parrots, and a fisherman's hat on his head. "Is it wrong to visit my kids?" He asked with a wide smile.

"What about Zeus—" You try to say but get cut off by Chiron saying the three of you should talk in the big house instead. The walk to the big house was extremely awkward, to say the least. It was rare for a godly parent to visit Camp Half-Blood, let alone one of the big three gods to visit their child. You were wondering how the actual Hades did your dad get to visit you and your brother in Camp. Zeus should have blasted him by now!

You and Percy sat across each other while your father roamed around the Big House and pointed out artefacts and paintings. "Dad, what are you doing here?" You asked gaining the attention of your father. He places the vase of flowers down and sits beside Percy. "Well—" Your father starts but you quickly cut him off "Straight to the point please, Dade," Poseidon winces at your tone and finally gives a serious answer. Who would have thought that the literal sea god winces and is somewhat afraid of his daughter? Well, dear reader, even your author is shocked.

"Percy told me you have a boyfriend," He answers quickly. Your gaze falls on Percy and the poor kid's eyes widen like saucers and look down on his lap. "Out of all the demigods you could have chosen you chose the son of the messenger?" Poseidon asks dramatically waving his hands around. "A thief's son? Really?" Poseidon asks completely in shock. You let out a sigh and massage your temple. Your father was quite the dramatic person now and then.

"His name's Luke Castellan," Percy says in a small voice making you glare at him. His eyes widen again and looks down in his lap immediately afraid to meet your gaze. You reminded him of a Medusa however you didn't have a snake for hair and wouldn't turn him into stone, maybe only murder him but still.

"I want to meet this boyfriend of yours," Poseidon says. You try to convince him not to but he wouldn't hear any of your excuses. You could only sigh in defeat and look for Luke. That's how you both got to where you are now.

"So, you're the son of Hermes, correct?" Poseidon asks still glaring at Luke. "Yes, sir, yes," He says politely. "What do you want from my daughter, son of Hermes?" Poseidon asks placing his hands on the table and leaning closer. "Power? Fame? What do you want, boy?" Luke denies all questions. "I love your daughter, sir," Luke says and laces his hand in yours from underneath the table making a small smile appear on your face.

Poseidon and Percy lean back in their seats not entirely convinced. You glare at both of them making them clear their throats and sit straight in their seat. "How long have you liked my daughter, son of Hermes?" Poseidon asks trying not to catch your eye and turn his full attention to Luke. "His name is Luke, Dad," you say between gritted teeth. "Well, how long have you liked my daughter, Luke?" Poseidon rephrased. "Ever since she got into camp, sir, 3 years ago," Luke answers.

"How would I be sure that you wouldn't break my daughter's heart?" Poseidon asks. Luke straightens his posture and clears his throat but never removes his hand from yours. "I can't exactly promise that I'll be the best boyfriend because I know there will be times that I won't be able to make the best decisions, do the things that would make her happy, and say the things that won't break her heart. However, what I do promise to do is that I'm willing to do my best to be the person she needs and rely on. I am aware that I'm not the best but I'm willing to do my best, for her and only her," Luke answers truthfully while squeezing your hand tightly.

You felt tears forming in your eyes at his words. For all your life so far you've never been treated with so much care and love before until Luke came. Not even your mother wanted you and the people around you kept thinking you were out of your mind. A demigod's life is not exactly the best. When you first arrived at Camp Half-Blood you still felt out of place but Luke made you feel more comfortable around Camp. He introduced himself first as the son of Hermes and tour you around the whole Camp. He never left your side ever since then.

Never once did he ever make you feel unloved and unwanted, unlike the people you've had in your life before. He became your rock, the person you could always lean on whenever you needed to let your guard down. Before you knew it, you were in love with your best friend.

"I love her, sir," He says to Poseidon, but his attention and eyes aren't on the sea god. It was on you. His soft brown eyes were staring at you and only you. You felt him squeeze your hand 3 times. I love you. A smile appears on your face. No, it wasn't the forced smile you would always give to people. It was a genuine smile. The smile only Luke can make you do.

Poseidon watches the two of you and he can't help a small smile to appear on his face. His daughter was in love and he can't help but deny he likes the guy for her. Poseidon lets out a sigh and gains the attention of both you and Luke. Luke clears his throat and opens his mouth to say more but Poseidon raises his hand to stop him.

The god stands up making you, Percy, and Luke stand up as well. Poseidon smiles and extends his hand forward. Luke's eyes widen and takes Poseidon's hand and gives it a firm squeeze. Poseidon gently tugs Luke forward and says a few things that only he and Luke can hear. You and Percy look at each other wondering what your father might have said to Luke.

"Keep her safe, Luke, remember what I said. I'll be seeing you kids during the summer solstice," Poseidon gives you and your brother his famous wink and becomes a form of light. The three of you look away to avoid disintegrating and when you look back your Father is gone. Only the faint smell of sea breeze remained.

You and Luke walk out of the Big House hand in hand while Percy still has his arms crossed against his chest. "Wait up little man," You grab a hold of the the back of Percy's shirt and pull him back in front of you and Luke. Percy kept his eyes on the ground and you smile at his antics. You pull him in a hug which he quickly returns. "I love you, little idiot," You whisper in his ear. "I love you too, big idiot," He says back.

When you both release each other from the hug Luke ruffles Percy's hair. "If Dad likes you that means I should too, but that doesn't mean you could get to eat my sister's face in front of me!"

"I promise to make sure you're not looking next time," Luke promises making Percy nod slowly. "You go finish your chores, little idiot before Mr D whoops your ass," Percy nods and gives you a salute before running off to his chorea and annoys Annabeth. "So, your Dad knows me," Luke says wrapping his arms around your waist.

He looks down at you with a big smile on his face. A big love-sick smile. "Mhmm, so, mind telling me what my Dad told you?" You ask him playing with his collar. "He tells me to take good care of you and make sure you don't hurt yourself." Luke's fingers lift your chin and make you look at him. It seemed as if the whole world was fading into the background and you both could only see each other.

Luke tilts his head slightly to the side and leans in closer but suddenly thunder goes off making him tighten his lips into a thin line making you laugh. The curly-haired boy hides his face in the crook of your neck and sighs. You pull him away from your nack and make him look at you, a pout seen on his face making you giggle.

You tilt your head slightly and connect your lips. Thunder going off in the distance but you and Luke couldn't care less about it. Both of you pull away with smiles on your faces. "He also said that if I were to break your heart he'll take me in my sleep and drown me and make sure sharks devour me," Luke says making you roll your eyes and look up. "Dad?" You ask and thunder goes off again. "I think it's only proper," Luke jokes making you roll your eyes again.

"I hate you both," You say walking away from your boyfriend. "Hey! I was joking, angel. Come back!" Luke says walking towards you. You look back and sprint away with him hot in your trail. "Come back here, angel!" Luke shouts running after you. You could only giggle and run ever faster away from him.

Percy, Grover, and Annabeth watch you both from a good distance, with wide smiles on their face. "I've never seen them so happy before until now," Annabeth says and Grover nods in agreement. "I think Luke's great for Y/n— don't tell them I said that," Percy confesses. "You better convince me not to, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth smirks and run away. "Hey! Annabeth come back here!" Percy yells running after Annabeth.

"Love birds," Grover smiles watching four of his friends.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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The König being a Shoebill Stork is so funny😭😭 especially the 'solitary breeding', he will literally hole up in his cabin in the austrian woods with you and not let you out of his bed, not even really letting you off of his cock tbh :((

Not to mention that he will literally kill anyone that comes near to the cabin, no one will disturb his breeding season <3

He so will too!!!

But… What if the mating season lasts for like 3 months?!

Say, you have to be there from beginning of May to the end of June, and he expects you to cook for him too :/ Perhaps bake some pastries while he's out, patrolling his territory and getting rid of unwanted "visitors" (perhaps he even sets traps for the unwary travellers and has to go check and reset them occasionally, you of course know nothing about this morbid, camouflaged defense system surrounding the whole perimeter, you thought you're only here to mate)

When he comes back to the cabin, invigorated by the fresh mountain air, he sees you in your cute little apron, taking out a warm, delicious Apfelstrudel from the oven ❤️ Suddenly he's up for round two or three or four again, and after the first few weeks, you're really starting to get sore everywhere :(

Our man mostly uses the good old mating press and other positions where he can get the seed deep inside of you, and stays plugged in as long as he can so that it doesn't come out anytime soon. If you whine about it, he will pat you softly on your thigh or ass and coo encouraging words in your ear. You're doing so well, he knows you're going to be a wonderful mother for his kids ❤️

Other times, even König wants a little variation, and might just turn you on your stomach in the morning to start the day by enjoying your pussy from the back, grinding into you with slow but sweaty pace (because he's a lil sleepy too and the summers in the lower slopes of the Alps can be very hot). Or if you continue your whining, he may cut you some slack by using your thighs or mouth to get himself off, but he always demands that you put it in just before he cums so that the precious seed won't go to waste. That is why you are here, no? This is not just for his pleasure, you know.

Your neck is full of love bites, and your tits are getting far too much love too, because König doesn't always remember to shave when out here in the wild with you, so your nipples get sore from his stubble and tongue and constant little nibs and bites. He's already imagining how much larger your breasts will be when he gets you pregnant... And when you fuss in the kitchen or bend over to check if the pastries are turning nice golden crisp, he gives you a little smack on the butt and only laughs when you pout back at him :((

#this sounds a bit like #yandere könig #or ranger!König?#he's so annoying when he's in mating mode #breeding kink in the cabin #mating season #könig x reader #könig fluff #könig smut

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ohthethingswedoforlove · 2 months ago

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Caged

Character: Mychael from Mushroom Oasis

Summary: At what point does a house become a prison, and at what point did his kindness start to feel stifling?

Warnings: yandere character; descriptions of violence; imprisonment;

The fire crackles softly in the fireplace as you observe him in near complete stillness. Sitting quietly on the floor, right in front of the source of warmth, he diligently works away at a knitting project from wool he made sure to be all your favorite colors. A heavy silence hangs over the room.

And your contempt for him is as palpable as the sharp pain in your mangled leg.

You wish things hadn't ended up like this, and you have a feeling that he felt the same, but you were also long over feeling sorry for him. It's his fault.

Well. Maybe it had been your fault too, in some ways. Maybe if you hadn't blindly ventured into the woods, maybe if you had been firm in leaving as soon as you were conscious and able to move again, maybe if you had just called him a monster right from the start; maybe then you wouldn't have walked straight into this cage.

He steals a quick glance at you, only to just as quickly go back to pretending that his focus was only on his knitting needles. You clutch the hem of your sweater, one he had made for you, as a thought passed through you that perhaps you should have used them as a weapon when you had the chance. No way he's going to leave anything sharp near you now.

His tail flicks to the side and he heaves a sigh. "Are you hungry?" He tentatively asks, slightly nervous and unsure. But you stay quiet. You're sure he can feel your searing gaze on him, his ears drooping as if in response to your lack of an answer. It's not the first time he asked you that in the past few... Hours? It feels like it's been hours.

After a moment, you actually decide to do him the favor to speak up.

"I want to leave." You simply state. His ears move again, this time twitching in discomfort. It's not the answer he wanted from you.

The tone he uses holds a bit of disdain. "You saw what happened when you did, so no." He then stands up, making sure to leave both the unfinished project and its respective needles far away from the bed you laid in, and starts heading towards the kitchen. Only to stop at the doorway.

You catch yet another glimpse from him, and though you forced yourself to look away immediately, his posture softened. "I know you're hungry. I'll make you something you'll like, I promise!" He smiles at you.

And you turn over to lay facing the wall.

Another sigh escapes him, and you hear the sound of his footsteps disappear into the kitchen. But you stay unmoving, despite the tears welling up in your eyes.

You want to go home.

And your leg hurts. It still hasn't properly healed from the incident.

As you think back on your last and only escape attempt, the pain only gets worse. You had grown suspicious of his behaviour, thinking that it was strange how much he insisted on you staying, how much he refused to elaborate how you had gotten here in the first place. Sure, he had been nothing but kind and hospitable towards you, but why? Why does he act like you have no reason to go back to your life?

And so, with the accumulating suspicion and discomfort, you decided to run in the middle of the night. A terrible idea, all things considered, since you ended up lost in the middle of the dark woods and stuck in place by a bear trap to the leg.

Your absence must have awoken him, but your screams certainly led him to you.

He was in about as much distress as you, rushing to your side and immediately getting to freeing you from the trap, all the while scrambling over mortified ramblings of worry and disappointment over you not trusting him. You didn't even have the energy to fight back as he carried you all the way back to his cabin, while frantically muttering under his breath about how you'll never leave through that door ever again.

The pleasant smell of his cooking suddenly snaps you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. You recognize the smell in annoyance, quickly realising that he's indeed making something you'll like.

"Firefly?" You nearly jump out of bed at him calling you by the usual nickname, caught off guard by how you hadn't heard him make his way to now stand right to the side of the bed.

You finally make the mistake of making eye contact. And your head starts to feel f u z z y.

"Everything is going to be alright." He immediately leans into you, with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't need to worry about anything." It doesn't stop you from getting lost in his strangely glowy gaze however, as you suddenly find yourself weirdly... Tempted to agree with him.

A look of guilt passes through him. It doesn't last.

"I'll take good care of you."

#tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #mushroom oasis vn #mushroom oasis mychael #mychael x reader #male yandere #tw violence #tw imprisonment

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whorxology · 11 months ago

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⛧☾༺♰SFW Alphabet♰༻☽⛧

PAIRING: Luke Castellan x Reader

WARNINGS: Established Relationship. Possible spoilers for TLT, Kissing, Making Out, OOC Luke.

W.C: 2.6K

A/N: I have not read the books only knowledge I have of Luke is from the movies, TV show, and multiple fics I have read. With that being said this is purely for fun and these are just my headcannons. You are more than welcome to disagree and leave feedback.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Luke is extremely affectionate. His love language is definitely touch (he's very much touch-starved). He's not afraid of PDA but he likes to be respectful of those around you. When you are in public he'll be affectionate in subtle ways hands on your waist as he walks behind you, a kiss on your forehead when he leaves the dining table, hands caressing your sides as he fixes your fighting stance. He loves to be in your presence. Whether swimming in the lake with you, sitting beside you when you eat, or laying on your bed with you in your warm embrace.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Luke as a best friend would start off slow. You'd be in Hermes cabin because you weren't claimed yet and of course, Luke would show you around and make you feel more welcome. Slowly as the days went on and you weren't claimed you grew closer to Luke. Feeling safer knowing that he would have your back in anything. Eventually, you were claimed and forced to move cabins. Luke thought that would be the end of it another one had gone and moved on. Luke obviously didn't know you. You came back. Even with your new friends in your cabin you still preferred Luke's company.

Luke as a best friend would be loyal to you. Seeing as you felt the same as he did on many things. You two were similar in so many ways. He'd have your back and defend you even when you weren't there. He'd hate every guy you dated even before he had feelings for you because you were too good. Too good for their greedy, filthy, stained hands, too good for even him. He'd be snarky showing a sassy side to you when he was more comfortable.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

When you are alone he can not keep his hands to himself. His hands always find a way under your shirt just resting on your waist, hands messaging your calves, hands running through your hair as you lay your head in his lap. Some of the times none of this is sexual he just loves to feel the warmth of your skin. He loves to feel the smoothness of your skin against his rough calloused palms, to see each strand of hair as he twirls your pretty hair in his hands, to feel your heartbeat thump in his ear as he lays against your chest.

Most of the time you cuddle with Luke you'd end up as the little spoon but once in a while when Luke was overwhelmed with life and was trapped in his head he would lay on your chest legs tangled with yours as he listened to your steady heartbeat

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

First things first Luke is a terrible cook. Not only did he run away at a young age but he has been in camp since he was 14 so there was no need for him to learn how to cook. Needless to say Luke is very smart and strategic so if he really wanted to he could definitely learn to cook.

Luke has always thought of settling down. He knew it was something he really wanted to do. Especially with you. He would have doubts. Not about being with you but you being with him. He thinks you deserve better than anything he could ever give you. He would love to have kids and prove that he could be a better father to them than his father was to him. He would always be there for them and support their goals and dreams, He would never leave them.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If you know Luke's story you know how it ends....... that being said Luke wouldn't want to break up with you. He'd want you to join him and be happy with him. However, seeing as you have morals you wouldn't join him. He would beg and plead for you to join him saying he loves you and needs you by his side.

Say he didn't join Kronos. Luke would try to fix whatever was wrong in your relationship. He would try so hard because he loves you. If he couldn't fix things then he'd let you down the easiest way to do it. He would assure you that even though you aren't not together anymore he would still care for you.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Luke is fully committed to you. His flesh, bones, and spirit belong to you and you only. He would think so much about popping the question. You guys were young and had a longggg life ahead of you. He'd always be scared that the day he did pop the question you would say no.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Luke is strong and he is well aware of it. He's no stranger to yanking your back towards him or grabbing your jaw firmly when he pulls you in for a kiss. In moments of heat and passion, he's what you want him to be. You want rough you got it just remember the safe word if anything. You want sweet he'll hold you like you would break and cradle you from the world.

Emotionally Luke is strong he has to be. He had to be growing up the way he did. He's no stranger to hiding his emotions. He wanted to be strong for you but you can always see right through him and tell when something is wrong. There's moments when his walls break and he crys to you about it all and you just hold him.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Luke is TOUCH STARVED. Any change he gets to hold you he will take it. Luke will hug you at least 20 times a day. When Luke hugs you it's engulfing. Luke is taller than you so when he hugs you from behind he loves to rest his chin on your head either that or sneak kisses into your neck.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Luke had liked Thalia and look how that ended..... Pine cones fate. When Luke realizes how much you really mean to him it scares him a bit. He's never loved anyone as much as he loved you and he was scared that you didn't feel the same for you or that he'd scarily lose you. So when you told him that you loved him first his eyes started to water. After a few seconds, he immediately said it back to you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Luke says he doesn't get jealous. This is partially true. You are attractive meaning people are going to be flirting with you which Luke doesn't mind. It's when people forget that you are with him and get bold is when he's practically fuming cartoon-style. He'll approach you and make it well known to the other that he is yours and you are his. He'll slip up behind you hands on your waist and place a kiss on your neck then he'll take his place beside you arm securely wrapped around your waist as he joins the conversation with ease.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like?)

Luke has two types of kisses. One where you are practically made of glass and he is scared you might break. One hand on the side of your head and the other one on your waist as he kisses you as if you were his lifeline. Gentle kisses as he pours his love into you. The other version is hungry and consuming. One hand resting on your neck and the other wrapped around your waist to pull you closer than you already are. A harsh mixture of teeth and tongue as he shows you how much he needs you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Seeing as most campers that join camp are around 12 years old Luke is pretty good around younger kids. He's always had patience and skill with them. Taking the time needed to show the kids a kind and welcoming hand.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Luke is always gone when you wake up. He snuck off in the night to avoid being caught. You'd get ready and meet him a breakfast where he is already sitting beside a spot he saved for you. His face would light up as he saw you complimenting you every morning even if had seen you hours ago. The conversation mainly consisted of how you slept and the plans for the day along with the occasional tease and snarky comment from Luke and the blushy eye-rolling from you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Since camp had a curfew you and Luke would sneak around most nights to be with each other. Most nights you and Luke would meet by the lake. Blanket hidden under some lifting tree roots and pulled out and placed on the sand whenever you and Luke were there. You'd talk about your days and gaze at the stares. Jokes and stories told about your past, your hopes, and your dreams. Some nights you'd fall asleep in each other's arms on the sand under the stars and the moon no one else in the world but the two of you. Luke would be the first to wake (Mostly because of his nightmare) he'd admire the way you slept and chuckle at the slight drool pooling out of your mouth onto his bare chest. He'd gently shake you awake and help you back to your cabin complaining about how you'd need to rethink the blanket on the sand idea because he has sand in places he did not want to have sand in

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Luke was open to you from day 1. You and him were so much alike that he felt compelled to confide in you. He would slowly tell you things about his past. The tension between him and his father. His failed quest that gave him his scar. His mother. He ached when he spoke about his past but your touch soothed his pain. Dulled it down enough to be shoved away.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Luke had way more patience than you that would be for sure. Dealing with younger kids all day would definitely require you too. Once in a while when Luke was upset he would always seek you out. Your very presence made him feel at ease. During the very very few chances Luke comes to you upset and snaps on you he immediately apologizes.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Luke is your wiki page. He remembers every single thing about you from your favorite candy to your childhood house. He remembers your favorite constellation, your childhood pet name, hell he even remembers your favorite pair of earrings that you lost on a 4th grade field trip. At this point, Luke knows more about you than you do yourself.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Luke's favorite moment in your relationship was the moment you finally got together. It wasn't perfect but it was yours. Luke had been talking to a girl from Aphrodite's cabin and she was flirting with him and Luke was all into it. You had gotten pissed off and ignored him the whole day. You had no reason to be upset. Luke had found you at the lake after curfew and confronted you about being weird and off and things escalated turning the whole thing into an angry love confession.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Luke and protectiveness are practically the same thing. He would do anything to ensure not a single hair on your pretty little head was harmed. He would protect you not only physically but emotionally. He hated to see you hurt in any way. Luke would rather protect you than have you protect him. In moments during camp activities when someone was swinging at him you'd step in and he'd be upset that you could have gotten hurt but also his heart swells with pride that you'd put yourself in danger for him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Luke tries every day. He is such a lover boy. Every day he will give you small gifts whether it's something he made or something he found. You have a collection of shiny rocks and pretty shells that Luke has gifted you through the years you've known him.

On dates and anniversaries, Luke goes all out. He has campers sneak your favorite things into camp candy, snacks, and flowers. He has the whole day planned out. From breakfast in bed to a fancy lunch in the forest, to a romantic dinner on the beach. All of your favorite things in your favorite places.

Luke's gifts were always given from the heart. You weren't materialistic Luke knew that so he got you gifts that held meaning. A bracelet made of string in your favorite color. Each bead on it marks a significant moment in your life since you got to camp. A seashell that he painted with a picture of your favorite constellation on the inside of it. Small yet meaningful and showing of effort put into his gifts.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Not much of a habit but Luke has such a strong hate for the gods specifically his father that makes him the worst version of himself (Kronos).

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Luke knows he's attractive with your help of course. After he got his scar his confidence plummeted. After lots of words of encouragement and affection, he slowly gained his confidence back. His baby loves how he looks and that's all that matters.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Luke would have never been one to say he felt like he needed someone to feel complete. However, since you came along he's felt as if you are his means to life themself. You are a deity he worships. He is completely devoted to you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Luke is surprisingly a really good singer. Sometimes at nights when you can't sleep, he'll take you to the lake and sing to you as you lay your head down on his chest.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Dishonesty. As someone who is lying to literally everyone, he knows a liar when he sees one. He's a hypocrite really he lies but hates when others do it. Especially to his face.

Z = Zzz (What are their sleep habits?)

Luke doesn't sleep much when he is alone. His nightmares keep him up. However, when he's with you he tends to sleep a little longer than normal. You help him sleep.

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woodlandwrites · 9 months ago

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Luke Castellan

A/N: hcs cause I’m feeling feral

• Luke is a nail biter. He constantly picks and chews - drawing blood in the process.

• Luke hates the color green - it brings back terrible memories and makes him want to vomit.

• Luke loves giving forehead kisses - ones where he stays with his lips on your forehead for a long time conveying his love that way

• Luke is in fact the father of CHB. He tucks kids to bed, reads stories, kisses injuries, helps with homework. He thinks since he didn’t have a father he never wants another kid to feel that way

• Luke hates small spaces - it makes him claustrophobic. It reminds him of when he used to hide from his mother in the closet. Trapped. Sometimes at night he wakes you to come for walks outside - because the walls of the Hermes cabin were closing in

• Luke is a morning person - he has to be with all the kids in the Hermes cabin

• Luke likes the Rocky movies. He stole them from a thrift store on VHS. The boys at camp love it and even quote it (mostly Charlie and Luke)

• speaking of stealing - no one talks about how good he is at it. Sometimes he doesn’t even know he took anything until a few hours later when he looks into his pocket.

• Luke has no filter sometimes - especially around you - he blames the ADHD

• Luke is very good at sneaking around - very quiet on his feet

•Luke bounces his leg when he’s nervous

• Luke loves kids - he loves helping the younger campers. You don’t know if it is because he had a poor childhood - but secretly he considers most of the campers his children in a way

• Luke has crooked teeth - when he smiles one is chipped in the upper corner. When he laughs he throws his head back gripping at his chest - imperfectly perfect

• Luke likes domestic living it makes him feel safe and in control

• Luke only talks about his mom at night after episodes of grueling nightmares - never during the day - never in causal conversation - you never pry

• Luke has bug bites all over his legs - he always picks at them leaving scabs

• Luke makes decisions sometimes without thinking - he never really tries to think ahead

• Luke loves when you run your fingers through his hair - it helps him sleep

• Luke is a light sleeper - always prepared to wake when another Hermes camper has a nightmare

• Luke has panic attacks that frequently end up with him in your bed - vice versa

• When Luke hugs you it’s like he clings on - almost like him might never see you again

• Luke always dirty - whether it be dirt on his shirt - grass stains on his pants - leaves in his hair?

Okay I’m done for tonight

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan headcanons #luke castellan x you #pjo #percy jackson #luke castellan #pjo headcanon

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Mission Control 22

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It’s not calm. It’s just nothing. You’re not afraid, you’re not angry, or sad, or anything. Just empty. The tension clings to his touch as he draws away and you’re left just like that. Numb, but not quite.

You turn onto your back as the soldier stands. You watch him in the strange haze of your existence. Your eyes close as the fire crackles around the fresh log he lays on it. You sink into the depths of your heedless mind.

When you rouse again, it isn’t for long. He’s dressed in black. As always. But you know by his stance, by his armour and cowl, that he is on his way out. He pauses to pet your head before he goes. You don’t react.

You shut your eyes again and let the sleep take over your addled body. The pain recedes to a dull thrum and your thoughts slow to a placid ripple. Hours unfurl in shadowy ribbons. When you wake again, you can sense the time passed. Close to a day.

He is still gone.

You get up, keeping your injured foot off the floor, and hop around in search of your keeper. You lean on the wall to keep your balance as you make your way through the cabin. You stop in the bedroom door and stare at the blood stain on the wooden floor. You quiver at the memory of the intruder’s fate.

You retreat to the kitchen and sit for a while. Your appetite sours your stomach. You don’t know how as your thoughts threaten to make you nauseous.

You flinch as the wind rattles the windows and whistles just outside those battered walls. The world slows and so do your thoughts, just enough to sort them. How did that man find you? How did he get past the traps? Is he the only one? No, you can’t believe that the villain who took you has only a single enemy.

You get up and go to the fridge. There’s a covered plate with a note on it. ‘Eat’. You bring it to the table and remove the foil. Two hard-boiled eggs, a peeled and separated orange, a cup of cottage cheese, and whole wheat crackers. It’s not fancy or especially tasty but it’s more than enough.

As you wash the plate, you notice the mug. Another note. ‘Drink’. There’s a packet of instant coffee tucked behind the paper torn from the same notebook he kept by the bed.

You add boiling water to the mix and gratefully down the caffeine. The familiar taste is comforting. You stay at the table for a while, your eyes skimming the front room. The place is as bland as the meal.

Then you see it. It wasn’t there before the chaos. You stand and hobble through the open doorway and across the room. You stop before the armchair and the stack on the seat. There’s an unopened package of pencils, a sharpener too; beneath, several puzzle books, another book of blank pages, and a rubik’s cube.

Under all that, is something else. A dress. Yellow linen, with eyelets around the waist and short sleeves, and buttons down the front. The buttons are pearl and you can tell it is true vintage.

You leave it on the chair and take a puzzle book. You open the box of pencils and sharpen it to a point. You open the pages and the smell of paper invades your nose. It’s nice. You love that smell. It’s the best you’ve felt in weeks just tasting that scent.

You sit and do a puzzle. You stop as your cheeks ache. You’re smiling. Something so simple is the most amazing thing you’ve ever done. Just writing the letters. Knowing the answers. You close the book and hold it in your lap as your eyes glaze over.

You sit hunched on the couch and sob. It could be the pain, it could be the horror of what you witnessed, it could be the terror of what’s to come, the isolation of this cabin, it is everything and anything. Your grief bubbles over and constricts your ribs to the point of breathlessness. You let it all out until you are spent and your cheeks are raw.

You shakily set down the book on the side table and stand. You angle over to the chair on one foot and lift the dress. You look down at the dark shirt; his. You don’t even remember him putting it on you.

You strip it off and pull on the dress. It smells like laundry detergent. It’s soft. It’s lovely. It makes you feel a little more human.

You limp, touching only the toes of your wounded foot to the floor, and go into the bathroom. You can only see to just below your chest in the mirror. Your face and your hair are a disaster but you don’t care. The dress is nice. It’s cute.

You just watch yourself as you run your hands up and down the fabric. You stay there until you can bear to stand no longer. You come back out, hopping again, but before you can reach the front room, there’s a clatter at the door.

You cry out as your heart lurches. You search around for anything, something to defend yourself. What if it’s not him? What if it’s another villain?

The door swings open but does not assuage your fears. It is the soldier but he is not himself. He has his cowl still in place and his body seems to steam as his chest rises and falls rapidly. His muscles are tense beneath the taut fabric, bulging in his armour.

You cannot see his expression but you can imagine it by his posture. He marches forward mechanically and you whine as you throw up your hands. He grabs your head between his large hands and you struggle with him, dancing on your toes as you cry out in agony.

“No, please,” you beg.

That little bit of joy flies out the door and fades into the billowing winds. You push against his stomach as he tries to pull you closer. You ball one hand and beat on his chest as you strain to keep him from smothering you.

“No, don’t! No, no, not like this,” you plead as you snake your hand up.

You writhe in his grasp as you get a thumb under his cowl. You slide the strap from his chin and the mask shifts. You continue to push against him as you flip it up, getting it just above his mouth. You tear at it again and unveil his face.

You look up at him as his eyes fall to you. His scar is a torturous shade of white as he clenches his jaw. His eyes are dilated and dark. Just like the first time he returned. Your insides quake at just the thought.

He clutches at your dress and pulls you closer. You squeak and shakily press your hand to his cheek. You caress him with your fingertips as he crushes you again him, your arm folding between your bodies. You brush through his sweaty strands and tremble.

“Please, be nice,” you quaver. “Be soft to me, soldier. Please.”

He squeezes you until you can’t breathe. You flutter your fingers around his ear and whimper once more. Then he slackens his hold on you and unhooks his arm from your waist. His eyes clear and his hands rest lightly on your hips.

He opens his mouth and outlines a word with his lips, ‘soft’.

#captain america #captain hydra #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #mission control #au #marvel #mcu #avengers #series

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strangeshoepatrolbandit-alt · 1 year ago

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A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing.

Summary: He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. You're the sacrificial lamb. (What it was like.)

Warnings: Wolf and lamb imagery, mentions of sexual interactions, one of them being Non-Con... I think?("Making love", "fucking", "thrusting".), naivety, mentions of murder and blood, killing Lucy Gray Baird, being a Trophy wife, lies, mentions of breeding, being trapped in a marriage, getting hunted, guns, mentions The Hunger Games, mentions hanging(Sejanus' death), rebellion, being a shell of yourself, being tied up, getting rid of a body(Lucy Gray), toxic relationship, controlling!Coryo, Coriolanus' being 'bony'.

Fem!Reader.

I'm trying something new with my writing.

He lured you in.

He was one of the best Academy students and the only power he had was his name.

He spoke with you over open and discarded books, spewing with his charming words.

Sweet naive you.

He pressed soft kisses to your lips and thrusted in a pattern that made you see stars. Cosmic. Making love.

He was kind to your family, he was kind to your friends. He cared for you.

°•°•°

He was a mentor in the tenth Hunger Games, his tribute was Lucy Gray Baird. He helped her win, cheating for her from behind a screen while you supported him without knowing what he's done.

He was caught, and his punishment was becoming a Peacekeeper. Originally for District 8.

You threw a fit in his bedroom, crying and crying over again, begging the universe to not separate the two of you.

Dependent.

His hands held your face as he looked between both of your eyes, his own going back and forth. Left and right.

"No, you wont." He sounded so firm, but his voice still held the softness he could only have for you. "I'm going to 12. I will make sure to see through with it. You will go to 12."

And like a lamb led to the slaughter, you did.

°•°•°

You watched him beat a man, defending Lucy Gray like she was still his responsibility. You swam in the lake with him, holding onto him and laughing without a care in the world. You broke down with him after Sejanus' death. You stayed in the cabin with him and Lucy Gray.

The three of you planned a future that would get you all killed. You spoke the same words that had your dear friend, Sejanus, hung in front of a galore of witnesses.

Murdered.

Martyr.

You were oblivious to the way Coriolanus was cracking, something finally going off in his brain. He broke down.

He revealed what he's done. He told you both about Sejanus. He's why Sejanus Plinth, Bobbin, and Mayfair are dead.

Backstabber.

Murderer.

Lucy played it cool, keeping her calm as to not draw suspicion.

She grabbed your arm and a basket, making it seem innocent as she told him the two of you were going to pick katniss.

"Lucy Gray," He stared as she opened the door, a bright smile on her face as she gripped you tighter. "It's still raining."

"Well, we're not made out of sugar." And with that, she pulled you out. The two of you walked together until you were out of sight from the cabin windows.

And then you heard him.

Screaming, yelling, gunshots, running.

Cat and mouse.

Snake and bird.

Wolf and lamb.

Lucy Gray was dead beside you, and Coriolanus Snow was her killer. You were on the ground, your lover on top of you, tears spilling from your eyes as you stared at your lifeless friend. Coriolanus' hands dug into the plush of your body while he forced you to stand, holding your wrist with one hand while dragging Lucy with the other.

Back at the cabin, you were bound enough to where you couldn't run, but watching as Coriolanus wrapped up Lucy Gray's body and dumped her in the lake you all swam and laughed in just days before.

"No loose ends." He repeated to you as he forced you into the cabin, tying you to the bed the two of you slept on. "Besides you. But you won't tell anyone, will you?" He asked softly, wiping your tears and pushing back your hair.

You shook your head repeatedly, breathing heavily and staring at him with wide eyes.

"Good." He let out a breath as a smile grew on his face, now caressing one of your cheeks. "Good girl."

He leaned in and kissed you, ridding you of your clothes while you cried. He wasnt sweet. He didn't kiss the tears away, they just seemed to egg him on. This was not making love. He was fucking you while you were vulnerable.

You didn't get to leave Panem. You didn't get to run off and live a fairytale.

Coriolanus brought you back to the Capitol, solidifying you to him by announcing your engagement to him.

He didn't stop. Not even when he moved in with Sejanus' mourning parents, not even when he killed them.

Not even when he became the president, and you the First Lady.

You were both in your twenties, living better than you used to.

Coriolanus was no longer bony, no longer hungry. He no longer wore the clothes his cousin, Tigris, would make him. His hair was no longer buzzed like it was when he was a Peacekeeper, and his personality was different than when he was eighteen.

You're still intimate. You live, work, eat, sleep together. Your womb is warm for his seed. You're married by Panem and Capitol law. But you are not partners. He is the dictator. You're the trophy First Lady. You dress exactly as he likes. You act exactly as he likes. You move exactly as he likes. His word is law. Yours is nothing. And every moment you are his, you wonder what it would be like to not have to dance to his puppet strings.

He lured you in.

Sacrificial lamb.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #tbosas #tbosbas #tbosas x reader #thg series #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader

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charliemwrites · 5 months ago

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Chapter 1

Content: Violence, Murder, Horror Elements, Masturbation, Kidnapping, Threats, Mild Pet Play, the One (1) use of an ableist slur

It’s the middle of October when Soap convinces you to go camping.

Autumn has sunk its teeth deep into the countryside, bleeding green from the trees and leeching warmth from the days. Deep shadows and lengthening nights are cold enough to condense breaths into pillows of steam. All of the little critters are fattening up and bedding down for a frigid winter, prepared to be snowed into burrows and dens until spring pries away the ice.

Your hip already aches through the first half of your morning exercises. The ghosts of splintered shrapnel prick beneath tender scar tissue until the rust of sleep flakes away. Lying on hard, cold ground sounds like a one-way ticket to agony. You’d much rather be one of those fluffy bastards curling up to hibernate. You tell Soap this on Monday when he initially proposes the idea.

Besides, you add, trying not to chug your coffee, Soap’s in no condition to be fucking about in half-frozen woods either. Not with his finicky nerve pain.

On Wednesday, when you meet up again, he takes a different route. It’s been too long since you two last dipped into a civilian-appropriate but military-adjacent activity. Paintball, knife-throwing, base-jumping…

Your bed is starting to feel too soft and too big again. The city is loud but not the right way. The tedium of self-imposed routines is starting to grate on nerves still tuned for combat. If you don’t get out before the trap of winter snaps closed, you might go mad. You can see it in Soap’s eyes too, a manic glint behind glass blue.

But still. Camping feels too much like what you’ve just left – the shrinks probably wouldn’t approve. Not that you’d ask them.

On Friday, Soap offers a compromise. His grandfather (“Seanair”) left him an old hunting cabin out in the countryside. Nothing luxurious, but it’s got a fireplace, cots, kitchenette, bathroom. It’ll be more like holing up in a safehouse than roughing it for a mission. More importantly, it’ll be gentler on your battle-worn bodies.

That next Monday, you meet him at the café with supplies packed and an honest anticipation for a week off the grid.

“Yoohoo! Any murderers about?” Soap calls. “Any armed psychos? An angry raccoon, perhaps?”

You scowl, caught behind him in the doorway. “I thought you checked it out already?”

“Aye, but ye ne’er ken,” he reasons, shrugging. He shuffles in as you nudge him. “We’ve the luck o’ the devil, you an’ I.”

You snort as you start kicking off your shoes. “True enough, I s’pose.”

“Course, I like our odds against any weirdo wi’ a knife, don’ you?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Not so sure about a raccoon though. Think we’d be fucked.”

“Och, tha’s right. I remember your lectures about rabies.”

“Good.”

You snicker at his grimace, likely feeling the phantom sting of vaccines.

The cabin is cute, honestly. There are only three rooms – the living room/kitchenette, the bedroom, and the bathroom. The bathroom is small enough that you could stretch your arms across the width of it and touch both walls, but it’s got a working shower so you’ve no complaints. The bedroom has a dresser and a nightstand, plenty for you and Soap.

While you set to work putting the groceries away, Soap putters about opening windows and making up the beds. The two of you don’t immediately have much to talk about, considering how often you see each other and the long drive out. It’s alright, though, you’ve long grown comfortable in stretches of silence together.

Once settled in, you suggest a walk to explore the area. Part of it is genuine interest in appreciating nature before the sun sets early. But there’s also a large, paranoid part of you (sounding like your old captain) that demands you get your bearings. Just in case.

There’s a loch about a mile from the cabin, a beautiful sheet of dark glass big enough for decent fishing. You’re able to see the row of holiday homes on the other side but wouldn’t be able to see any people on their docks out there. You and Soap follow a deer trail for a way, exchanging stories of your respective childhoods.

No surprise that John MacTavish was a wild child with a rebellious streak that got him in trouble more often than not. He gets you laughing bright and easy before long, and for once it doesn’t feel like playacting as a Normal Functioning Person.

When the sun starts to skim the evergreens, you return to the cabin. You start up a pot of cheesy mac while Soap gets the fire going, pyromaniac that he is. Once it’s burning nicely, he starts closing up the windows. Not too soon either – the temperature is starting to dip and twinging at your hip, unhappy from sitting in the car so long.

The two of you hum over empty carbs and excess dairy by the fire, a glass of scotch for each of you. When you’ve had your fill, he washes the dishes, you pour another round, and the two of you settle together on the old sofa.

“Almost been a year,” Soap says after a while.

You sigh through your nose, stare into the dwindling pool of amber in your hand. “Three more weeks.”

“You miss it too.”

Against your will, your eyes slide sideways, to the hand he’s clenching and unclenching on his thigh. There’s a wicked line of scar tissue beneath the sleeve of his shirt where the surgeons salvaged what they could. Mostly successful too, apart from the damaged radial nerve that ruined his career.

“So much, Soap, fuck.”

You didn’t mean to say that. You’re supposed to be the healthy one here, encouraging this necessary and healthful change to your lives.

As if reading your mind, Soap hums, bumps his elbow into your ribs. “No shame in it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t even know what I miss.”

“Feeling useful, I reckon. Feeling… necessary,” he muses, subdued.

It’s insightful but too accurate. Too selfish. You rub your thumb over the lip of your glass.

“I hate that I can’t keep an eye on Price and Gaz,” you say. “Feels like I’m always waiting to hear the worst, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he whispers roughly. “I ken.”

The two of you end up falling asleep on the couch. Soap, sitting up with his sketchbook, and you folded into the corner against the arm, book pages fluttering between lax fingers. At some point, the cramped position aches enough to wake you. Your eyes flutter open, low fire throwing long, deep shadows across the wooden wall.

Something is watching from the window.

You jolt up, hand reaching for the gun you no longer carry on your thigh. The movement jostles Soap awake as well. It involuntarily draws your eye, just a fraction of a second. But the haunting shadow is gone by the time you turn back.

That’s not enough for you. You roll to your feet, hiss as your knee threatens to give. But you manage to get your balance and snatch your combat knife from your boot as you storm towards the door.

“Kit? Kit! The fuck is going on?!” Soap calls.

“Saw something!” you reply.

There’s a flashlight hanging by a hook next to the door. You grab it as you burst out into the chilly air, tensed for a fight. A quick sweep of the front yard and immediate tree line reveals nothing. Steps soft and careful, you approach the side of the house, expertly gripping your knife.

“On your six,” Soap breathes behind you.

“Copy.”

You round the corner, eyes scanning the trees, the brush. There’s no movement, no suspiciously rustling branches. You tilt your head, listening for anything past the normal sounds of the night. But there isn’t even an unusual silence in the dark world around you.

“Just a dream, then,” you sigh.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Unusual, though. Your nightmare-induced hallucinations usually conjure guns in your face or teammates bleeding out on the floor. Not strange figures at the windows. Still, you can hear the explanation of your shrink trying to soothe you. Middle of the night after drinking, in a new and atmospheric environment. Plus, there’s been all that fuss on the news about a serial killer; nowhere near you and Soap, mind, but still. Subconscious or some shite.

“Let’s do a sweep anyway,” Soap says.

Your chest warms. “Alright.”

Naturally, there’s nothing. Soap only gives you a one-armed hug as you return to the cabin. One final check of the interior – since you did leave the door open when you rushed out – and then the two of you turn in for bed.

The next day starts lazy and slow. A strange reprieve from your body’s military-trained urge to wake early. It’s nice, though, to snuggle beneath the covers with Soap’s soft snores only a few meters away. You play pre-downloaded games on your phone while you wait for him to wake, enjoying the lie in.

Breakfast is enjoyed on the little porch out front; you bundled up in a woolen throw while you sip coffee. It’s shaping up to be an unusually sunny day, and you agree to a longer hike around the loch before lunch. When you return, you settle on the porch again to read while Soap chops wood.

Which, well.

You don’t mind a bit of entertainment between pages… or paragraphs… or…

Soap hasn’t neglected his physique at all since the discharge. All corded muscles, broad shoulders, and tapered waist. Watching the bunch and release of his arms has always been a guilty pleasure of yours, and so blessedly indulged during training sessions in the 141.

You try not to sigh and drool over it (him) like a repressed Victorian.

“Ach, fer fucks…”

You snap to attention, book set aside. “Is your arm acting up?”

He’s set the hatchet down, grabbing at his elbow with a pinched expression.

“Aye,” he grumbles.

You trot to his side, pleased that he still instantly submits to your care. He lets you manipulate his arm, prod along the nerve pathways and bunched muscles that are spasming in pain. His groan has no business being that low or rough or close to your ear. But you ignore it like you always have, focus on getting him right. Barely even register when he sets his jaw on top of your head.

A few minutes pass in silence while you try to massage away the worst of the flare up. When he finally sighs, slumping into you a little, you gently squeeze his forearm.

“Bampot,” you huff.

“Aye, I ken,” he mumbles. “’S why I have you.”

You click your tongue. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive. Next time let me help.”

“Not on yer life.”

You pinch his side, grinning wickedly when he yelps and jerks away. Little shit. Your favorite little shit, damn him.

He allows you to help carry the firewood to the rack next to the tiny shed. It’s round back of the cabin, covered by an old blue tarp. Soap is in the lead and sees it first.

“Oh, well isn’t that pure dead brilliant,” he huffs.

“Hm?”

You peak around him and blink at the rust-colored splatters decorating the side of the shed. There’s a dark patch in the scraggly grass as well and drag marks into the trees. Clearly, some prey fell victim to the circle of life here. Recently, too, from the color of the blood.

“What do you think it was?” you ask. “There aren’t wolves here.”

“Nah, but coulda been a fox.”

You scrunch up your nose. “This close to us? Usually foxes steer clear of humans.”

“Feral dog, then, maybe.”

Maybe.

It’s a lot of blood for anything a dog or fox would risk taking down, though. Even a feral one.

“C’mon, let’s get inside. Need a coupla pills ‘fore mah arm starts taking the piss again.”

You help him stack the firewood and then follow him back to the cabin. And if you linger on the blood, your random dream, and the lingering sensation of eyes on you… well, nothing new for you.

It pours all of the next day. Soap says it’s good timing, that he won’t have to wash the shed himself. Both of your injuries are acting up, though, and you spend the day trying to find different positions to appease the ache in your hip. At one point, he has to help you to the shower, your leg feeling too weak to support your weight. It’s frustrating, but you’ve had nearly a year to learn to cope.

Soap lifts your spirits, though, like always. Convinces you to play Scrabble and keeps insisting that he’s just using Scottish words. It ends the way it usually does – you and him wrestling like children, trying to trap the other to determine the winner. You only just manage to get a hold of him, though he puts up a good fight. He eventually admits that “daylich” isn’t actually a word and he didn’t deserve the triple word score.

Then he breaks out a pack of biscuits as a peace offering and all is forgiven. The two of you nibble on those while watching a movie on your laptop and then shuffle off to bed.

Long after Soap has fallen asleep, you’re awake. The memory of his body against yours always leaves you feeling branded. Like the heat of him burns right through your clothes. It’s been… probably too long since you last got off. Way too long since someone else got you off. And yeah, you had a couple of shameful secret wanks around teammates back in the day, but things are different now. You’re not high on adrenaline in the military anymore. No excuse for shoving a hand down your pants.

Still, your thoughts spiral as you finally start to doze. Rough hands on your hips, your thighs, your throat. Gentle but teasing at the true strength they possess. A hot tongue along your cheek, treating you like something to savor… or to devour. A shadow looming over you, dwarfing you. Phantom sensations that you crave as much as you shy away, wanting it but knowing you shouldn’t.

The throbbing between your thighs rouses you. Sleep-addled, you give in. You’d be embarrassed of how wet you are if anyone else were to know. And of the soft, needy noise you make when your brush your fingertips between your thighs. But Soap is still snoring steadily, and the pounding of the ongoing rain makes you brave.

You stroke slowly and gently over the bundle of nerves at first, mimicking those dreamt touches. It’s almost as maddening even when it’s your own hand. Sleep is half-dragging at you, though, and you speed up, drawing tight little circles at the top, teasing lower to stoke the heat burning in your gut. Your breathing picks up, little breaths past an open mouth.

It’s really not going to take much. Not with how long it’s been, how much you want it, vague thoughts of your darkest fantasies flickering through your hazy mind. You tilt your hips down, get the pressure of your heel against your empty, aching hole. You rock a couple times, high-pitched noises caught at the top of your throat.

You come imagining a big hand around your neck choking off those sounds. Have to slap your free hand over your mouth as you shake and writhe through it. Drag your nails up your bare thigh just to balance out the unbearable pleasure. And then you go limp against the pillows, panting and shuddering through aftershocks.

When you extract your hand from beneath the blankets, you blink at the wetness coating your fingertips for a moment. If someone asked, the excuse you’d give is not touching anything with your wet hand. But truthfully, you’re just indulging in impulsive hedonism as you suck your own fingers.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the shadows.

Then you climb out of bed for a proper cleanup, ready to finally fall asleep and definitely not think about how much quicker you came knowing that Soap was right there the entire time.

It’s raining on and off the next day. You and Soap take a little walk during one of the dry patches, though it’s cut short with how sore your hip still is. Soap collects more firewood from the shed, keeps the flames well fed while you putter about. Nap for an hour, start rereading one of your favorite books, watch a scary movie with him, make American flapjacks just for the sake of it.

Even though you should be feeling stir crazy, Soap has always made for good company. The day passes pleasantly into an early night, the sun standing little chance against the thick cloud cover.

You and Soap are settling in with scotch when frantic knocking interrupts the peaceful quiet.

“Help!” a ragged voice screams. “Someone please help me!”

You hardly exchange glances before the two of you are up. Soap goes for the door, gun in hand. You scramble for the ever-present medical kit that earned your call-sign, left out on the counter.

Soap yanks the door open; a man tumbles in. Middle aged, lanky build, bleeding from a long cut on his forehead. His ankle is twisted at a damning angle. You scan him for obvious weapons, but his t-shirt and muddy boxers reveal nothing but bruising and scraped skin. His hands are empty as they scrabble at the floor, trying to drag himself inside. Soap slams the door closed and locks it.

“Please!” the man cries again. “You have to help me!”

You drop to your knees beside him, already popping your kit open.

“We’re going to help you, sir,” you say evenly, “but you need to calm down.”

“You don’t understand,” the man gasps as you help him sit up. “H-He… he’s out there.”

“Who?” Soap asks, grip shifting on the gun.

“S-some psycho,” the man answers. You work easily past his shaking, getting a look at his swelling ankle. Definitely broken… with force. “In a mask.”

You blink, shoot Soap a look. Have the two of you fallen into some weird horror movie by accident?

“What did he do?” Soap asks.

“H-he attacked us with a big bloody knife.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” you ask. “Who else was with you?”

“The lads – my friends – my brother. Oh, god…” He pales further. You brace him, eyeing the packaged shock blanket peeking from your kit. “Danny is dead. There was so much blood.”

“How many?” Soap asks, voice hard. “How many of you are still alive?”

“I-I don’t know. I barely got-got away. Oh, god—”

He dissolves into tears and whimpers. You rip open the blanket and drape it around the man, then scoot down to his ruined ankle. Over his head, you frown at Soap. Something is missing here. This man was with at least three other people, but one man attacked them? There’s something to be said for shock and surprise and fear, but still…

“Soap?”

“Gonnae see if I can find survivors,” he says. “I’ll send ‘em your way if I find any. You stay here, take care of this ‘un.”

“That’s stupid,” you argue. “You can’t go by yourself!”

“No different than recon, aye? Not gonnae engage, but we cannae leave anyone bleedin’ out there.”

Your mouth twists. No, no you can’t leave civilians potentially wounded with a killer out for blood. Discharged or not (war criminals or not… and you both are, technically) you’re both too dutybound for that.

“RV here in ten and I’ll have the car ready for exfil.”

“Affirmative.”

He crosses to you, knocks your foreheads together – a pre-mission gesture you never thought you’d receive again. You close your eyes for a second, squeeze the back of his neck. Then send him off with a firm nod.

You lock the door after him, then return to the man.

“Are you two military or something?” he asks.

“We were,” you answer, “medical discharge.”

“Oh brilliant! You’re telling me that my only hope is a couple cripples?!”

You level him a flat, unimpressed look. “I’m a medic with more kills than you’ve got chest hairs, understand? Shut up and brace. I need to wrap your ankle.”

He whimpers and whines and curses while you set and compress it. Nothing you haven’t heard before, vehement as it may be. Ungrateful, though, you think vaguely. Save a guy’s life and he’s calling you all sorts of derogatory names while you try to salvage his ability to walk.

“You done?” you ask, interrupting his latest stream of expletives. “I need to hear if someone is coming.”

That only shuts him up for a moment before he’s piping up again. “Do you have a weapon?”

You tug your pant leg up to show the knife strapped to your calf.

“Do you even know how to use that?!”

“Look, I know this is a lot for you, so maybe you should stop talking for a while.”

His face twists, brain turning to anger as he tries to cope with his own fear and new trauma. You don’t pay him any heed, wiping off his head and closing the still-weeping cut with butterflies. All you can hear over his wheezing is the rain outside. No footsteps or screams or, most importantly, gunshots.

With the worst two of the man’s wounds seen to, you take stock. You’re not dressed for any sort of confrontation in lounge pants and socks.

“Here. Start treating your legs and arms,” you say, pressing gauze and wound wash into the man’s hands.

“Where are you going?!” he protests.

“Need to prep to leave,” you explain. “Shout if you hear anything.”

He doesn’t look thrilled, but you’re already up and hurrying to the bedroom. You climb into a thick pair of cargos – relieved that your fashion sense hasn’t improved since the army – and a thermal shirt. Your pistol is waiting in the side pocket of your duffel, loaded and holstered. The weight of it is comforting against your thigh; you’ve missed it.

You grab the bags and carry them back to the door, check your watch. It’s only been four minutes. If Soap isn’t back in another six, you’re going out to get him yourself, injured civilian be damned. Everything you’ve gone through together; you’re not going to lose your best friend to some overdramatic wanker with a knife.

“What are you doing now?!” the man asks.

You give him another once over. He’s done a decent job prioritizing the worst scrapes and cuts, they look clean enough. Most importantly, he seems less faint than when you left. Giving him something to focus on must have helped.

“Checking the car. We’re leaving as soon as Soap gets back,” you answer.

“A-at least give me something to protect myself with!”

You try not to sigh in annoyance. What good would he even be, unable to walk and shaky on adrenaline? Still, you take pity and tug the knife from your boot, offer it to him handle first.

“Not the gun?” he complains.

“No.”

You jog out to the car, gun in one hand and duffels in the other. It’s raining again, getting harder by the moment. There’s a steady, sharp pain radiating throughout your leg, threatening to knock it out from under you. You grit your teeth as you toss the bags in the backseat and move to the ignition.

And the car doesn’t start.

“Shit.”

You don’t waste time trying it again. It should be in perfect condition; it must have been tampered with.

When you approach the house again, you hear shouting from inside. You pick up the pace, nearly skid across the wooden floor when you get there. The man is huddling up by the couch, white knuckling the knife.

“I-I heard something!”

“Where?” you demand, scanning the immediate area. Thank fuck that Soap’s seanair believed in minimalism.

“In the back.”

You frown. “The only way in is through windows back there, and those are locked.”

Right?

“I know what I heard!”

“Stay here, then.”

You click the safety off and pad the short hallway to the bedroom. Don’t bother announcing yourself, or any idiotic “who’s there”. You kick the unlatched door open and sweep through the room just like you would for a raid. The tiny lamp on the nightstand is still on, illuminating the sparse space.

You check under the first bed, then sidestep and tilt your head to check the other. Nothing.

“There isn’t—”

The window is open. The window is fucking open. How?!

You spin on your heel, just in time to see a hauntingly familiar mask bent over the gurgling body of the man. There’s no hesitation as you raise the gun and fire twice, but the killer has already rolled out of the way. Well fuck that.

You rush from the bedroom, fire another two into the couch as you round the corner. He’s a fast fucker, waiting by the wall adjacent to the hall as you exit. And he’s fucking big. Slams into your side – your bad side – like a tank. It fucks your balance, and you go down with a snarled curse, winded as all his weight lands on your much smaller frame.

On training and instinct, you slam your elbow back. There’s a crunch, a grunt of pain. But damn him, he doesn’t let up. A big hand finds yours on the gun. You yelp as he squeezes hard enough to feel the bones bend. The gun fires – bang, bang, bang. His head is right by yours, the hard edge of his mask pressing into your temple, panting in your ear.

You lash out with your other arm, though your aim is off. Instead of hitting his throat, you get his jaw instead. You plant your boot on the floor and push, trying to get out from under him. Instead, he rolls with your back against his chest. The gun clatters as he snakes a thick arm around your throat. You grab at his forearm, but you know you have no hope of matching him in strength.

You scrabble for the knife in your boot, but it’s gone.

Fuck, you gave it to—

The cabin ceiling is getting spotty.

Your fingers brush the killer’s leg, find a familiar shape tucked at the side of his boot. You snatch up the knife and drive it into his calf. He growls, but the arm on your throat blessedly disappears. You suck air, blinking past dark edges. Twist onto your front and blindly fumble for your gun.

Manage two shots right to his chest. He falls limp. You wait a beat, two. He doesn’t move again.

You click the safety on and holster the gun. And then, out of morbid curiosity, crawl closer to the body.

“Holy hell,” you breathe as you get a good look at the mask.

He’s wearing a skull over a black balaclava. Not just a prop either you realize when you tap at it. It’s real. Human. Thin cracks spiderweb along the front orbital bone, the corner of the eye socket – from where you elbowed him, you think. Beyond them, his eyes are closed and still, the skin painted black.

“Big scary fucker,” you murmur. And if you’re a bit admiring… well, it between you and a dead body. A couple dead bodies. Can’t forget about the other guy. “That was almost fun.”

“Kit!”

You jolt, barely able to hear Soap’s voice over the pounding rain, but relieved to hear it. A hiss escapes between your teeth as you get to your feet, hip protesting. You have to grab at the couch to catch your balance. Then brace yourself and walk carefully towards the door.

Your fingers are just centimeters from the doorknob when an arm wraps around your neck again. You flail, try to kick off the door, but it hardly even makes him stumble. Then there’s a sharp pinch in your arm, sibilant shushing by your ear, and the world goes dark.

The world comes to you in bits and pieces.

Something soft under you. A slight ache in your hip. Fabric around your bare legs. Voices? You think you recognize the rumble of Soap’s brogue, but not whoever he’s speaking to.

Soft golden light creeps past your fluttering eyelashes. Soap is sitting across the room on… a big floor cushion? You blink a couple times, adjusting your slightly blurred vision. But yep, that’s him, sitting on a gigantic pillow. And… is that his throat mic?

“Mm… John?” you call, rubbing at your eyes.

“Aye, Kit. Nice ‘n slow now. We’re alright.”

You hum and push yourself up, limbs heavy. Once you’re sitting, Soap speaks again. Gentle and calm.

“You remember what happened?”

You pause, frown. It comes to you in a slow trickle. The trip, the forest, the cabin… and then it floods back. The injured man at the door, the killer, the struggle. The ambush as you were going to meet Soap at the door.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Aye.”

You give him another once over. That’s not a throat mic; it’s a collar. A thick black leather thing, complete with a silver chain that trails off somewhere behind him. You stare for a second, bewildered.

“Don’t be jealous. You match.”

Your head whips around to the hulking figure in a doorway to your right. He’s just as imposing as you remember, tall and fucking built, dressed in all black and mask still on. The soft lighting casts spooky shadows across the eye sockets.

The words process a moment later and your hand darts up to your neck. Sure enough, there’s a wide leather band around your neck. You’ll give it this, though – you didn’t even notice it until he said something. Not too tight, comfortable even. Clearly made with long-term wear against skin in mind. There’s a chain attached to yours too and you follow it to an anchor in the wall.

“If it’s any consolation, ye look right bonnie,” Soap calls.

You snort. “’Course I do.”

The killer shrugs off the wall. You watch as he saunters closer in long, heavy strides. No point in scrambling away or trying to run – you’d have a limited radius of escape if he didn’t grab you first. Besides, you’re not about to cower to some spooky bastard with a couple dirty tricks up his sleeve.

He crouches down well within your reach, clearly not concerned about you lashing out. You tilt your head in defiance, meeting his eyes for a moment before he flicks his gaze down. He reaches out, gloved fingers catching your chin. Not hard, but firm enough that there’s no arguing when he tilts your chin up.

Fabric brushes the sensitive skin of your neck, above and below the collar.

“Pretty kitty,” he purrs. “Glad I didn’t bruise this lovely neck.”

Two fingers press against one side a little harder, edging beneath the leather. You recognize the gesture as you swallow. He’s checking your pulse. You’re proud that it’s still steady and unhurried.

“Not scared?” He doesn’t say it like it’s a question.

You arch your eyebrows. “Should I be?”

His eyes flicker. “Not if you behave.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, resisting a sneer. Past his shoulder, Soap is watching with a smirk. Unharmed, you note again. He’s fine. You’re fine, despite slight soreness from the brief struggle. If there was something to be concerned about (apart from the obvious) he would have let you know right off the bat. So, you take a calculated risk.

“Yeah? And what do you consider behaving?” you ask.

The corners of the killer’s eyes crinkle. You knew enough masked men back in the military to recognize a hidden smile. He’s amused by your snarky question. Another good sign.

“Good pets obey their masters.”

You blink, breath leaving you in a soft rush. It… makes sense. Just not the answer you expected. Stupid, maybe, given the collars, leashes, and dog beds. You’ll have to blame the lingering drugs.

“There are so many shelters, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you blurt, bewildered.

The man snorts, hooks a finger under your collar and gives an almost playful tug. An entirely instinctive part of you catches its breath. You’re glad he’s not measuring your pulse anymore.

“Those can’t talk back,” he answers simply, shrugging.

Soap barks a laugh. “Well, you’ll get what you asked for with us then.”

You grin crookedly, showing all your teeth. “And then some,” you agree, reaching up to tug the hand from your collar.

He jerks harder this time, unbalancing you towards him. You catch yourself on both hands, feel a blaze of heat across your nose and glare up at him through your lashes.

“No touching, kitten,” he says. “You’ll have to earn that.”

You try not to roll your eyes, not quite willing to push your luck too far yet. But it’s a near thing.

“Sure, let me get right on that,” you scoff dryly anyway.

He clicks his tongue, but no further retribution comes save for one last warning tug. Then he’s standing, towering over you again.

“I need a shower. You two settle in.”

And he just walks off. Like he didn’t just take two former SAS operatives as human pets. You wait until you hear distant water before turning to Soap.

“What happened?”

“Ambushed me,” he grumbles, sitting back against the wall. “Snuck up as I was trying to get you untied. Bastard is trained.”

Soap’s pouting, even though there’s an entire police case of victims who weren’t as lucky as him.

“Trained like us, you mean?”

“Aye.” Soap pauses, looking at the floor pensively, brows furrowing. “Means he had every reason and way to hurt us.”

You nod. “He had me in a hold and his knife hand free. Could have done anything with it. Let me stab him instead.”

Soap hums. “And, well, there’s a basement. Could have brought us there too, I reckon.”

He glances at the doorway the killer was lingering in when you woke. You get what he’s saying – or not saying, as it were. The two of you are hale and whole only because the killer decided to make it so. Because, as all evidence seems to suggest, he wants pets.

“You figure he means it? About… us?” you wonder.

Soap shrugs. “He’s no reason ta lie.”

That’s what you’re worried about.

“News says he’s a sadist,” you point out. “His idea of a pet might be...”

“Aye, but then why do all this?” He gestures to the big soft beds, which you know must have been a bit expensive for their size and comfortability, and the well-made leather collars. You’ve even got a blanket at your feet for the cool air. “Nae, I think even sadists miss a bit ‘o companionship now n’ then.”

You hum. Makes sense, in the part of you that’s seen the worst humanity has to offer and risen up to greet it. You’ve seen plenty of shit, plenty of people, and the things they’re capable of. But even “monsters” go home to family, to hobbies, to entirely wholesome things that they enjoy just because.

That’s the hard part about war. Seeing the most depraved and evil examples of humanity and reconciling that they have qualities one can recognize in themselves.

“The plan, then?”

“Say we go along with it for now,” Soap says, shrugging. “Not like we could get free as we are anyway.”

You hum in agreement. The chain is clipped to the wall anchor by a thick padlock, and feeling at the collar earlier, you know it’s the same on the other side. The collar itself is too high-quality to come apart without something sharp. So you’re stuck. Even if you did will a lockpick into existence, you’ve no intel on the rest of the house or even where you’d go from the house.

“But listen, Kit, I’m no’ gonnae let anything happen to you. If this gets violent, I’ll tear the walls apart with my hands if I hafta.”

You smile, wish suddenly and fiercely that you could hug him. He looks like he could use it; god knows you could.

“I know, John,” you soothe. “I will too.”

He nods, jaw twitching, then sighs and sits back again. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, digesting the plan. You take an actual look at the room you’re in – a den, it seems like. A fireplace in one corner, a decent sized couch to your left. Beyond it, you can see a clean and modern kitchen. There’s a coffee table, end tables, lamps, a goddamn rug. It’s downright cozy; like something out of a magazine.

“Nice voice, though, aye?” Soap chirps suddenly, snapping your gaze back to him.

“Soap.”

“Och, don’t ‘Soap’ me,” he grumbles. “You look me in the eye and tell me tha’s no’ a voice made fer sex.”

And damn him, you can’t.

“Can’t say I was thinking about his voice when he was waving a big knife at me.”

“He can wave his big knife at—”

“I’m gonna kill you myself—” You snarl, balling up your blanket and chucking at his stupid, wiggling eyebrows.

“Oi, you two,” aforementioned sexy voice chastises from the hallway.

You wrinkle your nose as Soap grins at you, a shadow in the corner of your vision as the killer comes into the room again. He brings a cloud of clean water and bergamot. He smells good.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you hiss, dismayed.

“Problem?” the killer asks.

He’s got the mask on again (or still? You hope he doesn’t shower with it on, that’s unsanitary) but you can hear him arching an eyebrow. Stubbornly, you turn away to glare at Soap some more. It’s obvious he realizes what you’re referring to from the way he smothers a snicker, though.

Shithead.

You don’t get away with it for long before a hand is pulling your jaw up. Rough only because you resist for the briefest fraction. Once he’s got your face where he wants it, though, your captor’s grip isn’t painfully tight.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, kitten. Understood?”

Your hand twitches to grab at the hold but remember what he said about touching without permission. Stubborn as you may be, you’re not actively trying to incite violence against you or Soap. The plan is to go along with… whatever this is. So you swallow a bit of your pride.

“Understood.”

He hums like that’s not quite the answer he wanted, but it’s acceptable for now.

“Now, is there a problem?” he asks again.

“Apart from the kidnapping?” you snip. “Everything is right as rain.”

He snorts, smooths his thumb over your chin, slow and dangerous. You go still, refuse to falter but careful not to provoke further.

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he muses almost to himself.

“Must have expected it,” you reason honestly, “know you watched us for a few days.”

He tilts his head, eyes eerily unblinking within the unholy shadows of the skull. “Longer’n that, pretty thing.”

You open your mouth but don’t know what to say. Longer than the days at the cabin? How long? And how did you and Soap not notice?

Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by fabric gliding over your bottom lip. His thumb threatening to slip past. You snap your jaw closed, nearly catch the tip of his finger in your teeth. He chuckles and finally releases you, making for the nearby couch.

He settles in with sigh and flicks on the TV. There on the screen is a flashing headline:

Another Ghost Victim Found.

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #serial killer ghost #serial killer au #scottish cabin in the woods #scitw

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