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sleepyangelkami · 6 months

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MAKE IT BETTER e.williams

☆ WORD COUNT - 2.7K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - patrol gone wrong, bumping into the wrong people and landing yourself in a situation where you can do nothing but cry and hope that your girlfriend and saviour can make everything better. her empty promises remain unsure on whether she can truly fix it or not.

☆ WARNINGS - guns, violence, blood, gunshot wound, angst, crying, swearing, gore, use of pet names, tinsey mention of smut (blink n it's gone), use of 'good girl' but not in a sexual way, intended lower case, happy ending guys dw!! nothing I write is ever proofread 🩷

your pants were heavy, blood gushing between your finger tips as your breaths heaved and your eyes blinked.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

your girlfriend was nowhere to be seen. weird, she was with you possibly five minutes ago. you had gotten separated when you needed her the most, as soon as she left your line of view, everything turned to shit. your wound bled at an alarming pace, blood oozing out between your fingers which desperately hung to your side in attempts to soothe it.

"where are you?" came the voice of a man, the man in which that had impaled your stomach with his knife already. there was no way you could escape him. he was too fast, too slick, too sly. "you can hide all you want but that wound is gonna slow you down." his voice sounded almost playful, as if he were having fun. perhaps he was, perhaps this was his idea of a good time. "i'm gonna find you eventually..." you could hear his footsteps walking around. "that's okay, i like a good chase."

the thought of him winning, grabbing a hold of you and doing whatever it was he was going to do, your stomach churned. you felt dizzy, partially at the thought, partially due to the blood around your stomach.

how did you even end up here?

"please, els." you were begging now, eyes big and glossy. how could ellie refuse? if there was one thing ellie could call a 'weakness' though she refused she had any, it was you.

she sighed, rolling her eyes. "sweetheart, why do you wanna come on patrol with me?" patrol could mean many things. it could mean going to each checkpoint and ticking off the boxes that there was no suspicious activity while holding hands and skipping. it could mean fighting a bunch of clickers while you yelled and stumbled about. ellie particularly hated taking down zombies when you were around. you were bashful, clumsy. sure, she loved you more than anything in the world but that was just it. she loved you so she didn't take her eyes off you, making sure you were safe rather than taking down the stalker running at her. sometimes, patrol meant being bent over one of the tables in the station, taking her strap like the good girl you were. patrols were never the same.

whatever would come of this patrol, you didn't care for there was only one thing on your mind. "wanna spend time with you." snuggling up against her.

as the air grew colder, you grew needier. there was nothing you loved more than being able to spend time with your lover especially in the cold winters of jackson. whether that was on patrol or snuggled together in your bed, you just wanted her.

her lips had pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of your head, smiling into your hair. "you're cute." you were naive, you knew it but you had ellie williams wrapped around your little finger. and she'd never know.

you stuck your head out from her chest, big grin dancing on your lips. "so can i go?" excitement bubbling in your chest. you hated it when ellie left you alone to go on patrol. more often than not you'd spend your time cooped up in the house, alone. ellie had begged dina and jesse to come get you multiple times, bring you outside for some fresh air or simply join you in the company of your home. but it didn't matter if jesus himself walked into your living room. as long as your girlfriend was away at patrol, you were a pouting mess. which is why you often opted for being alone. you would hate to think that you were making dina and jesse sad.

she rolled her eyes, lips turning up at their corners. "I guess, you can." and she heard that squeal that erupted from you, giggling as you jumped up and down. she could only roll her eyes again, though her smile was growing wider. she loved the days when you smiled, she hated the days when you cried. "c'mon, baby, we gotta go find your scarf." the white one in which has been lost for months now.

"you're not gonna find it." you shook your head as she searched the room, you had seated yourself up on the desk, legs dangling as your tongue danced across the lollipop between your fingers. when ellie said 'we have to find' she really means 'i' for she wouldn't dare let you lift a finger. if she had it her way, she'd be the one holding the lollipop to your mouth.

"yeah?" sticking her head out from the box she had been searching. her hair was sticking up in all directions. she left for patrol early in the morning, there was no point looking then. "why not?"

you shrugged your shoulders, tongue swirling around to taste the strawberry. " 's not gonna be there, been lookin' for ages." when you 'looked' for things, you barely skimmed, standing up and eyes bouncing off every wall in the room. you'd have given up in seconds.

there was a smirk dancing on her lips as her feet moved her to where you sat on the desk. her fingers reached up, taking the lollipop from your hold. "maybe you haven't been looking hard enough, angel." her tongue fell onto the strawberry sweet, swirling around. you stared, hypnotised. there was something about the way she carried herself, that small, almost hidden smirk and the way she spoke. it made your stomach do cartwheels. but as you watched her tongue swirl around the lollipop that was only in between your lips a second ago, you found your thighs clenching together. how was it that she was the only one who made you feel this way? when she passed it back to you, your eyes were still strained on her lips and the little freckles above it, your stomach swooned and your head suddenly felt rather ditzy. you couldn't pull your eyes away from her lips. until, that was, she pulled out the scarf from behind her back. "found it." she spoke, before her lips met your own.

the lollipop wasn't the only thing you sucked that night (i'm so sorry)

you heaved out breaths, unsure of what to do. your brows were knit together in worry. "come on, angel, make this easy for me, won't you?" you squeezed your eyes shut closed. you wanted to be home by the fire with ellie, you wanted to be away from this man that made your hands shake and your stomach bleed.

you were sat behind a flipped over car, hands practically vibrating from how much they were shaking. where was ellie? you had lost sight of her ages ago, right before a knife had been plunged into your stomach. you didn't scream then, you wondered if she even knew you had been stabbed.

the man knew you were here, he hadn't seen ellie yet. you hadn't seen him at first, thinking the checkpoint was clear. it wasn't until your girlfriend grasped the edge of your scarf, bringing you down to crouch behind a wall with her that you realised you were not alone. when a bottle knocked over, he realised he wasn't alone either.

you were supposed to stay put, wait until ellie snuck up and attacked him before finding her. but you got worried, your stomach churned and your lip had been bitten raw. it had been too long since you'd seen her and you were beginning to get worried. you made the stupid choice of leaving your hiding space to go find her. now, you were sat with your hands holding the wound that you knew was your own fault.

"come out and i'll go easy." he was going to kill you, if the wound in your stomach didn't. your breaths began to get even more laboured. you didn't want to die. you still had so much you wanted to do. you couldn't die, not now, not because of him. the air grew silent, his foot steps stopped. somehow, it seemed even more scary when you couldn't tell where he was. you held one bloody hand over your mouth, covering it so he couldn't hear you breathe. the air was thick and your head turned, barely peaking over the edge of the car. you turned back, a face right next to you. "found you."

a scream fell from your lips, a blood curdling scream as you snatched your hand away.

you tried to run, thrashing against him as you made a swift exit. he grasped your wrist and despite the knife in your stomach, you kicked your leg upwards, hitting him right in the balls (dina had taught you well) it stumped him for a second and you barely managed to move away.

he let you think you could be free, he didn't allow the thought to last too long though. his hand reached out and grasped a hold of your leg, sending you flying to the ground.

you fell, knife piercing your stomach further. it hadn't been too deep earlier, but now? you were sure you were already dead. you didn't scream but your mouth was open, breaths falling irregularly. you wouldn't have been able to turn around until he flipped you over, he'd climbed on top of you.

he held another knife, pressing it against your tear stained cheek as he grinned. "I really did a number on you, didn't I angel?" his fingers danced on the top of the knife in your stomach. you almost wished he'd stick it in further and simply put you out of your misery. "how about i end this and just―"

it had ended, alright.

you watched as an arrow pierced straight through his scull, bloody edge sitting right between your eyes, not grazing your skin. his own mouth fell open, as yours had only he had been unlucky enough to not be able to close it. his eyes rolled back to the back of his head and his body slid off of yours.

crying, you managed to sit yourself up, back against the mossy wall, the knife was plunged in deep, your hands covered in blood, as was your face. "angel?" her voice was sweet and concerned, nothing alike his cold, teasing one. "shit, shit!"

"ellie?" you practically babbled, hands holding the knife. "hurts."

"i know, i know." despite her rushed tone, she still sounded so comforting. "you're gonna be okay, i'm right here, baby." and you almost believed her until you took notice of just how bloody your hands were. it was a deep red, coating every inch of them, you stared at them, unable to move. "can i have this?" she was already unwrapping the white scarf from across your neck. "thank you, sweetheart, you're doing so good." her words would have made your heart swell if it weren't for the fact that your eyes could barely stay open. "I have to take it out, okay?"

your eyes suddenly went wide, as if they hadn't been sleepy at all. you shook your head, tears falling rapidly. "els, no." a whimper falling from your lips. "don't wanna, please." you would have begged her not to. but you knew it wasn't fair. she was trying to help you, she had to help you but you didn't want her to rip the knife from your stomach.

"i know, baby but i have to." she moved you so that you fell limp against her shoulder. the knife twisted in your stomach. "hold my hand, there you go." your hand was in her own, holding it hard. "you can squeeze as hard as you want, okay? ready? three, two―" you cried into her shoulder, holding her hand so hard it might have fallen off if it weren't for the fact that she was holding on just as hard. "good girl, good girl, you did so well, see? it's done, it's over."

she used the scarf to tie around your waist, tightening it so she could keep the pressure. you watched as the red blood soaked the white fabric. " 'm gonna die, aren't i?" babbling as you cried into her shoulder, you couldn't pull your eyes from the blood that left your stomach. though, the pain had dulled and your eyes were heavy. "don' wanna die."

"hey, hey, look at me." your face sat between her palms as she looked into your eyes, comfort leaking into your heart as soon as she did so. "you're not gonna die, alright? you're gonna be fine, els' gonna make it all better, won't she?" speaking about herself in third person as if she wasn't right there.

you nodded, salty tears falling down your cheeks. "you're gonna make it better." you nodded to yourself, eyes opening and closing heavily.

"yeah, yeah i'm gonna make it all better. stay awake, baby, come on, open those pretty eyes f'me." but as much as she willed you to, your eyes couldn't stop fluttering open and closed, heavily blinking at her. "you're gonna be just fine, hold on, baby."

you didn't register when she hauled you onto shimmer, turning you so that your body was limp against her front, head leaning against her chest. you didn't register much actually. the pain dulled and the girl continued to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. but you couldn't hear now, too caught up in the ringing and how bright the sky seemed to be. your eyes were scrunched shut, head in her chest as you wished and prayed on every star that you'd wake up inside your shared home in jackson, eyes opening to reveal you sleepily smiling on ellie's chest.

you could pray all you want, there was no god coming to save you only ellie williams.

the sound of yelling made you open your eyes against the harsh light. you could make out the muffled yelling of the paramedics taking you away, yelling for certain materials. your eyes were strained on ellie who was being held back by one of the male nurses, James, you were sure his name was. you knew him because he and ellie hated one another. you remembered ellie telling you he was jackson's biggest dickhead and that she'd love to give him a 'knuckle sandwitch' which made you laugh in the moment but right now, nothing could make you laugh. your eyes never left her, though, even after she found her first swinging at the man and suddenly joel was there, holding her back while everyone crowded around the commotion.

when you woke, you were, unfortunately, not in the comfort of you and ellie's home. but you must say, it was much better than the place you had been sitting before, all mucky and bloody.

you blinked, eyes adjusting to the light. "hi, baby." ellie's soft voice as you blinked at her, attempting to get up. "nuh-uh, rest." she pushed your shoulders down softly.

"where am i?" you mumbled softly. you knew where you were but the dosage of your painkillers was so high that you could barely recognise the colour of the bedsheets. and yet, you could see her so clearly, your angel, your saviour, your knight in shining armour.

"med shaft." she spoke, hand holding yours as her thumb brushed against your knuckles.

your eyes glanced down to her hand that was covered with a white bandage. "you hit him." you murmured softly. "the nurse."

"he wouldn't let me see you." she spoke, as if she were defending her own actions. which, she sort of was. "had to make sure my angel was okay, didn't i?"

"you made it better." just like she said she would. ellie didn't lie to you, she wouldn't.

"yeah, i did." she seemed proud of herself. she should be. she saved your life. and if you weren't so loopy right now you would have given her a whole speech and the cuddles of a lifetime.

"thank you." was all you could muster, for now.

"of course, sweetheart." she just wished she could have done more. you shouldn't be here in a hospital bed right now, she should have never left you in the first place, guilt consumed her but she shook it off with a small smile. "we're gonna have to get you a new scarf though." cringing slightly.

"no point." sloppy grin on your face. "jus' gonna loose it again anyway."

she leaned down, pressing a short kiss to your lips. "then i'll help you find it."

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

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cobaltperun · 3 days

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OOOH ive been waiting for this one. can we get some soft bottom!sam smut with a top!reader (gn or fem, both is okay) where sam is insecure and isnt used to not being in control, but r shows her its okay and takes good care of her 🤭

for a backstory (if you want to make it longer with more depth and don't have any ideas for the backstory) r and sam have been together since tara and sam moved to new york & r saved her and tara, but got hurt in the process.

obviously you dont have to take this request if youre uncomfortable! either way, i still love your content and hope you stick around this hellhole of a site :)

You're Safe

Bottom Sam Carpenter x Top Female Reader (Request) (Smut - minors do not interact)

Masterlist

Word count: 2.7k

You finally managed to get inside the old theatre by breaking one of the windows. You heard gunshots and while you weren’t all that familiar with Ghostface, you just weren’t all that into horror, though you did hear about Woodsboro killings. Even when you met Sam you wanted to give her a chance to open up to you at her own pace instead of searching for details on the internet. But even you knew Ghostface wasn’t known for using guns.

Your adrenaline skyrocketed, and your sense of self-preservation apparently vanished, because you were running in the direction the gunshots came from. You didn’t even know if Sam or Tara were alive, and you hoped both of them were because if something happened to Tara, and Sam survived she would never forgive herself.

“Come on Sam, you better be okay,” you should have went in with her, if you were already going to break in, you should have tried harder to convince her. Another gunshot made you run faster and you barged into the huge open area filled with glass cases and the big stage with Ghostface figures on it. There was a movie playing, but none of that mattered, Sam was holding Tara over the fence as some guy swung his knife beneath Tara’s feet.

You rushed forward, tackling the man at the cost of getting the knife deep inside your guts as Sam shouted your name and then it all became hectic.

~X~

You grunted, the smell of medicine hit you like a truck, you always hated that smell. Yet, here you were, in the hospital, recovering from three stab wounds to your guts. “Damn, I’m so happy Tara killed that fucker,” you grunted as you tried to sit up.

“Hey, easy, don’t move so suddenly,” you heard Sam rushing to your side and helping you sit up as you finally opened your eyes and looked at her in utter shock.

“Sam? Why are you here?” you asked and her face fell at your question. Shit, that sounded so wrong. You smacked your forehead. “I meant here instead of with Tara, not here as in I don’t want you here. It’s just that you should be with Tara,” you fumbled over your own words desperately trying to fix your mistake.

It seemed to work as Sam looked at you, a soft smile sneaking onto her face. “You don’t hate me?” she asked fearfully, and you hated hearing her like that. Sam was strong, she feared nothing except losing Tara, and hearing her afraid right now, over something like this made you wish to hold her close and never let her go, never allow anything to hurt her again.

“Sam, hey,” you opened your arms and encouraged her to come closer, and though reluctantly she hugged you, her head resting on your chest as she listened to your heartbeat. “I could never hate you, none of what happened is your fault,” you kissed the top of her head as you held her closer and softly combed your fingers through her hair.

“You saved Tara from a serious injury,” her voice wavered. “She’s with Mindy, visiting Chad, by the way,” she told you.

“She saved me as well,” you remembered trying to stop the knife from reaching your throat when Tara came in and kicked the man, Ethan, away from you and slit his throat. By the time she helped you up to your feet because it still wasn’t over Sam and Bailey fell down and you and Tara rushed to Sam.

Sam opened her mouth to speak, but before she could the doors of your hospital room opened and you both looked back, startled, at Tara and Mindy standing there.

“Well, well, well, Sammy can’t resist her cute girl,” Tara teased with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen on her face.

Sam blushed and jerked away from you, hitting you stomach by accident. “Shit, Y/N!” she exclaimed when you winced and clutched at the still recovering wound.

“Damn it, Sam, we were teasing, don’t kill her to hide the evidence, poor girl,” Mindy scolded your girlfriend and you somehow managed to raise a thumbs up.

“Still alive and kicking,” you grunted just happy that Sam didn’t reopen the wound. “It takes me back actually,” you nudged Sam with your elbow and found some satisfaction in her face getting even redder.

“I’ll see you later!” she stormed out, and though it hurt, you had to laugh at how embarrassed she got. “Tara, Mindy, come on!” she demanded before the two girls could interrogate you on what you meant.

You just waved at the three of them and lay back on your bed when the doors closed.

You’ve been living in New York for two years now, and you’ve been in your current apartment since about a year ago when the guy living there moved away for a better job. You didn’t think that would lead you to eventually meeting Sam. A bit over half a year ago you were just coming back from work when you saw a beautiful, tall woman going down the stairs. She just drew you in, right from the start. Eventually you started talking and while it began about as casually as it could you and Sam managed to build something solid despite sneaking around and acting like a couple of teenagers.

It didn’t stop you from falling for her, for her fierce protectiveness over her sister and friends, for her kindness hidden behind the walls that needed to be studied, even though they were completely understandable given everything that happened to her. And well, she did flip you over once when you made the mistake of trying to sneak up on her once. In your defense, you had no idea about her involvement in Woodsboro at that point, it was still very early in your relationship and you didn’t think she would just go and throw you down and twist your shoulder. She apologized profusely for that and told you bits and pieces about her life. There were still things you didn’t know, but you pieced enough things together to get the more or less nearly full picture.

And damn, that was the day you discovered you had a thing for a woman that could kick your ass into next week and that what you had was actually really serious.

~X~

About a month since Bailey and his family tried to kill Sam you were lazing around in your living room, just listening to music and chilling with a warm cup of tea next to you. There was a knock on your doors and you damn near wanted to pretend you weren’t home, because you were cozy and didn’t feel like leaving your blanket behind, but maybe it was something important so you groaned, decided to act like a responsible twenty-eight years old woman and got up.

And you were glad you did because you found an annoyed Sam in front of your doors. “Tara and the twins want an apartment to themselves. I, apparently, worry too much that they’ll get a cold by studying on the floor,” she grumbled.

“Well, come on in,” you grinned, pulling her inside and kissing her on the lips. She moaned, her hands gripping your shirt as you pushed her against the now closed doors. Sam opened her mouth as you slid your tongue over her soft lips. You missed this so much, you wanted to get her on your lap, to kiss her, make out with her, to make her moan, but she wanted to make sure you were completely fine, even though your wounds were healed for a few weeks now.

Judging by the way her tongue pushed against your own, and how she was pressing her body against yours you figured it was no longer an issue. Until your phone buzzed in your pocket. You tried to ignore it, separating from Sam’s lips and leaving kisses down her chin and jaw, all the way to the side of her neck as your phone kept buzzing.

“You should see who it is,” she knew how it felt to worry about someone not answering her texts or calls and while she really wanted to keep kissing you she didn’t want anyone to be worried about you like she so often used to be worried about Tara. “Please do, actually. I’m not leaving anytime soon. They won’t let me back in,” she reminded you when you reluctantly took your phone from your pocket.

She watched your eyes widen and then a mischievous grin appeared on your face as you tucked the phone away and lifted her up.

Now, Sam was stronger than you, but you could carry her if needed, and right now you somehow decided you needed to do that. “Y/N?” she laughed, trusting you but still wanting to know what this was for.

“They threw you out, hm?” you teased taking her to the living room and grinning as her face turned completely red. “I got a text from Tara, and I quote: Sam is lying, she just missed you and she might also be horny. One word per text, hence all that buzzing,” the look on her face told you Tara was telling the truth.

“So, any chance we can go straight to the bedroom?” Sam asked sheepishly as she wrapped her arms around your shoulders.

“Of course,” you pecked her on the lips and made your way through your apartment to the bedroom. “Let me take care of you tonight,” you gently lowered her onto your bed and lifted the hem of her shirt a bit. You looked her in her eyes, seeking permission as she bit her lower lip.

“You don’t have to,” she said, she trusted you, she really did, but she struggled to relax and let you take control. It wasn’t about you; it was the very act itself that made her feel vulnerable. Yet, as you looked at her so softly, as you wrapped your arms around her waist and showed her nothing but patience and love, she found herself gradually lowering her guard.

“I’ll pause or completely stop whenever you want me to,” you reassured her, you understood it completely, her needs, her worries, everything. “I love you,” those three words pushed the feeling of guilt away and her gaze lingered on your eyes, on your lips, on the clear message: ‘Take as long as you need, I’ll be here, I’ll never hurt you.’

So, she pushed against your shoulders until you were beneath her and she was straddling your lap. She swallowed hard, grinding slightly against your thigh. “I love you too,” she confessed as you began kissing. She shivered as your hands gripped her hips, firm and steady, as she rocked her hips against you. Your lips felt like fire against her own, especially when you paid extra attention to switch between softly brushing against her lips, just teasing her until she had to deepen the kiss and hot, lip biting, tongues deep inside either of your mouths kisses she couldn’t get enough of.

“Sam,” you sighed, your left hand ghosting over her back. She tilted her head back as you began kissing her neck. Your teeth grazed her skin, biting softly and soothing the skin with your kisses. Sam swallowed her, breathing deeply as her hands lifted your shirt up over your head. Her fingers slid over your skin, your back, your arms, your still covered breasts and stomach. She needed the softness, the gentle way you loved her, and she needed it even more when her thumb caressed the scars you got because you got involved with her.

“We survived, Sam,” you whispered in her ear, moaning softly when she started grinding on you faster. “You’re okay, I got you,” you wouldn’t betray her, ever, she was sure of that and her guard crumbled as she let out a small moan escape past her lips.

Your heart soared when you heard Sam’s moan, it was a rare occasion, she usually only became vocal when she was close, and this was nowhere near enough to get her there. You took her shirt and bra off. “I need you so much,” you sighed against her neck and squeezed her breast, your thumb circled around her nipple as it hardened.

“I need you too,” she said, completely giving up control as you flipped the two of you around once more and lied down next to her so she wouldn’t feel caged in by you.

You pulled her jeans and panties down, getting her naked and just taking the sight in. Her toned body, her abs, biceps, the fact that she was this strong, physically and mentally, yet she still trusted you enough to take control drove you mad.

You invaded all of her senses. Your warm palm teasing her thighs as you left kisses on her shoulders and breasts, and the feel of your hair between her fingers as she spread her legs for you. And the scent, your own scent mixing with the spreading scent of her arousal as she progressively got wetter. The sound of your lips releasing her nipple with a pop and your tongue sliding across her breast to her neck, all the way to her ear. The look of pure lust and desire and all the love you felt for her in your eyes, and the taste of your kiss still lingering on her lips. You were all she could feel, and she couldn’t stop the whimper leaving her parted lips as you finally, finally, touched her pussy lips.

You were slow, methodical, each of your strokes bringing you closer to your goal, each time bringing you closer and closer to her opening, and with each stroke you felt Sam clinging to you harder than before. Her hands dropped to your back, nails digging into your shoulderblades just hard enough for you to feel them, but nowhere nearly hard enough to pierce through the skin. She moaned, louder, without restriction as you parted her lips and dipped your finger into her warm, wet hole. “I got you,” you assured her, feeling her shuddering as you moved the wet finger from her opening to her clit and gently massaged it.

“You got me,” Sam rasped, making sure you knew she felt safe, this exposed and vulnerable with you. She moaned as you kissed down her stomach. She looked down as you gave her a small smirk and flicked her clit with your mouth before pulling it between your lips and sucking on it. “Oh, fuck!” she hissed, breathing harder as you inserted two fingers into her, slowly stretching her out until you found her G spot.

Sam cried out, needing you closer, needing your lips on hers. “Y/N,” she gripped your shoulder, trying to tug you closer as the steady, gentle rhythm of your fingers pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

You understood her needs, you understood the grip on your shoulder and moved up, capturing her lips into a deep, sensual kiss as she hugged you, anchoring herself to you.

“I’m-“ she gasped, separating from your lips and arching her back as her pussy squeezed around your fingers. Her entire body quivered as a deep, guttural moan ripped through her throat. “Y/N!” she cried out, the sensations you’ve been building up fully pushing her over the edge.

You kissed her cheek and she turned to look at you, out of breath as you slipped your fingers out of her and just held her closer. “Thank you,” you whispered as Sam cradled your cheek and kissed you on the lips.

“You’re too good to me,” she sighed, her voice still slightly shaky as she spoke. She still leaned closer to you, letting you caress and massage her to help her as she got down from her high.

“Hush now, you deserve all the love,” you leaned down and flicked her still hard nipple. “Can you go on?” you asked, after all, you had her just for yourself for the whole night. Sam smiled and nodded and damn, you were going to love her all night long.

A/N: There you go Anon! I hope you'll like this 😁😁

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x female reader #scream #top reader #bottom sam carpenter #x reader #x female reader

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thisisourlovestory · 4 months

Text

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

part 2- the chronicles of a stargirl and her sun masterlist

Luke Castellan x reader

Summary- the first full day at camp where slight drama unfolds and you make a new friend

Word count- 5.4k

Notes- thank you @imaginingmoonlight again for the vibe (I don’t know what else to call it) and I’d also like to say that I was actually inspired to write this series by @tangledinlove because the killerverse is amazing and I love it so also thanks to her otherwise I wouldn’t have done this.

Taglist:

@abbersreads @tenshis-cake

“We've just got to find out what you're good at first.” Annabeth explained as you walked beside her. “It might be that you are just really bad at using weapons but don't feel bad. You barely nicked him and he was standing in the wrong place so it was technically his own fault.” You winced.

“I didn't mean to, I swear, it just kinda slipped out of my hand before I was ready.” Annabeth grinned.

“At least you know to never try to throw a javelin when we do sports unless you want to skewer someone.” You glared at her.

“I'm glad someone is enjoying my embarrassment. I could have killed him! And then what would happen? Besides, I don't think that helped my prospects of making any friends here other than you.” She waved a dismissive hand.

“You'll make friends. It's just that you're new and the circumstances were interesting to say the least. Also it is spring so there are way less people here than there will be in summer.” You sent her an unimpressed look.

“You can't talk. Everyone loves you. I'll bet even Mr D doesn't hate you as much as the rest of us.”

“That is a lie. Plenty of campers don't like me.”

“Oh really? Name one.” You crossed your arms over your chest as she struggled to answer. “Didn't think so.” You said smugly as she stuck her tongue out.

“We've got to get to the armoury. It's time to try out sword fighting.” You paled.

“Can we not skip it?”

“Not a chance.”

Annabeth rummaged through a pile of swords. Occasionally picking one up to show to you and immediately putting it back down at your face. You wandered around the armoury, glancing every once in a while at Annabeth to check she hadn't cut herself accidentally. Finally she emerged from the pile, holding a sword triumphantly above her head.

“This one is perfect.” She held it out and you gingerly took it. The bronze blade was sharp and shining, the smooth metal cold to the touch.

“I don't see why I can't just use my knife.” She sighed.

“Because it's not made of celestial bronze so it won't kill monsters. Now get out there, I'll be out in a moment to teach you some stuff.” You trudged out and took your place on the sawdust, swinging the sword from side to side, letting the tip brush the floor lightly. Annabeth followed out quickly and got into position.

“Just try and land a hit on me.” You gaped at her.

“You want me to try and hit you?” She shrugged.

“It's a good way to test if you have a natural ability for sword fighting” Without warning she swung her sword forward and you lifted your own to block the blow.

“Not bad.” She swung again and you stumbled back slightly to avoid the hit.

“So I just kinda,” You swept the sword in front of you and Annabeth jumped back to avoid it, “Actually I think that works.” Annabeth slashed her blade through the air and you ducked, sweeping your own out in a wide arc, hitting her ankles with the flat side of the blade. She hissed at the sting and narrowed her eyes as you rose up and smiled. She rained down a flurry of blows on you and you blocked each one as well as you could, ending up with a multitude of tiny nicks on your arms. You rolled onto the floor to dodge a particularly well aimed stab headed straight for your neck and twirled the sword in the air before thrusting it forward to just under her chin. Annabeth’s eyes widened in shock before a grin took over her face.

“Not bad, but-” She grabbed the hilt of your sword and twisted, forcing you to let go and allowing her to poke you lightly in the stomach. “I win.” She handed you back the sword and you stabbed it into the ground. “Rule number one is never let up your guard, always be expecting an attack. It’s what keeps you alive. But for your first time you did pretty good. Better than most, and with a little training you’ll be able to beat me.” You hummed.

“Maybe. But the sword feels…wrong in my hands. Like I shouldn’t be holding it.” Annabeth frowned.

“We do still need to try out some other weapons. You might like them more.” She turned and walked back to the armoury, gesturing for you to follow her. “You’re doing archery later but for now grab some knives or daggers and try to throw them at those targets over there.” You did as she instructed and gathered a collection of bronze knives, carrying them over to a bench and dumping them on it with a clatter. You squinted at a target, judging how far the distance was and picked up one of the knives.

“Wait for me before you throw them.” Annabeth started but you had already tossed it up into the air allowing it to spin and then caught it and threw it full speed across the room. In a blur it hit dead centre. Annabeth looked at you surprised. “I guess you can throw.” You were already throwing more knives at the other targets, each one making a dull thudding as they hit home in the bullseye. You huffed and pushed your hair out of your eyes as you finished, sweat dripping from your brow, eyes sparkling with exhilaration.

“That. Was. Amazing!.” You exclaimed and twirled on the spot. “Did you see that? It was so cool.” She nodded, calculating, but you didn't notice. Too caught up in your own achievement.

“Yeah those throws were scary accurate for a beginner.”

“I think we've found what I'm good at.” She laughed.

“Not so fast, you've still gotta try out archery. And Luke is helping with that. He couldn't help now cause he had to supervise the climbing wall. Make sure nobody gets burned alive that kind of stuff. But he's taking you for your first archery lesson later, responsibilities that come with being head counsellor of the Hermes cabin. That and none of the current Apollo kids stay year round yet.” She rambled and you watched with an amused smile. “Anyway we have to get going for lunch, since it's not summer and there's not so many people we don't have to sit at designated tables like usual, if we did most people would literally just be sitting by themselves and that's just sad.” Your stomach rumbled and you glared down at it before looking up at her sheepishly.

“I'm apparently incredibly hungry so please lead the way.” She rolled her eyes and discarded her sword in a pile, kicked open the door and began the fairly long walk to the mess hall. You both trudged past the cabins where all the other campers were also starting to walk to the mess hall. There weren't many at all, about twenty across all twelve cabins, chattering happily to one another as they walked in a clump. Everyone sat down on random benches, presumably with their friends, and piled the food that appeared on the tables onto their plates in mountains.

There was a varied selection of food, all stacked in heaps so they filled up all the available space, there was something for everyone. Breads, cheeses and cuts of meat spread out for a buffet style meal, pots of soup, bowls with all kinds of pasta, rice and meat coated in sticky sweet sauces. There were even baskets stacked with fresh fruit surrounded by tiny bite sized sweets covered in sugar. Annabeth grabbed some food for herself and picked up some meat from a pile that stained her fingers red.

“Try this it's good, It's beef marinated in some random sauce and then cooked on the barbecue. Nobody actually knows what's in the sauce but it's kinda spicy.” She paused thoughtfully. “And it has garlic in it. I think.” She licked her fingers, getting rid of the red stain as you followed her advice and plated some of the beef along with rice and a warm bread roll dripping with butter. Annabeth immediately made her way over to the fire and dropped some food into it, you snatched up a bunch of grapes and followed suit. As the grapes fell into the flames you shut your eyes and bent your neck slightly.

“Hi, it's me, again. I don't know who you are but could you maybe send a sign or something. It couldn't hurt. Could it?” You mumbled and straightened up as smoke rose into the air smelling like every kind of food you could ever imagine.

“I really can see why they like burnt food.” You stated as you sat down next to Annabeth at a table. “It smells annoyingly good.” You took a bite of food. “And that's delicious as well.” She smiled, taking a bite of her own food.

“Told you so.” You both ate in silence, too occupied with savouring every bite that you forgot to ask any questions. All too soon the lunch break was over and Annabeth was directing you to the archery field.

“So you basically just follow the path past the Big House and he said he'd be waiting for you there and if you got lost he'd go and find you.” She turned around as someone called her name and yelled back. “Give me a minute.” She looked back at you. “Have fun and I'll see you later at dinner.” She spun on her heel and ran off as you did the same and walked in the opposite direction.

You hummed quietly to yourself as you walked through the woods, the trees shading you from the sun. Dust from the path floated in the air as you kicked the stones from it and into the grass, other campers passed you once or twice, attempting to whisper to each other about you and failing as their voices rang out like foghorns through the otherwise silent trees. You passed the Big House and caught Chiron watching. You waved slightly and continued without waiting to see if he responded. After a few more minutes of walking you arrived at the archery field to see the targets lined up and a selection of bows laid on the grass ready for use. You looked around and saw nobody. Not a single soul in sight. He's probably just running late, you thought, Annabeth said he was head of the Hermes cabin though so he must be busy taking care of something. So you waited. You sat down on the damp floor and fiddled around, picking blades of grass and twisting them around your fingers as tightly as possible before they snapped, plucking daisies, weaving them into a crown and placing it on your head. You even resorted to picking up one of the bows, subsequently snapping the string across your hand and leaving a raised red line across the palm of it. Then you settled back down, made yourself comfortable and placed your chin in your hand. You hadn't meant to fall asleep but the night before had been almost sleepless, tossing and turning in an unfamiliar bed with unfamiliar people in some of the other bunks. So you somehow ended up drifting off with the warm heat of the sun on your back and a cool breeze blowing across your face.

You woke up just as suddenly as you had fallen asleep, an owl hooted softly and you realised it was growing dark. The sun almost completely set in the horizon, only a thin sliver of light peeking out from behind the trees. You got to your feet and began the march up to the cabins. It was most definitely too late for dinner but you remembered Annabeth mentioning there was a campfire tonight. You followed the smoke rising in the distance and the faint glow of the flames, tripping over the occasional dip in the ground and sliding over the grass. Shortly, you arrived at the campfire and Annabeth spotted you almost immediately, jumping to her feet and running over.

“Where were you?” She asked, an accusatory tone to her voice and a frown on her face. “I couldn't find you anywhere. And what is that in your hair?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” You mumbled, sitting down and reaching out for a stick; shoving a marshmallow onto it then holding it above the fire to toast.

“Did you suck at archery?” You laughed half heartedly at her question.

“I wouldn't know yet Annabeth.” She tilted her head and studied you puzzled before a look of understanding passed over her face.

“He didn't teach you any archery.”

“He didn't even bother to show up.” You corrected, pulling the marshmallow out of reach from the fire and blowing on it slightly as you grabbed two chocolate covered biscuits with the other hand and mashed the marshmallow between them. The chocolate melted, mixing with the gooey melted mess of marshmallow. You lifted it to your mouth and took a bite.

“And I don’t care at the moment. I just want to eat my smore. I forgot how good they were, do you want one?”

“No I already had some. I’ve been meaning to ask you, where did you get that hoodie from?”

“Oh it was waiting for me yesterday when I woke up. Probably just a spare one from lost and found since my clothes were ruined.”

“Right, lost and found.” Annabeth sat still for a second then grabbed your hand and dragged you around the campfire to the opposite side despite your protests.

“Why are you so freakishly strong?”

“I am not freakishly strong! And that hoodie, not from lost and found.” She stopped in her tracks as you looked at her confused.

“Huh.”

“Never mind, it’s just a hoodie. Now I have to have a little chat with Luke.” She continued to drag you until you both stood directly in front of him.

“Hey Annabeth.” Luke greeted her with a grin as he stopped talking to the people sitting around him. “What's up?”

“What's up?” She seethed. “What's up is I asked you to help earlier and you didn't want to so I pretty much begged until you said yes because I had something important on.” She took a deep breath and tears filled her eyes. “And then you didn't even do what you said you would.”

“Annabeth…”

“No don't,” She interrupted, “I don't know what exactly your problem is with Y/N since you seemed fine with her last night when she woke up but you're going to sort it out right now.” She punctuated her sentence by pushing you down next to him.

“Can we have a minute.” Luke said to the others and they all obliged, walking over to other people laughing and sneaking peeks back. “Annabeth, seriously why would you think I have a problem with Y/N?”

“You didn't want to help her, you made up fake excuses to get out of it and then you agreed but didn't follow through. So you have some kind of problem otherwise you wouldn't have done any of that.” She crossed her arms and you spoke up.

“Annabeth it's fine, really it's fine. I don't mind if Luke doesn't like me. It's not a big deal.”

“It's a big deal to me! I want you to be friends. And you'll be really good friends I swear. So can you sort out whatever is wrong and get along please. Ask each other some questions, get to know each other better. Say twenty each?” With that she ran back to the other side of the campfire to her siblings leaving you both staring after her in shock. After a moment Luke broke the silence.

“Where did you come here from?” You blinked and answered slowly.

“I lived in the UK until I was eight then moved to the USA because my parents got a job offer.” His eyes sharpened.

“Parents?”

“Yeah. I was adopted, I don't know who my real parents were. Suppose I might find out who one of them is someday though. How about you?”

“Grew up in Connecticut, ran away when I was nine.” You stared at him vaguely shocked. From everything you had heard from Annabeth, Luke was the golden boy and he had run away from home. It was hard to believe but the bitter look in his eyes quickly changed your mind.

“When you were nine. So you were homeless for how long?” He shrugged.

“Five years. But I'm here now, and I've got Annabeth and my half siblings.” You hummed and shuffled around on the log, crossing your legs and leaning forward on your hands facing him.

“How did you meet Annabeth?”

“Just before we arrived at camp, we were walking down an alley and she jumps out and almost knocks my head in with a hammer.” He laughed slightly. “We took her in and then we got here.” You tilted your head.

“We?” His expression changed immediately. “Don't want to talk about it. Got it.” He looked at you.

“Annabeth is my little sister. Not by blood but by choice. We’re family and it seems she wants you to be part of our family.”

“You are very close to each other having known each other for so little time.” He smiled slightly.

“I would say she’s easy to like but that’s not entirely true.”

“Yes she can be quite intense at times. And I’ve only known her a day, can’t imagine what she must be like once you’ve known her a bit longer than that.” You grinned at him and tilted your head. “Must be unbearable.”

“You get used to it. Annabeth is Annabeth, she’s smarter than everyone, always six steps ahead of everyone else, she’s an incredible fighter and along with that she’s stubborn as a mule. But I wouldn’t change anything about her because then she wouldn’t be Annabeth.” He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, holding his clasped hands in front of him.

“I am sorry I missed your archery lesson. I didn’t mean to I just got caught up practising.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Practising what?”

“Sword fighting. I’m supposed to be the best swordsman in three hundred years and I need to practise if I ever want to go on a quest.” You hummed noncommittally.

“I suppose that makes sense.”

You turned to look at the fire. The flames a bright yellow, dancing up into the sky, twisting and turning, bright against the darkness of the night. Your eyes followed the smoke, whispers of grey spiralling up, up, up into the atmosphere.

“I can give you the lesson now if you’d like.” Your eyes widened in surprise as you turned to face him.

“You would?”

“It’s the least I can do to make up for skipping out on you earlier.” He quickly stood up and held out his hand. “Coming?” You smiled brightly and grabbed his hand.

“Lead the way Castellan.”

“Remind me why we're in the armoury again.”

“You need a good bow before you can shoot right. So here we are.” He raised his hands and turned in a circle. “Take your pick.” You rummaged through the bows, picking one up occasionally to inspect it. There were so many different styles, some smaller, some larger, some metal, some wooden, some decorated and ornate; others as plain as could be. The difference between being inconspicuous and wanting to show off. You stepped over to a crate and pushed off the lid, letting it fall on the ground with a bang. You shuffled through the few bows stored in the crate, disgust filling your face at the ostentatious designs.

“Do people just use these to look cool?”

“Some of the Apollo kids definitely do. But they can shoot with any bow and make the shot so it doesn’t really matter to them.” He picked one up and held it out. “This one looks like it’d fit you.” You scrunched your nose.

“It’s too…much. Yeah, it’s too much.” You slid over to another rack and pulled some off.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever find…” Your voice trailed off as you picked one up from the very back, pulling it out of the pile that it was buried under. The bow was a smooth crescent, dipping in the middle, covered with strips of leather, with slightly curved ends, pointed and dipped in silver. The wood was engraved with miniature flowers and vines, each petal painted delicately with faded colours of red, blue and purple, the vines thin lines of green weaving through them. Your fingers floated over them, tracing each petal's outline with a look of wonderment on your face.

“Well how about this one?” You snapped your head up quickly, holding the bow close to your body, Luke raised his eyebrows. “You good?” You cleared your throat.

“This one. This is the one.”

“Are you sure? This one,” He waved the one in his hand in the air,”Is particularly nice and actually new, made only a couple of days ago.” You regarded the one he was holding with disdain. It was plain, nothing that made it stand out. It could not have been more unlike the one you held tightly in one hand, fingers flexing around the leather grip.

“No. This is the one, it’s perfect.” He sighed.

“Alright then, I’m not going to argue with you. Follow me.” He walked outside with you behind and stood in front of a target, illuminated by the dim light from torches lit up around the edge of the field. He steadied an arrow. “You pull back, straighten your aim and release.” He let go and the arrow landed just outside the bullseye. “Your turn.” You fiddled with the bow, stroking the leather nervously and tapping the sharp silver capped ends. He smirked teasingly. “Come on then. Or are you scared you won’t be good enough at it.” You scoffed and stomped over to him, grabbing an arrow and nocking it, pulling the string taut to your cheek and narrowing your eyes at the target.

“First of all, you’ll never hit the target like that. Lift your elbow. And widen your stance.” You shuffled your feet. “No, not quite. May I?” You nodded. “You need to just,” He moved behind you and placed one hand on your waist, the other on your arm and kicked one of your feet to the side, “That’s better. Now,” He lifted your elbow up. “Fire.” He whispered in your ear, his warm breath grazing your skin. You sucked in a deep breath and let the arrow fly. You squeezed your eyes shut as it shot through the air and hit the target with a dull thud.

“Well look at that.” Luke murmured behind you.

“What is it Castellan?”

“Why don’t you open your eyes and see for yourself.” You hesitantly opened them and looked disbelievingly at the target, the arrow sitting in the middle of the bullseye. You took a double take, looking back at Luke and then back to the target.

“I did that? Me?” You whispered and Luke chucked quietly.

“Yeah you did but let’s try again. This time by yourself. Make sure it wasn’t just my expert skills that made you shoot like that on your first try.” He nodded to the target and you nocked another arrow, pulling back the string to your cheek with ease and letting it loose quickly, sending the arrow flying and splitting the wood of the previous one as it lodged just between the feathers.

“Not just your expert skills apparently.” His lips twitched upwards.

“Perhaps not, but I will need more proof.”

“Then I will give you some.” With that you fired a volley of arrows, each one landing so they formed a star when you finished. You stared proudly at your work. “How’s that for your proof?”

“That's pretty hard proof. You must be a natural at archery and my teachings clearly have nothing to do with it.”

“Your teachings have something to do with it. You got me that first shot. I’m just a quick learner, and lobbing things at targets is apparently my thing now.” You dropped the bow down carefully in the grass and turned around to look at him and added as an afterthought. “Except for spears. That did not go well.”

“I heard.” You winced and twiddled your thumbs.

“Yeah. Anyway thank you for this, you really didn’t have to.” He shrugged.

“Like I said, I wanted to make up for this afternoon and giving you a late lesson seemed the best way to do it.” You rolled your eyes at his words and threw yourself down on the ground, unbothered by the damp soil. Your hands rested on your stomach and the longer pieces of grass ticked your ears as you gazed up at the sky, the stars twinkled above, shining brightly like miniature diamonds. They decorated the night, small pockets of light in the deep blue sky, soon to give way to pure blackness but the stars would still be there.

You felt Luke lay down next to you and heard him ask you a question.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“What?” You asked back, turning to look at him.

“Your favourite colour. Annabeth said we should get to know each other so what’s your favourite colour?” You stared at him for a second and found nothing but truth in his eyes.

“I’m not sure,” You paused for a moment, “I like green a lot though. It’s pretty and there are so many different shades of it, some are more blue like the sea and others are more the colour of the trees. But you can find traces of green everywhere and I think that’s why I like it, it's not just some obscure colour that you can only find in clothes. It’s all around us, you’ve just got to look for it” You stopped, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, you weren’t really looking for that kind of long winded explanation were you.”

“No I don’t mind, it was interesting. Besides, I've heard longer explanations from Annabeth about why she had nutella on her toast in the morning rather than her usual jam.” You tipped your head to the side and laughed.

“And what was the reason for that exactly?”

“The first time she did it I believe she spouted some nonsense about it being high in fibre as well as having iron and calcium in it and also would give her more energy to deal with, as she put it, incompetent fools. However every other time she's done it she just gives me a look as if I'm completely stupid.” You muffled a snort at his indignant tone.

“She sounds like a middle aged woman called Susan or something. And for the record you are stupid.”

“I always thought she was more of a Theresa but each to their own and I’m not stupid at all thank you very much.” You snorted again and quickly covered it with a cough, composing yourself as he smiled smugly at the reaction he managed to pull out of you.

“So anyway, what’s your favourite colour?” You asked, shifting slightly to look at him better.

“Blue, a really clear bright blue, like the sky in summer, electric blue almost.” He answered decisively and you tapped your fingers together in thought.

“And how old are you?”

“Fifteen, you?”

“Fourteen. Why do you want to go on a quest so badly?”

“I need to prove that I'm a hero. And going on a quest is the only way I can do that.”

“Is it?” He faced you with a look of disbelief.

“Yes, if I go on a quest I'm a hero because I get glory from it, you don't get glory from sitting around at camp doing nothing. You have to fight for it so I need to go on a quest.”

“Right, sorry.” You murmured and looked back up at the sky, head resting on your crossed arms. “The stars are beautiful aren’t they.” You muttered. “I find it hard to believe they can only be found in such distant planes of the universe when we can see them right there in front of us.” You lifted a hand and traced a kind of w shape in the sky. “That’s Cassiopeia, the Queen, you probably already know this but she was the mother of Andromeda and was forced to sacrifice her to a sea monster due to her own pride when she boasted her beauty was greater than that of the sea nymphs.” You pointed to another cluster of stars. “And that’s Ursa Major,” You moved your finger again, “And that’s Virgo, the Maiden.”

“How do you know those constellations?” Luke asked quietly.

“My dad.” You smiled. “He taught me all the constellations and we would go stargazing together in the country whenever he had a free night. The first time he took me was when I was three and he said I asked for food every two minutes, after that he would always bring a picnic, sandwiches, carrot sticks, biscuits and little slices of cake with tea or hot chocolate in a thermos so I would never get hungry. And we would lie on a blanket and watch the stars, pointing out all the constellations we saw and naming whatever stars we could. On special occasions he would bring his telescope and let me use it so that I could see everything that was happening as closely as possible.”

“He sounds nice.”

“Yeah he is,” You whispered, “He really is.” You both went silent for a while, simply gazing up at the stars in peace and quiet, comfortable in each other's company.

After a while Luke stood up.

“We should get going, everyone will already be sleeping by now and we can tidy this all up first thing tomorrow.” You sat up and took his offered hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

“Thanks.” You leant down to scoop up your new bow. “I can take this back can't I?”

“It's yours.” He answered simply as he started to walk to the cabins with you hurrying to walk next to him.

“Thanks again for, y’know.” He glanced down at you.

“You don't need to keep thanking me, it was my fault for not showing up earlier. I was just making good on my promise to Annabeth.”

“Yeah but still, I appreciate it. Other people wouldn't have done what you just did.” You reached the semicircle of cabins and took a step into the Hermes one before you realised Luke wasn't following. You turned your head back to look at him only to find him looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?” You slapped your cheek lightly.

“No you just-” He stepped forwards and righted something on your head, brushing the hair back from your face in the process. “Your flowers were falling off stargirl.”

“Oh.” You breathed out, a hand rising to feel the flowers. “Thank you, I forgot I had them, I thought they would've fallen off earlier.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Stargirl?” He shrugged and offered a simple explanation before walking past you into the cabin.

“It suits you.” You smiled and made your way to your bed, quickly grabbing a top and pair of pyjama shorts before running to change into them behind the private screen set up in the corner of the cabin and then bouncing into bed. You lay there for a minute, staring up at the wooden ceiling, before you turned to face the empty bed next to you.

“Hey Castellan.” You whispered loudly and from the other side of the room he answered.

“What is it stargirl?”

“Are we friends now?”

“Nah, we're best friends stargirl, I don’t just teach anyone archery in the middle of the night. and don't think you can get out of this easily, best friends are for life.” You smiled into the darkness at the joking tone in his voice and answered with a hint of laughter.

“Wouldn't dream of it. I gotta say, it's nice to have a friend.” You hurriedly added, “Other than Annabeth and Maisie,” And turned over to the other side, “Goodnight Castellan.” You said and burrowed deep into the duvet. The last thing you heard was a soft laugh and Luke's voice saying.

“Goodnight stargirl, sleep well.”

Light pink sky up on the roof Sun sinks down, no curfew Twenty questions, we tell the truth You've been stressed out lately? Yeah me too

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #annabeth chase #taylor swift lyrics #pjo tv show #pjotv x reader #pjo x reader

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sandinthemachine · 1 year

Text

Mortal Remains

König x f!reader

written for the request: "You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes." With Either ghost or König? There's not enough fluff for my men.

I don't even know where to begin with this one. It's massive, the longest one I've ever written. I love it, and I hate it. It made me cry. I'm excited and terrified to see what everyone else thinks. I hope someone reading this feels at least one of those emotions while doing so (preferably not hate)

before I begin, thank you to @sprout-fics and @zwienzixes for being lovely beta readers, and a MASSIVE thank you to @itsagrimm for beta-reading, helping me work through ideas, giving me proper German translations, and all around being an amazing and supportive person. I would have given up on this without all the help.

Translations for the German will be at the bottom

Words: 12,450 (yeah...it's big just like him)

Warnings/tags: König is soft and pretends not to be, reader is afab but no pronouns used, canon-typical violence, piv sex, oral f!receiving, self-deprecation, lots of raw emotions, mental health is hard, fluffy ending

---

It started easy enough, as so many things do.

A week-long joint training exercise. Mixed teams, both 141 and KorTac. Something something bonding before the real mission. You hadn’t been listening.

You remember being excited to be teamed with Soap. At least you could get along with someone, you mused. You barely noticed the hooded figure, tall and sticking to the corners, merging with the lengthening shadows. What’s another ghost haunting your footsteps? Nothing special, that’s for sure.

The first four days fly by. Early morning patrols, always in pairs, tracking for signs of the other team. Finding nothing, you move to a different shelter, secure the area, sleep. Rinse, repeat.

The fifth day is different. There are ragged clouds cloaking the sun while the rest of the sky is completely clear. You’re not sure why you noticed that, but you did.

It was an early morning patrol, as usual, you and your partner sweeping around a centerpoint like you were analyzing a single massive clock. Northeast quadrant clear. Southeast clear. Southwest…a scuff in the dirt. You lean down, fingers tracing the air just above it, a black fleck catching your eye. You grasp it, finding it much larger than you originally expected and partially buried. You pull at the rubbery texture, curious. Distracted.

The ambush comes quietly. Perfectly so. The weight lands on your back with an abruptness that flattens your lungs, dropping you directly onto your hands. You might have twisted your wrist, but the pain of that is overshadowed by the thought of the immense beratement you’ll get from your NCO for failing so fast.

Yet the weight from your back is lifted as quietly as it arrived. You turn, rolling to your feet to find that it had been Gaz on top of you only a second ago. Now he dangles like a ragdoll in the air. The shadow holding him draws a knife, taps it against his throat. You're out.

Gaz sighs as he’s set on the ground, giving you a nod before marching off. You don’t return it, too busy staring at the man next to him.

You’d never noticed his eyes before. You’re used to Ghost’s eyes, dark and unyielding, cavernous black holes reaching into a skull long dead. Like he was born to wear the mask.

This man’s eyes couldn’t be more different. They’re pale, washed out, windows into a sky perpetually on the verge of snowfall, slumbering clouds cold and waiting.

They curve down at the corners, lending an air of melancholy to the only part of his face you can see. You wonder how he really feels behind that gaze.

You’re staring.

You clear your throat awkwardly, aiming to thank him before pausing. “I…I’m sorry, I never caught your callsign?”

The head dips down, draped fabric falling down his chest slightly. A nod. “We need to keep moving.”

And he’s walking past you.

Two days later, the training exercise finally comes to a head in a fierce brawl over the fake weapons cache. Knives and fists only.

The fight takes only a few minutes. Ghost on the opposite team notices your attempted ambush immediately, throwing his men after you. Your team is outnumbered, stuck in a hallway. But it doesn’t matter.

Ghost and the hooded man roll on the ground, tousling like a pair of tomcats, Ghost landing on top for just a second, raising his knife-

You’re there. Arm wrapped around his shoulders. Blade tapping against his throat. You’re out.

With that, the fight is over. Ghost moves with a grumble at the man under him. It might have been a threat. But the man doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at you with grey-sky eyes wide. A child dressed as a dirty sheet-ghost. “I…I don’t know your-”

You thrust your hand out, yanking him to his feet. “We’d better head back.”

You feel him at your back throughout the debriefing. Rolling thunder clouds looming over your head, ready to burst at any second. Your tongue is between your teeth, lungs heaving. Soap whispers a joke in your ear, something about Ghost getting chewed out by the NCO. You can barely muster a smile.

You stay still as the meeting finally ends, waiting for everyone to filter out before you finally turn around.

As you turn, your shoulder knocks into hard muscle and you look up, craning your neck to take in the hooded face and the way his pupils are blown wide into dark pits. A gale you should take shelter from lest you be blown away. But for a moment all you do is stand there, watching your own pupils expand in the turbulent reflection.

Your teeth are carving marks into your tongue by now, and it takes you far too long to draw in a shaky breath and push past him. You have more training tomorrow. It’s sleep your body needs. Not…whatever this is.

He doesn’t say a word as you depart, but his eyes track your every move before the door shuts behind you.

Of course this is a night where you can’t sleep. Of course. You flip and roll, hearing your bed frame smack against the wall every time you shift until you get so annoyed you shove it further into your room and flop down on it again. It doesn’t do anything, of course. Just makes your insomnia a little quieter.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you throw your legs over the side in frustration, shivering at the frigid air before throwing on enough clothes to look decent and marching down towards the shared kitchen.

He’s there. Your luck is just perfect tonight. You take a step backwards, planning to flee back to the darkness of the hallway, but he’s already turning his head, shoulders jumping just slightly as you enter his view.

You crumple a little as he notices you, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” Your voice is rough as you walk over to the counter next to him, yanking an expired box of cereal from the back of it. Your arm brushes his as you pull it out.

You spare him a glance as you pry the old box open, snorting at his narrowed eyelids. You bet he’s scrunching his nose through that silly hood, too. You reach in, hearing a series of crunches as you rifle around. “Ah, there it is.” You pull out the clear bottle, shaking it triumphantly in his face. “This’ll knock you right out. 50/50 chance you get back up tomorrow.” You trail off, eyes traveling up and down him. “Well, maybe a bit better odds for you.” You chuckle half-heartedly, but it dies a second later.

You puff your lips out in a shaky breath, running your tongue along your teeth before giving him an awkward smile and raising the bottle to him. With that you leave.

As soon as you take a sip you spit it right back out with a blech. You’d forgotten how nasty the stuff is. You toss it into the trash can and flop back down with an irritated groan. How hard is it to fall asleep? It’s literally laying there doing no-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, and upon swinging it open you find him, his looming shadow nearly blotting out the light from the hallway behind. It’s easy to forget how big he is when he’s not around. How strong he is. How…deadly.

But right now he’s leaning against your doorframe, hands tapping along his legs. “Have enough for two?”

You smirk a little at that, but as you step closer you feel the heat radiating from him, your shoulder blades clenching together as your mind begins to process something.

You’d sleep better for it. Perform better the next day. It would be good for you.

Your smirk deepens. “I have a better idea.”

As your hand tangles in his shirt you feel a tremble along his skin, but he doesn’t respond when you pull on him. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I haven’t had a drop. Shit’s disgusting.”

“Show me the bottle.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you fish the full monstrosity out of the bin to show him. He nods but still doesn’t move, and you find yourself rushing to assure him as heat rushes up your neck. “If you actually just want to drink, we can. We don’t have to do anything-”

“No. That’s not it.” Finally he steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him before he stalks to you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you hiss, moving to hold onto him again, your mind swirling with exhaustion and old memories that you just need out, right now, and he’s right there and he needs it too, you just know it as he swoops down to grab you and toss you on the bed, both of you a mess to rip your clothes off now that the facade has finally fallen.

After the fog clears you find yourself panting on your stomach with him above you, caging you in with his forearms. Each of his stuttering inhales brings his burning chest and stomach against your back. Before the heat can become unbearable he pulls away, breaths still heaving as he tucks himself back into his pants.

Your eyes widen in surprise when he makes his way to your bathroom and comes back, washcloth in hand, to softly clean you up. As he finishes he pauses, thumb brushing the edge of an old knife scar running up your hip. “My callsign,” he murmurs, fingers tracing its length. “It’s König.”

And with that, he leaves.

You were content for that to be the end of it. You’d each gotten what you needed, after all. And as you stretch languidly across your mattress the following morning, an unfamiliar relaxation settles along your tense muscles. Yes, you would be more than happy to leave it at this.

But as the next training drill ends you find yourself faced with your cold barrack and the prospect of another sleepless night. Before you even realize what you’re doing your legs are moving, ready to go to the kitchen and-

He’s right there, startling as you nearly open your door into his face. He takes a step back, but you’re already holding your hand out and his eyes are burning into you as he takes it and lets you pull him in, lets you shut the door behind you before he’s lifting you with laughable ease and carrying you to bed.

You’re already burrowing your face into your pillow by the time he comes back to clean you up. This time his palm runs over a puckered mass on your thigh, a nasty burn scar from failing to dive for cover fast enough. It still hurts sometimes, but the pain is good. Reminds you not to be so careless again.

As you drift off completely to the feel of his warm hand taking in the old wound, you fail to notice the way his head has turned up, eyes running over your face. He contemplates brushing a finger over your hairline, tucking the wild flyaways behind your ear. But no. That would be too…friendly. That’s not what this is.

So instead he spreads your blankets over your now sleeping form, and with one last lingering gaze, leaves you to sleep peacefully.

You’re not surprised when you wake up to the empty room. It was what you wanted, after all. You had gotten another restful night out of it, and he got what he wanted. It was a fair trade. A great trade, even.

And as the training drills continue and you feel how naturally your body flows, how efficiently it executes your will when you’re actually well-rested, you find yourself seeking his company out more and more. Soon the pair of you have built your own kind of routine, him coming to you the evening after each debriefing when the leftover sparks of adrenaline are refusing to die out in you both.

He always lays you down on your stomach, opening you up with his fingers as he patiently works you through your first orgasm before letting himself take you. He’s always slow at first, but he finds you restless and impatient, urging him to go faster and harder, to knock you out for the night, to knock everything out of your mind that you never want to think about again.

You try to look back once only for your face to meet his hand. With gentle but firm fingers, he turns your head away.

Afterwards he’s even more delicate, wordlessly cleaning you up with a touch light enough to leave a butterfly unharmed. Although he rarely meets your eyes, his gaze and fingers take in your body, each time finding a new scar for his fingers to brush over like a chaste kiss.

You’re asleep by the time he leaves, and you like it that way. The two of you can crash against each other like blizzards raging and howling until you finally break into clear skies. And afterwards, you’re soldiers again. Well-rested, sure. But soldiers all the same. No hard feelings, either. You know he understands.

Soon you two find yourselves assigned to the same training team more and more. It’s natural, an unspoken communication flowing between you, and your superiors see it in the skyrocketing success rates. They pointedly ignore the way your stares burn holes into each other, keeping their eyes fixed on powerpoints and mission statistics. Not their business, they tell themselves. What matters is that you two do your jobs.

And then finally it’s time for the mission, a deployment in the middle of a remote and mountainous forest with terrible radio signal.

Like your first training, it starts easy enough. You’re divided into two teams on two separate mountains, and it’s just your luck that they put you on the team with no one you’re close to. Not even König. Maybe the higher-ups were finally sick of you two.

But you’re an adult. You handle it. You swallow the unease that comes with the teams not being able to contact each other. It’s simply too risky, and the signals are shoddy at best anyway. Base will come in for extraction if the other team succeeds.

With practiced ease you push yourself through two weeks of empty trails and summer-camp camaraderie as the talkative ones share jokes around the empty fireplace and the quiet ones listen from the shadows and chuckle their approval.

Week 3, everything goes to shit.

You should’ve known. You really should’ve known. The weather out here can change in an instant, clouds materializing from a clear sky’s empty expanse like an angry god throwing his rage down from above. You should’ve known the people here would be the same.

Before any of you knew the safehouse was surrounded, they were already through the doors.

You remember waking up to the creak of the old door with a groan, not ready to start your watch yet. The man on watch had been short and wiry, and you marveled at how shadows warp themselves against the light, twisting and turning to make one man look like another, tall and burly and carrying a-

CRASH!

The windows burst inwards in a crescendo of sparks and you’re scrambling backwards, reaching for your

BANG!

Dust from the roof is falling on your head, in your eyes and you’re blinking at the haze, the sting, your hands feeling the solid weight of your weapon and yanking it against you, and you’re stumbling backwards towards the

BANG!

and you’re stumbling forwards towards the

BANG!

And you’re on your knees crawling crawling

BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

crawling away from everything and your eardrums are hot iron seething in your skull and your eyes are being scratched by cats and there’s something warm on your face now and there’s something heavy thunking to the floor just next to you and everything is all dark, all the shadows are choking you and-

-grey. Not black. Not the black of the inside. Grey. A doorway. A hole in the wall. You’re on your knees, your hands are on the wall, you’re pushing yourself up, you’re running, and there are patters behind you and gurgling sounds and the volleys of automatic weaponry but your vision is finally starting to clear, you can see the treeline and all you need is to get there.

A roar surges behind you, and you spin into the sun. Heat slams into your body and you’re flung, a leaf in the wind, hard onto your back as yellows and reds surge in front of you or maybe it was behind you and now you’re a deer, eyeballs bulging out of your head and rolling in your skull as you run from a forest fire, angry and starving, only this fire has legs and they’re longer than yours and it’s following you, you just know it, you can’t hear it but you know.

You’re not a human anymore, you’re barely even an animal, you’re not thinking, you’re a scramble of limbs and an impulse. Run.

You try. You try so hard but there’s nothing carrying you, your legs don’t feel connected to each other anymore and they’re not even your legs you look down and they’re still there but you can’t…feel them?

Tilting. Tilting. Tilting.

Light. Burning light.

Fade to black.

No, wait. Not you. You’re still here. Your legs are wavy and jelly but still there.

You fling an arm out and feel something solid. Cold. Rough. Bark.

You made it to the trees.

There’s no time to celebrate. Behind you lights are still flaring, and with each passing second more bodies are falling to the ground, leaking out into the snow. You have to move.

The second safehouse is to the north. It’s your only way out, you know that. The rest of your team would be there.

Should be there.

Better be there.

Don’t think about it, don’t think. Just move.

The battle is fading behind you now and your blood is beginning to cool, settling heavy in your veins like the thick jam your mother used to make on warm summer mornings just as the sun’s rays flowed through your windows.

It would be nice to be there right now. Warm. Content. Full. Your stomach growls in agreement at the thought. You have some ration bars in your pocket, but you know it hasn’t been long enough to have one. You need to spread them out, make sure they can last.

Your stomach groans again, and you shake your head. To divert your attention, you take stock of the rest of your body.

You’re scraped and bruised, your head vibrating like…oh, what is it like? Like…your phone after you get added to a group chat you wanted nothing to do with. Hehe. You can barely remember the days when your problems were as simple as that.

You're letting yourself get too distracted. Anyways, as you were saying. You’re a bit battered and scraped up, alright. But no broken bones. No visible deadly wounds. And you still have your gun clamped to your chest with shaky arms. That’s all you need, really. Making it to the safehouse will be a breeze.

You’re halfway down the mountain as twilight begins to lighten to dawn, and there’s still no sign of anyone chasing you. It’s a bit warmer down here, and as you flex your fingers and toes you feel the sharp pins and needles radiate through them and force a smile. It’s good, you tell yourself. Means they’re all still there. You might just be in the clear now.

Then the sky darkens again, and it begins to rain.

Within a few minutes you can’t see your hand in front of your face in the downpour and you're forced to hide out. You find a fallen evergreen and burrow through its thick boughs, needles pricking your face and poking in your mouth with a sharp scent that settles behind your eyeballs as you force your way through, certain it will block out the worst of the rain. It doesn’t.

It’s past noon by the time the deluge finally lets up, and as you step out, cursing your shelter for all its faults, the slick earth shifts abruptly under you. With a cry, you are yanked off of your feet into a roll down the slope. You fling out your arms, grasping for anything solid, but the world is a mass of dirt and grey-brown snow-slush and you can’t stop yourself until your hip jams into a tree-stump. Hard.

You hiss, twisting your face upwards off the ground. Bad idea. The mud-slush runs down into your nose and you splutter, spasming and hacking up half the mountain. You move to wipe your eyes on your arm but only rub more dirt in them, gritting your teeth and hissing through them at the sting.

You push yourself onto your hands and knees with a whimper, gingerly feeling around your hip. Not broken. Just another bruise. What’s one more bruise? It’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

Your ankle is twisted. You’ve wrapped it as best as you can, but every time you put weight on it, you imagine a great big serpent with needles for scales is slithering under your skin, wrapping itself tight around the bones and squeezing.

Even worse, it's getting dark again. Fucking FUCK.

You should get yourself a thesaurus for Christmas. Fuck really doesn’t have much weight to it when you say it every other sentence.

Whatever. You’re fucking screwed.

Your clothes are soaked, you’re painted in dirt and runny snow and as soon as it gets dark temperatures are going to drop fast enough to freeze you right in place like a stupid fucking statue. Fuck this, fuck this so hard what do I do what do I do.

You bury your face into your hands, heels pressing hard into your eyes. It doesn’t matter that your hands have mud mittens anymore because your face is solid mud and you’ve had dark spots in your eyesight for hours and maybe if you rub them really hard this will all be a shitty dream your shitty brain made up and then you can wake up in your shitty cot with your blanket that’s too thin and it will be so fucking lumpy and uncomfortable and perfect. It would be perfect. Maybe König would be there.

What?

You’re breaking down and going to die in a few hours and you’re thinking of him? Some dude you fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?

He was really warm, though. And he was always so gentle afterwards. For hands that kill with such brutal precision, his fingers felt too delicate to be his when they ran along your body, mapping every scar and dimple like he was trying to memorize you. Like he was terrified that tomorrow he might wake up blind and never be able to see you again, so he needed to be able to recognize you by touch alone.

You didn’t even know what his face looked like, but you could get lost in those eyes, you think. You've learned that the skin above them stretches when he’s surprised, and the skin under them scrunches up when he laughs, so you think it must scrunch like that when he smiles, too. You’ve even seen the way his lids drift down to hide the way his eyes roll back when he’s bored.

What do they look like when he’s excited? When he’s angry? Sad?

You wonder what it would be like to look him in the eyes while you both fell apart. Would he look away and screw them shut? Would they water a little, as yours so often did?

Would he stay the night if you asked? Would he hold you? Would he…

No. This isn’t happening. No way in hell. You are not dying thinking of a random man you’ve barely spoken two words to. It’s ridiculous. It’s pathetic. You’re better than this.

You will not go out like this.

You yank yourself to a tree whose limbs burst forth in sprays of dark needles, your shoulders screaming at you as you pull yourself up on the branches, feeling like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. It’s pitiful. You swing your good leg up, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw pops as you pull yourself up to a thick fork and begin pulling down limbs above you, cutting through the ones around you, tying and weaving and undoing and redoing.

It is dark by the time you’ve finished, a thick nest of evergreen boughs settled under you and woven walls crushing you in. You have to curl into a tight ball to fit into it, but you can no longer feel the breezes from outside. You’ve stripped your clothes off and spread them along the walls as best you can, hoping they can dry just a little.

You thank the mud for clogging your nose. You don’t even want to imagine what you and your clothes must smell like by now.

Maybe by the time you meet up with the others you’ll smell so bad you’ll make one of the rookies vomit. Ghost did that last mission, and you and Soap nearly burst a lung as the poor guy emptied his guts over and over again.

You chuckle at that and try your best to fall asleep.

By the time you make it down the mountain the next day, your knees are knocking against each other with every step and your weapon is plastered with muddy slush that has frozen and melted and frozen all over again. The valley is even worse than the slope, with runoff from the rain congregating in a swampy mess that has you sinking up to your calves in some places. Lifting a leg in this feels like pulling yourself out of concrete, so you get really good at sliding each foot forward without raising it upwards at all.

You think the pressure from the mud is helping with the pain. You barely feel it when you move now.

Your jaw is clenched so hard you chip one of your molars.

You’re halfway through the valley when one of them finds you.

It’s funny how it happens. How you both stand in the mud staring at each other. How you both instinctively know who the other is through the curtain of earth camouflaging you both, yet each stand stock-still as statues anyway.

A second passes.

Two.

Three.

In an instant your guns are to your shoulders, fingers rushing to crush the-

Nothing happens. You squeeze. Squeeze again. The man shakes his gun and yells in frustration, the mud and ice having rendered your weapons unfireable.

But not unusable. The man’s head whips back to you with a growl and he lunges forward, his foot sinking into a deep patch and jerking him down face first. He throws himself up again, splatting forward another pace.

You slide backward, forcing yourself to slow down, to keep your feet under you as you move gut-wrenchingly slowly, searching for solid ground. He’s flailing and flinging himself towards you but the mud is slowing him down, and there’s a rocky patch right behind you. You’re going to make it.

He reaches you before you reach the edge, raising his gun and throwing his body behind a downwards blow. Yours is already coming up to deflect, but the blow sends you backwards, landing on your back with a splash. He’s on top of you, a hand shoving your face down as mud flows around it.

You thrash and wiggle, a scream cut off as your mouth fills with liquid dirt. Your hand is whirling all around and it catches something and you yank.

He howls as you pull his ear, sending him off-balance just enough to raise your head for a choking gasp before your palm is on his face, shoving him sideways. He rolls away from you, struggling to his feet as you’re on your hands and knees and your gun is in the mud but so is his. He tries to reach for it but he’s stuck, and in that precious heartbeat of time your legs are back under you, feet planted deep and wide.

He whirls towards you as you stand, throwing a punch at your torso that you know you can’t dodge, you can’t even move, so you throw your fist sideways, twisting, forcing all your strength into shoving from your rear leg so that when you catch his knuckles on your forearm they are savagely wrenched sideways with your momentum. His pinkie pops outwards with a crunch, and he falls back with a choked sob.

You grab your gun off the ground, throwing your whole body into a swing at his head, shattering through his palm as he tries to block it. You both fall sideways with the momentum but you find your feet faster, gripping the weapon through the slime coating it as you bring the stock straight down into his skull.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Your grip slides, dirt scraping more of your skin off with each blow, but he’s not moving. You stumble backwards drunkenly, falling onto your forearms again and army-crawling, gun held tightly in each hand, all the way to the edge. You flop on your back then, one eye on the body, and heave great breaths, coughing again and again until your body has enough and you curl inwards, choking out mud and throwing up even more. You try to even your breathing, try to filter the adrenaline out of your system so you don’t crash. In, out. In, out. In out in out inoutinoutinoutinoutin-FUCCCCCKK. You shake your head violently, over and over.

You take one last look at the body, only seeing it because you know where to look. A mud-covered shoulder pokes out of the ground, the rest already lost.

You can’t balance on your feet anymore, so you crawl away.

You don’t even bother to make a shelter that night. You crawl under a rotting log, ripping your last ration bar from your pocket and devouring it, licking the crumbs from your stained and tainted fingers. You curl up and fall asleep just like that, bones chattering and muscles spasming.

Helicopter blades wake you up in the morning. You’re on your feet, falling and jumping and running and falling, flailing your arms because you know those blades, that’s your team and they’re here for you and you’re finally free, you did it you did it you’re so proud of yourself you can’t wait to have a warm bath and then maybe even afterwards you can see-

The helicopter passes over you and disappears around the mountain.

You stare at it, deathly still. It’s just sweeping the area, making sure it’s safe to land.

But the wingbeats have already faded into the distance, replaced by a vast and engulfing silence. Time stretches out before you, and you’re still staring at the mountain.

Your stomach breaks the silence with a gurgle.

You flop down, shoving your face into the ground, and scream.

You press the button on your radio, cracking the caked mud. It clicks, and you hear nothing. Not even static. You click it again. And again, this time just to hear the sound. Rapidly you click it again and again and again.

You start laughing, your abs clenching and strangling your organs as you guffaw, thrashing around like a headless chicken, and thinking about yourself as a headless chicken makes you laugh even louder. Everything is just so funny, none of this is real, you’re on the Truman Show, you’re the biggest comedy in the world. It’s even funny that your laughter only comes out in squeaky wheezes. It’s all just a big joke. Haha. You can’t wait to tell someone.

You fall asleep just like that, grinning up at the sky with dirt in your teeth.

You wake up, stare into the sun, and go back to sleep.

You feel lighter.

Is this what it feels like to leave your body?

It’s not as bad as you thought.

You wonder if König will remember you.

The ground beneath you is moving, sliding under you and scraping along you.

There's no ground underneath you at all now, and something is pressing, and you feel your legs dangling and swinging all around you, the world spinning a jig and you the unwilling passenger. You think you might tell it to stop, but it doesn't listen to you.

You're yanked back into consciousness by a thundering vibration setting every bone against itself. You jolt upwards, feeling heavy pressure on your shoulders as your eyes roll back into your head. The world is black. Black and blue and blurred. Through the haze you begin to make out a white visage and two black voids that pierce through you.

This must be hell. You don’t want to be awake for your judgement.

Your consciousness drifts away again, blocking out the rumbling flight of the helicopter, completely oblivious to the warm bodies pressed in around you, speaking rapidly through their headsets.

Any more? Sweep around again.

There's nothing else here.

Ok. Let's bring these ones back, then.

You are still asleep as your body is carried into a hospital room, completely unresponsive as the nurses strip and bathe you with clinical precision. You don’t wake until hours later, seeing only a single nurse checking your vitals and bandages. Each hand and foot has been carefully wrapped, the angry red battlefield of blisters and exposed flesh meticulously covered in pristine, unblemished white. The nurse offers a smile as you fight through the haze, imagining you are underwater and slowly floating to the surface, watching the sun jiggle and warp through the abyss above you. Just bad blisters, the nurse is telling you. Very lucky. Very lucky. You think you might nod back. She’s right, of course. You’re alive, aren’t you?

Ghost comes by as you’re released the next day. They’ve rewrapped your hands in a bandage that gives you a little more flexibility, and he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the white fabric.

The mattress shifts as he settles beside you. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are trained on you. Black voids in a mask of white.

“You left me,” you finally whisper, eyes still on your hands.

“What?”

You look at him, trying to see something in the face to get mad at, but his eyes are just a little wider than before. Confused, maybe.

“The helicopter…” you begin, voice scratchy, and clear your throat. “The helicopter flew right over me.”

“That wasn’t our helicopter.”

“It was heading back from the safehouse.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh,” you huff, sinking into yourself. “I…”

You stop as he clears his throat, shoulders expanding in a loud breath. “It’s alright. You were knocked out pretty good by the time our boys found you. Happens to the best of us.”

You nod, swallowing again, and wish someone else was here to comfort you, literally anyone but Ghost. “Is…uh…is…umm…is Soap ok?”

Ghost grunts. “Johnny took one to the arm, but he’ll pull through. I was just going to visit him now.”

You push yourself to your feet, proud that you only sway a bit. “Can I-”

“No,” Ghost cuts you off. “You’ll have time to visit him later. For now you need to go and rest. That’s an order,” he cuts you off as you open your mouth to protest. Your jaw shuts. Call it obedience, call it cowardice, but you find you just don’t have it in you to argue the point. You promise yourself you’ll see Soap in the morning. Well, later in the morning, seeing as it’s somehow 0100 hours already.

When Ghost leaves you slump, any need for straight posture gone with the departure of your superior officer. Trying to keep your breathing even, you will your legs to carry your body down the medical corridor. Just a little longer, you promise them, then you’ll get the break you deserve. But your body has had enough of your unfulfilled promises, and you find yourself forced to sink onto one of the shitty metal chairs littering the hallway. Just a little rest, and then I’ll go back to my quarters.

You wake to the familiar sounds of agony. Before your body has the chance to disagree, instinct has you on your feet again, hands grabbing at the thin air where your sidearm should be. My holster, my holster, where the hell is-

Your eyes land on the white-washed walls. Too clean. Too smooth. And your hands aren’t moving like they should, strangled by white fabric. It finally sinks in that you’re far from the battlefield, far from any fight.

The sounds continue, drawing your eye to one of the many nondescript doors lining the corridor. Someone having a nightmare, probably. Or reacting badly to a procedure, maybe. Either way, a problem best left for the nurses with their iron wills and their tranquilizers. You have enough bruises already. Best not add a black eye to the list.

A pitiful whimper sounds through the door, one that has your heart twisting like a towel being wrung out, sending all the blood to your throat and stomach.

Fuck it. What’s one more bruise?

Your fingers curl the handle down, and you shrink in on yourself as the door swings open on its own with a creak. You catch it and hastily shut it behind you, trying not to make any more noise.

The room is small enough that even the military-issue cot feels too big for it. The room is made even smaller by the man lying in the cot, arms dangling off the sides as he thrashes, his feet hanging off the end. You can see the crumpled blanket on the floor and automatically avert your eyes. The hood is still on, but below it he’s wearing an undershirt and boxers, and you realize this is the most of him you’ve ever seen.

You press yourself to the wall as he spasms again, a leg kicking out and narrowly missing you, causing you to notice the thick white bandage wrapped around his thigh, and the dark line slowly being painted along it.

Hesitantly you flick the lights on, wincing at the burn that rushes through your eyeballs, but he doesn’t even react to it. You have no idea how to wake him up without breaking a bone, so you press your back to the wall, slowly skirting along the edge of the room and staying as far out of his reach as you can, praying to whatever old ghosts are listening that he doesn’t wake up and go straight into murder mode. Or, you know, default alert soldier setting. This is a stupid idea.

As you approach his head you lean over as far as you can, stretching one arm out until the socket pops in protest. You poke his shoulder and leap back.

Nothing.

You take a step closer and lean in again.

You’re immediately interrupted by the door swinging open with a much-louder creak. You and the nurse both pause and stare at each other for a moment, startled, and you sheepishly move to straighten and pull your arm back.

With viper-like speed an arm shoots out to grab your wrist, capturing it in a deadly grip and you yelp, whirling back to the man in the bed and raising your opposite arm.

You freeze when you see his eyes, so wide they’re more white than color. He’s stock-still, fixated on you like a mouse caught in a cat’s gaze. Paralyzed by fear, praying. Shaking.

His hand is…shaking. “Hey, hey,” you coax, hesitantly pulling your arm back in so you can place it over his fingers. “It’s just me, big guy. You’re safe.”

His chest heaves outwards, and you feel his hand relax a little before his head snaps towards the nurse as she takes a step closer, cradling something small and cylindrical in her hands. “It’s alright,” she speaks directly to you. “I can take it from here.”

König releases the breath he’s held, shoving himself backwards on the bed with a shake of his head, prompting the nurse to click her tongue at him before raising the needle. You realize it’s a lot bigger than you first thought. “You’ll be fine,” she’s assuring him. “It will hurt a lot less once it’s done.”

König’s head turns very slowly, back up to you, and for a second you’re confused at his gaze, wondering why he thinks you have enough knowledge to give him any medical advice. Then you notice the way his eyes seem just a little too shiny in the light, the way his other hand is clenching and unclenching around the bedsheet.

You’ve always known him as the perfect soldier, quick and to the point, pin-prick precise, a dancing whirlwind of death. More monster than man. You know him as the one who laughs with every good kill, mocking the reaper of death with a smile. Look at how slow you are. I got here first. He’s the one who dances on the precipice of fate and spits over the edge.

Even sprawled out like this, sweaty and trembling, you are well aware of every flex of his muscles, of the strength he holds back in his grip. Yet as you look into the eyes of the storm you find that for the first time you see no hint of the giddy killing machine looking back at you. The eyes staring back at you from this big soldier’s body are those of a fragile little kid. And he’s terrified.

You gulp, your tongue catching on the back of your throat. “Yeah…yeah, it’ll be ok. I’ll be right here.”

Finally he relaxes, slumping back into the bed, and the nurse takes the opportunity to give him the shot. You feel his flinch in a wave of pressure radiating up your wrist and forearm, but his gaze doesn’t move. He keeps looking into your eyes until his own begin to droop and he sinks even further into the mattress.

Before his hand drops from your wrist you catch it, the skin under your bandages protesting at the sudden flexion. You choose to ignore it, settling down on the floor next to his bed as your own eyes begin to follow his. Even as your head falls into your knees and your body finally gives itself completely over to darkness, you refuse to let go.

You’re woken by something warm trailing along your hairline. You jerk, smacking the back of your head into the wall with an irritated grunt. König’s arm hovers in the air just in front of your face, and you turn to see him pressed to the edge of the bed, looking a little guilty. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

You should be, startling me like that, you want to say. But when you open your mouth, what comes out instead is “No, it’s ok, I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

König gulps audibly, and the cot creaks as he pulls his hand back, shifting his body even closer. “You stayed.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Never,” he hisses, and you find yourself staring into his eyes again, only this time they’ve taken on their old torrential intensity.

Now it’s yours that are as wide as a child’s. You gulp, feeling the muscles of your jaw flex and unflex. “Ok,” you finally murmur. “I’ll stay.”

And you do. For two more nights König stays in the infirmary, weathering the steady rounds of nurses and bandage changes with a steely resolve even as his fists flex and twist into the sheets. You stay with him all the while, but he doesn’t reach for your hand again, not after noticing your own bandages.

The second night you sleep in the cot next to him at his insistence. You’re hurt too, he reasons. You need a real bed to rest in. He scoots himself to the back edge to give you room, and when you wake up he hasn’t moved.

After the third night you wake to his hand resting on your arm. It’s a small gesture. Innocent even. Yet still you find yourself contemplating it, barely saying a word as the nurses come to remove his bandages. You grind your jaw as you take in the puckered line of stitches running from his knee up to the edge of his boxers, looking away politely as the nurses help him into a pair of sweatpants.

You don’t even say anything when you let him lean on your shoulders, using your own aching body as a sacrificial lamb to transport him back to his barrack. Once you get him into bed you hover in the doorway, taking in the shadows of the walls, twisting your wrists back and forth, a habit you picked up to alleviate the pain from flexing your fingers. They’re in even thinner bandages now, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

Maybe there’s nothing to say. You found him in a vulnerable situation where he needed a lifeline. It could have been anyone, he was barely lucid. Now he surely wanted to forget all of that vulnerability and go back to a time where he hadn’t needed help from anyone. Not even you. Especially not you. He was a soldier, after all. Fondness wasn’t in the job description.

Best not to say anything then. Just…leave and get this over with. Just like that. Yeah…easy. Really easy.

Your move to shut the door behind you is halted by him calling your name. Your real name. You didn’t even know he knew your name.

He calls it again, quieter this time, and you lean back in the door, eyes drifting across his room to him. He’s still sitting on the bed where you left him, only now he’s hunched over to rest a forearm on his good thigh. “Come back here,” he breathes, voice cracking, and it hits you right in your stomach, settling there like a wounded bird, flapping and screeching at you to stay away, you’re already in too deep, you don’t know how this will end.

But it’s too late. You’re walking forward, the door swinging shut behind you. Locked. You’re already reaching out for the hand he offers, only for him to reach past the bandages and grab your wrist. You pause at that, staring into the hazy depths of his eyes, pupils bursting for you again. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, he straightens again, face coming closer to yours as another hand snakes around your neck to help guide you down to straddle his good thigh, moving your forearms to rest on each of his shoulders.

The bird in your stomach has moved to your chest, and you’re positive he can feel your heavy breathing even through his mask with how close you are. His eyes look down to your lips, and you wonder if he is going to lift his hood up and kiss you, your cheeks flushing in anticipation as he leans forward.

Only instead he rests his forehead against yours, eyes drifting closed. You feel your arms drift upwards with his inhale. “Stay with me,” he exhales. “One more night.”

You nod against his forehead, wrapping your arms around his neck and finally letting your own eyes close. Your breathing is slowed down now, and you find yourself enjoying the warmth you feel radiating from everywhere you touch him. One of his hands has spread against your thigh, while the other still rests along your neck, thumb tracing up and down your jaw. You know you could fall asleep just like this.

König, however, has other ideas. As you slump even further to him, both of his hands drift to your hips. You notice the movement, sighing at the pleasant sensation of his hands running over your body. You don’t notice the intention until he takes a deep breath, and in one smooth motion he has stood and twisted to lay you down on the bed, climbing on top of you. You gasp, feeling your heart stutter all over again, blood rushing to your core as you feel the fabric of his hood rub up your neck. His nose, you think.

Fuck, you want him. You want him just like this and any other way he’s willing to give, but you can’t, you shouldn’t, and you know you have to at least try to protest. You bite back a whimper as a hand drags up your inner thigh. “König, your leg.”

“I don’t care,” he growls. “Say my name again.”

You groan in protest and he pulls back, tilting your face up to his. “Is this not what you want?” He feels the way your jaw flexes and pulls away.

“Wait. No. I want this. You. I want you. Just…please be careful.”

He hears the last part, but he’s past giving a damn about his own body now. His hand is already undoing your belt and he’s leaning back to ease your pants and underwear off your legs, lazily tossing them to the side.

A harsh word escapes his throat as he looks down at you, but you don’t catch it through the blood rushing in your ears. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and unthinkingly you do, another growling swear reaching your ears. “So obedient for me.”

You hear the shuffling of fabric and feel a hand wrap around one of your knees, lifting it up for a warm tongue to swirl along the inside of it, for wet lips to place a sloppy kiss just above where his tongue had just been. His lips slide up again, and this time he sucks on the skin just slightly, and you feel your leg tremble as a tiny moan escapes you, but he’s already moving further up and this time sucking harder, and then further and harder and further and harder until he’s against your inner thigh and his teeth are sinking into you and you yelp his name, whining in frustration as he pulls back.

“No,” you pant, “don’t stop. Please.”

You feel a chuckle rumble in his throat and his nose presses into the bottom of your slit. You jolt, squeezing your eyes tighter as it slides up through you before pressing into your sensitive spot, and he inhales.

“Fuck,” you cry, tangling your hands in the sheets only to choke on a sound of pain.

König pulls back immediately and you shake your head at him, a sob on the edge of your quivering lips.

“Easy. Watch your hands.”

You grit your teeth and nod, relaxing your fingers and turning your palms up.

“Good,” he purrs as his hands hook under the backs of your knees, easily throwing your legs over his shoulders. As he settles back down you feel the muscles in his back flexing against your calves and moan before his mouth is even on you.

He hums contentedly at the sound, running his tongue along the length of you before swirling it around your clit. His lips pucker against it and he sucks, pulling away with a soft pop that has you clenching your legs around him. He moves in again, lazily altering between sucking and tracing his tongue just around your bud, feeling the way you flex against him, hearing the way you react to each movement, and committing all of it to memory before shifting his head so he can dip his tongue inside you. He groans at the taste, the vibration of it radiating up under your ribs and down through your legs. You’re quiet now, feeling how close you are settling heavy over you, drowning you in deliciously sweet honey.

He feels the shaking of your legs around him and returns to your clit as he slowly works a finger into you, curling it upwards to stroke at the spongy part inside of you.

You break quietly, choking on his name as the pleasure strangles your muscles and sets them briefly aflame, fresh sensations flowing through you as he continues to touch you just so, only pulling away when you sink into the mattress and your legs slip from his shoulders.

You hear the bed frame creak as he pulls back, running a hand up your thigh before the shifting sound of fabric hits your ears, and you feel the mattress sink down in different places as he shifts.

“Open your eyes.”

You do as he says, your disappointment at seeing the sniper’s hood obscuring his face immediately squashed by the realization that the rest of him is completely naked.

You’re seeing him for the first time.

Fucking hell, what a sight.

Your eyes rest on the delicious curve of his cock first, marveling at the pink tip and the thick veins running along it. You had felt his size on plenty of occasions, but seeing it for the first time is a new beast entirely, one that has you biting your lip and wiggling your hips like a teenager all over again.

But soon your eyes are taken in by the strong curves of muscle outlining his hips, and your eyes are traveling upwards to the delicious bulges of his chest, your own heaving at the sight. You find yourself wanting to trace the outline of each hill and valley of muscle that flows along his shoulders, down his arms, to the hands, wanting to run your tongue along the veins like raised rivers spreading down his forearm and across the back of each hand.

You wonder what his back looks like. You wonder how the muscles of his neck shift as he moves, what the outline of his jaw is shaped like. You are greedy and want to take everything he has, and at the same time you are desperate for anything he can give you. You’re a peasant kneeling at the feet of your king, ready to lick the crumbs he throws you off the floor.

His head tilts playfully, breaking you out of your reverie. “You like what you see?”

Your chuckle catches in your chest, only a tiny puff of air leaving your mouth. “Yes.”

His eyes scrunch a little, and you imagine he is grinning as he leans over, balancing himself above you. He moves back a bit, hand adjusting your hips as he positions himself. He looks back up at you, and you nod eagerly, your hands reaching up to grab his shoulders. He clicks his tongue, glancing at them, and with a groan you put your hands above your head. He moves one of his own to grasp your wrists, keeping them pinned as he sinks onto his forearms.

You feel the head of his cock running up and down your folds, and instinctively bend your back to give him a better angle, earning an approving hum that makes you even wetter. But as he braces himself and begins to drive into you, a strangled sound smashes through his gritted teeth.

Oh no. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, only pressing his face into your neck, inhaling heavily as you feel his entire body stiffening against you. “It’s…it’s fine,” he hisses, his hand strangling your wrists. “Just …” he heaves another breath. “Ah... Ich… I…need a…moment.”

You sigh, wiggling a hand out of his grip to push his chin up. He lets you move his face back, and even in the dim light you can see the way the skin around his eyes has gone even paler than normal. “Get off,” you murmur.

He slumps, twisting his face out of your grip and keeping his eyes on the wall. He stays like that for a second before giving a swift nod and pulling out, maneuvering backwards on the bed and moving to get off.

“Wait!” you burst out, and he freezes. “That’s not what I meant.”

After another moment he looks at you in bewilderment, so you sit up and shift to the side, patting the bed next to you. Awkwardly, he crawls to it, nearly dragging his bad leg, stiffening again when you place your wrists on his shoulders. “Let me?”

After a second of staring into your eyes, he nods again, allowing you to push on him, laying him on his back before you straddle him and finally take your shirt off. You see his chest rise with a shuddering breath and before you really think about it you’re leaning down to lick a stripe up his sternum. Seeing his pecs jerk upwards on either side of your tongue emboldens you and you shift your head, running your tongue back down to circle over one of his nipples before you suck.

Immediately the muscles flex again and he pushes up into you. “Like that,” he snarls, loud and vibrating through your skull. You’re aching down there again, but you’re not done yet. You release him with a squelch, watching the patch of saliva glisten before moving to give the other nipple the same treatment, your heart leaping at the sounds falling from his mouth as he quivers under you.

“König,” you croon. “Touch me.”

He whimpers as you flick your tongue over the sensitive bud. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Grab my hair, squeeze my tits, just put your hands on me.”

You groan as he obeys, long fingers tangling tightly in your hair as his other hand spreads along your ribcage, thumb sliding over your breast. You sigh, leaning down to bite into his pec, moaning as his grip on you tightens. You kiss the mark left by your teeth before leaning back. His hands move to cup both of your breasts as you raise yourself up and sink down onto his cock. You’re too excited and you go too fast, and a sharp pinch of pain seizes at your entrance. You gasp, instinctively leaning forward to brace yourself on your palms, but his hands move to your waist, catching you before you hurt them any further.

“I have you,” he whispers, voice scratchy, and despite the pain you clench at the sound of what you do to him. He chokes on his next words, a groan coming out instead. “Do you need to get off?”

“No!” You whisper-yell back so quickly that he laughs, and despite everything you laugh with him. He runs his hands up and down your sides, feeling you start to relax a little, but not enough yet. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine.” You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing. “Just need…a moment.”

“Hypocrite.”

You shoot your eyes open to glare at him, only to see his chest shake with another chuckle at your scrunched-up angry face. “Your leg is sliced open, it’s not the same,” you scoff.

His eyes glimmer with the start of a witty retort before one of his hands freezes over your bottom rib, drawing his lovely gaze away from yours. His thumb is circling around a tiny hairline of a scar, bone-white and soft. You’ve already forgotten how you got it.

“This one,” he murmurs. “It is new.”

“How…how did you notice?”

“It wasn’t there last time.” His tone was quiet and matter-of-fact, like the answer was obvious, and it takes you back to every time his hands ran over you as you drifted into sleep. How long did he stay there after you fell asleep? How long did it take him to commit you to memory so well that a patch of skin even you had forgotten was instantly recognized as something new?

Your body has always been a means to an end, a vehicle carrying you rather than a full part of you. Batter it, toss it around, whatever you need to do to get the job done. And when your body protests, you treat it like any other tool you can beat into submission. Like your first battered old car that revved to life with a well-placed kick.

But now all you can think of is his hands running over you with thorough determination, acknowledging each new mark with a gentle reverence that was more than you deserved. Getting to know you in the only way he knew how.

For the first time in a long time, you’re reminded to see this body as something more than a bruised vessel you’re obligated to carry around. He reminds you to see it as something more.

Fuck, you think you might love him.

“König?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

His head tilts a little, his hand still running along your rib, and your cheeks flush.

Before he can reply, you gulp a little. “I…I think I’m ready.”

He hums again, his hands moving back to rest on your hips. You stay still for another moment, looking into his eyes. You don’t think you can memorize his body, not like he has yours. But you have memorized his eyes, have burned them into your mind so clearly you saw them even as you were trapped on that damned mountain. Thinking about him.

And now you think he might've been thinking about you, too.

You feel him twitch inside of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you raise yourself up slowly, feeling his hands tighten and take some of your weight, following your lead as you sink into him again, this time with a sigh that echoes his own. Slowly, hesitantly, you raise yourself up and down, feeling how easily he stretches you, how easily he could break you.

But he never has. The only pain you’ve gotten from him was caused by your own impatience. As you keep going, finding an angle that has him dragging across your most sensitive parts and making you even wetter, you become confident that there’s no chance of pain, allowing yourself to speed up.

His hands are steady as ever, guiding you up and down, but beneath you his shoulders and chest begin to squirm and heave. His eyes wander all around, and his breaths are scattered and staccato.

And his sounds. You’d never known a man to be so loud, and now you know you’ve been missing out all these years. Every grunt, every groan, every moan and whimper goes straight through your core, winding you up faster and faster. As you get closer his sounds shift, and you realize he’s started to stutter out words.

His eyes are hazy and unfocused but you can still tell they’re trained on you, and you urge your body to calm down for just a minute longer, just long enough to hear what he’s saying.

You can’t make out any of the words, but his hands are even tighter on you now and the way his voice shifts from growling to whimpering settles into a melodic language that has you crying out for him anyway.

Beneath your trembling body, he keeps going. “Never..told you …du bist wie ein Traum,” another whimper leaves his lips. “Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist.” He gasps as you clench tighter around him. “Du bist…du…Du bist viel zu gut für mich…Dein Lächeln und …und…” His eyes are watering and you slow down only for his hands to dig into you, urging you to speed up again. “Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als …”

His mind is lapsing again, his determined confession faltering into a fervent prayer sent to the only god he’s ever believed in, to you - moving over him and taking everything he is giving you, making him wish he had more, so much more than the desert-dry heart of a killer whose hands can only ever pull things apart. His thumb is over the scar on your rib again and his blurry vision is taking in the white of the bandage wrapped around your hands and it has him wishing his own hands could build something instead of destroy it just so he could put you back together again. You’re coming apart around him, crying his name, and he’s thinking of flinging his body in front of you, taking every bullet and blade meant for you, because his body is all he has to give and he knows how to sacrifice it, he knows he’ll gladly lay it at your altar, bloody and broken, if it could only mean making sure he’d never be surprised by a new scar again. Maybe you’d even remember him a little when he was gone.

He’s trying to tell you all of that, the messy syllables punching through his throat. “Niemals, niemals, nie,…” but before he can finish he’s failing already, falling apart under you and screaming your name and emptying everything he has into you.

It’s not enough.

You’re laying on top of him now and he tries his best to be gentle but his entire body is shaking as he rolls you off and staggers to his bathroom, slamming the door behind him and sinking against it.

He shatters in a whole-body-wracking sob.

You’re never going to look at him again.

He tucks his legs in, squeezing his knees into his chest, squeezing even harder as a burn radiates out from the stitches, trying to rein in his ragged breathing in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he can save this and cover up the fact that he’s crying.

It was just meant to be casual sex. He wasn’t supposed to start caring. That’s not what you wanted. It’s not fair to you. It’s not your fault he let himself get emotional. And now he’s ruined the only thing you two did have, he wanted to make you feel better and now he’s made you so uncomfortable and…and…

He slams his forehead into his knees and sobs again.

He’s pathetic. Pathetic to think this could be something more. Pathetic to think he could have something more.

Everything hurts.

That’s what he signed up for, isn’t it?

That’s what he deserves.

A knock on the door has his head jerking back up, hands clutching his knees hard enough the knuckles just might pop through the skin. “Go away!”

“No.” Your tone is flat as he hears a thunk against the other side of the door, imagining you leaning against it and sliding down, mirroring him perfectly. “Not until you talk to me.”

“No.”

You sigh. “That's how it’s gonna be? Well, in that case, to quote a man I…admire very much, I can make you talk.” You drop your voice, trying and failing to mimic his battle growl.

He snorts despite himself.

You take that as a cue to continue. “For one, I’m not leaving until you do. You’ll be stuck with my annoying-ass voice forever.”

“I like your voice.”

“Oh…umm…thank you. In that case I’ll…I’ll steal all your knives and I’ll draw a kangaroo on your door and-”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growls.

“Guess you’ll never know if you keep that door closed. And that’s not all, I’ll…I’ll steal those cheap chocolates we get every supply drop. Don’t deny it, I know everyone joked it was Ghost but I saw you take them all. You love those.” You smile, laughing a little. “On the other hand, I’ll fly to Austria right now if that’s what it takes to get some chocolate you’d really like. I’d even get you some of those waffle things you were telling Soap about that one time I caught you both raiding the snack cabinets. Well, I’d probably eat some of those. But I promise to save most of them for you. Just…please talk to me. I’ll…I’ll…” you’re cut off by your own squeak as the door opens and you fall backwards.

His hands are already there to catch you, and once you sit back up he stays there, half-crouched and awkward, eyes anywhere but your own.

Slowly, you open your arms, watching his head turn back to you.

In an instant he’s lunged into you, burrowing his face into your neck with an awkward grunt as he stretches his bad leg out to the side. You try to change to a comfier position for him but the man is like a brick wall.

It’s nice.

So you let yourself stay there, wrapping around him as he wraps around you on the hard floor. It’s a softness unknown to you both, two soldiers carved razor-sharp from solid steel. But as you let yourself sink into him, you find yourself liking the strange tranquility of this moment, the way two bodies made for war can still drape over each other and feel peace instead. Against all better judgement, against any scrap of common sense you have left, you find yourself yearning for a few less battles if it can mean more of this. You let your eyes close, imagining it for just a little while.

After a while, he pulls back, moving to lean against the wall and pulling you so you can balance on his uninjured thigh. You let your head loll onto his shoulder, face turned into the hood. His chin rests on your temple.

“Are you cold?”

He grunts noncommittally, eyes half-closed. “Are you?”

“Nooo,” you mumble, burrowing into his neck. He shifts, maneuvering you off his lap, only to grunt when he tries to push on his leg.

“I got it.” You push yourself up, moving to the bed to retrieve one of the blankets there, carefully wrapping it around both of your torsos when you settle back onto his lap. Your legs stick out, but you don’t really care.

After a while you feel his heartbeat begin to pick up again and adjust yourself to look up at him. His eyes drift to you before he sighs. “Do you…still want me to talk?”

You nod.

“Alright then. I will talk. I do not think it is what you want to hear.”

You bite your lip and try to keep your breathing steady as he continues.

“Back in the med bay. No. Before that.” He shakes his head emphatically. “When we were assigned to two different groups…No…Scheiße, I…”

You run a shaky hand up and down his chest. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers dig into you for a fraction of a second, so quick you think you might have imagined it before his entire body is deflating, his head settling back against the wall. “They ambushed us. You weren’t there but…they hit us on patrol, hit us and ran before we could counter. I did not even see who hit me, I just look up one moment and down the next and the snow is all red and…” His voice drops to barely a whisper “Das war meines.” He trails off completely, a finger tracing circles on your shoulder. “I've been wounded before. I've accepted death before. This time...before I...while I was…” he exhales another irritated sigh. “I was on the ground and…wie sag ich das…ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte...I was thinking of you.”

He freezes, turning his head away and dropping his hands from you. But instead of moving away, you kiss a patch of skin just outside the hood, watching the muscle under it jump. “Is that all you want to tell me?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you think you can keep going?”

His head turns back to you briefly before he tilts it up to stare at the ceiling. “When I was in the med bay. Well, I…it went like this. I wake up and you are there and I think, König this is it, now you are finally dead. And then I feel the pain and I see the nurse and you were moving away and I couldn't…du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…” he shakes his head back and forth, back and forth. “Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…needed you to stay.” His head jerks down again, eyes boring into yours with all the intensity of a tornado, arms wrapping around you once again. “I need you to stay.”

You nod, holding him tight, the weight of the words unspoken tangling in your chest and constricting your tongue. Stay. With me. He won't ask for more than tonight, not when neither of you can even risk asking for a tomorrow. Stay with me. For as long as you have. A day, maybe. A month. Maybe you'll get out of this mess someday and get years.

Stay with me for a lifetime. Whatever lifetime we get.

You nod, whispering a promise into his skin. Always. Your fingers drift down along his leg, tracing just outside the stitches, your eyes following the line of gooseprickles that rise in their wake.

You feel more than you hear your name being whispered into your hair, and as you look up fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding it up over his hip, his ribs, his chest. Sliding around the edge of the hood, pushing it up, up, up. Until the fabric slides off. You gaze in awe, watching his jaw flex as his lips part to form a word whose sound hides in the back of his throat. Always. You look back into his eyes before surging forward, hugging him tight, tight enough to strangle, you think, but he’s already wrapping himself around you with equal fervor.

“You know,” you murmur, breath ruffling his hair, “if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

He huffs a laugh, the air catching in his lungs with a choking sound. His grip tightens.

When you wake you find you’ve been moved to the bed, but his face is still buried in your neck, unmoving despite the soft light filtering in your window. You smile a little, watching the early-morning sky, perfectly clear and pale blue.

It matches his eyes.

---

German Translations

du bist wie ein Traum: You are like a dream

Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist: I can’t believe you are here

Du bist viel zu gut für mich: You are too good to me

Dein Lächeln und…: You smile and…

Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als: I don't know how I am supposed to let go of you (eventually) but you (clearly) deserve so much more than me

Niemals, niemals, nie: never again, never again, never

Scheiße: shit

Das war meines: it was mine

wie sag ich das: how do I say this

ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte: I tried doing something, moving, but all I could do

du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…: you were there and then you nearly weren’t there and I could not breathe. I…

Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…: I couldn’t without you. I…

#könig #könig call of duty #cod #cod mwii #könig x reader

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lotusthekat · 1 year

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Living behind my own illusion:

[IDs: A short The Owl House fancomic centered around Gus, read from left to right.

1) Hunter is seen in the kitchen, wearing a light yellow apron. He looks behind him and requests, "Hey Gus, will you get me the "paring" knife?". Hunter's hair is slightly grown out but it's before he cuts his hair in Thanks to Them.

2) Gus, who has been washing the dishes with his magic, replies, "Oh, sure thing!". In the next panel, he's bending to the side to get the knife.

3) We see Gus from behind, looking inside a drawer. He puts away the dishes. Then, he seems to have found it, however we don't see the knife.

4) Smiling, Gus offers the still not exposed knife to Hunter. "Here you go, Hun-", only for him to open his eyes and see flames around him, the background darkening as well. He completes, "... ter?"

5) Gus' body is the one framed, his left hand holding the paring knife. We see the top of someone's head, a familiar blond hair with the one rebellious hair strand. This other person says, "I know you're still in there."

6) A close-up of Gus' mouth, sweat drops rolling down his face.

7) A shaking, white-skinned hand holding another knife. The other person begs, "Please..."

8) Caleb is in the middle of the flames, terrified. He's trying to calm Gus down instead of fighting back, since he doesn't point the knife at the boy. Caleb has dark bags under his eyes, similar to Hunter's. He pleads, "Don't do this, Philip."

9) As Gus watches the scene, a couple voices can be heard, represented by each color:

Willow (green): "... Gus?"

Luz (purple): "Are you okay?"

Amity (pink): "Can you hear us?"

Vee (dark green cyan): "What's wrong, Gus?"

10) A voice stands out to Gus, in brown (supposedly Camila): "... Why are his eyes blue?", only the last word colored blue. However, instead of Gus, we see Monster Belos' glowing blue eyes. /End ID]

(I apologize for the format here, Tumblr hates me)

Anyway, I've been writing this idea but I thought drawing it would've been cool. I also missed drawing comics in this format :)

I really wish we could've seen something like this on the show. I know for a fact that Gus would've been horrified by Belos' memories, one because he's the youngest of the group, and two, imagine him seeing Hunter dying over and over again. And yet we never actually see Gus and Hunter talking properly.

Hopefully I'll finish the fic soon, but for now have this little thingy. I hope Gus looks okay, I'll try to draw him more often

DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION!

Don't tag as ship.

#the owl house #gus porter #toh hunter #caleb wittebane #philip wittebane #emperor belos #my art #fan art #comics #digital art #artists on tumblr #long post #flashback tw

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ratsonastick · 5 months

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No Damsel In Distress

Luke Castellan x Reader

Inspired by Meg and Hercules relationship

You put up a big fight, but in the end, you still fall for him.

A/N - TAKING CHARACTER X READER REQUESTS!!!

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You truly thought your heart had learned its lesson, especially that day when you watched your crush run off with one of the Aphrodite girls that night. You knew that compared to her you were ugly but the way that boy talked to you had you thinking maybe there was a chance.

So, from that day on you cut all ties with having a crush on anyone at Camp, and yet at the mention of his name, you feel a sudden tug.

Luke Castellan, head of the Hermes cabin, has been a boy you've tried to avoid ever since you arrived at camp one year after him. He was charming, a boy every girl swooned for, and yet you always tried (Still do) to tell yourself something about him was unsettling.

Whenever your friends caught you sneaking glances they'd say something like “You guys would be so cute … ugh imagine the best swordsman and archer on campus together” but you would cut them off saying he would never date a girl like you.

But it wasn’t until one day did you truly started to second-guess yourself (once again)

“Hey do you need help with that?” a voice startled you, causing you to rock back and forth on the small bench you were using to try and get the bow and arrow string in the weapon closet. You turned around and there he was standing with all his glory.

He had a smug smile on his face, and his hands were on his hips as he looked up to you, “What?”

He smiled at you and lifted one of his hands to point at the shelf “Help you reach that?” you looked back at the shelf that you were sure he could reach quickly if he took your place on the bench, but being stubborn you shook your head, “I'm good”

You turned your head back around, standing on the tip of your toes once more to try and reach the box, and the bench slowly rocked once more with your movements. “You know this could be a lot quicker if I could just take your spot…” he stated which made you a bit annoyed.

You put your heels down turning around to look at him, but with the fast movements, the bench slowly rocked more causing you to lose balance. He quickly came to your side giving you something to hold on to as he wrapped his arms around your legs so you wouldn't fall back “I got you” He smiled while looking up at you.

You helped onto his shoulders, a small burning feeling growing on your face “Fine”

“Fine what.” he asked looking at you which made you sigh “Fine you can help me” he smiled and released his grip on your legs sticking out his hand for you to hold on to as he stepped down, but you ignored it “I'm no damsel in distress I don't need you to help me anymore then this,” you grumbled.

“Someone’s sassy” he mumbled, which made you roll your eyes as he stood on the bench quickly reaching for the box for you. He took a step down and turned towards you sticking out the box “Here you are”

“Thanks” You grabbed it and walked out of the closet, he smiled and put his hands in his pocket, walking out right after you “How come I never see you around?” he asked to speed up to walk next to you. “I don't know” you mumbled, struggling slightly to open the box since it still had tape on it. You reached for your dagger but it wasn't there which caused you to let out an annoyed groan.

Luke took the box from your hand which made you let out a gasp, he took his knife and sliced the tape open, folding back the cardboard pieces and handing it back to you.

“I feel like there's a reason … Do you not like me?” You shook your head, taking out the rope as you walked back to the archery field, tossing the box into a nearby trash. “I don't hate you”

“That sounded convincing.” He smiled as he looked out into the distance “I'm just busy …” You thought for a moment, that made sense.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head “You're lying”

“Fine! I don’t like how you always feel the need to help people, like oh! This random girl can't reach a box, let me help her!” you sighed, waving your hands around frustrated.

“It's called being a good person,” He said in a cocky voice ‘While sometimes you do not have to be” he nodded his head slowly “okay next time I see a damsel in distress I'll ask if she needs help before even though I had been watching her for about 10 minutes struggling”

“I'm not a damsel” you stopped walking and turned to face him, but then it clicked “Wait … why were you watching me?”

He stopped and looked down at you, his hands in his pockets and he shrugged his shoulders. “I've seen you around, but we've never talked,” he stated, which is true, many people have heard your name but never seen you.

“Okay, but that doesn't mean you just had to come talk to me” you furrowed your brows as you looked up at him, playing with the rope in your hand.

“Why do you always have to have a reason?” He asked which made a small shy smile appear on your face as you looked off into the distance “I don't know”

He kept his gaze on you, a small smile on his face, almost like he knew how you felt.

Ever since that day, you both had this back-and-forth relationship, it was bickering in a friendly way. And even though you tried to be secretive about your life, somehow Luke managed to figure it all out.

It was one specific day when things started to change “Y/n” he spoke, walking up behind you “Luke” you muttered softly looking ahead at the path.

“Wanna go out with me?” he asked in what sounded to you like a teasing tone, so you smiled and shook your head “Luke what.”

He grabbed your shoulder and spun you so you faced him, his face was serious, and a piece of his hair fell by his eyes. “Will you go out with me?” he asked again, this time he spoke in a monotone voice so it sounded serious.

“Luke … what?” you asked again, getting confused. “Y/n I don’t know how to make it any more simpler than it already is …. Will … you … go …” you cut him off by placing a hand over his mouth.

“Luke I’m not slow, I know what you are asking but why?” this question made his face light up, but you could sense a small worry still.

“I don't know … I guess I kinda like you?”

“You guess?”

“I Know” he spoke up with more confidence in his voice.

He brushed the hair out of his face and kept his gaze on you “I like you … you challenge me, and aren't just like the others where you try to flaunt your beauty and all your special skills. And you especially don't just talk to me to get with me.”

You paused for a moment before sighing, but a small smile formed on your lips “Fine…”

“Fine, what?” he tested you, the smiling growing, making small creases form under his eyes and at the corner of his lips. “Fine, I will go out with you.”

“Well don't make it sound like an inconvenience there buddy.” He teased which made you quickly laugh, covering your mouth.

He kept his eyes on you, and you had a feeling that the look he gave you was different than the ones you've received from your past crushes

#percy jackson #luke castellan #annabeth pjo #x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #camp half blood

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xythlia · 7 months

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⎙ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃

› idk I feel like he'd enjoy being needed a little too much, it'd go to his head in the worst way. Especially if you let him do nearly anything to you only because it's him doing it.

› suguru x f!reader

› word count : 1k+

warnings : punishment, degradation, humiliation, restraints, use of toys, dom sub dynamics, panties used as a gag, pussy slapping, nipple pinching, oral, dacriphilia, religious imagery used

When it comes to his punishments it's never the physical kind that gets to you the most, although they're far from painless. Violet fingerprint bruises on the fat of your ass or angry shades of red on the backs of your thighs, though those are pleasant in their own way. There's a comfort in knowing there is a reward for whatever pain is inflicted.

It's the verbal punishment that tilts you and causes your mind to wobble like a newborn fawn on its legs for the first time. His words are always so acerbic, like tiny bramble barbs digging into your skin. He knows exactly what weighs on you, what keeps you up at night sometimes.

He knows you don't want him to love the way you need him. Unfortunately he does, loves the way that no matter how much you cry you'll end up right here just the same.

All it takes is a cursory glance, one apathetic look at your restrained body arching against the sheets as the silicone toy barely teases your soaked pussy with its tip.

A look of utter contempt transforms his usually placid features. "It's disgusting, how little it matters in your own mind what I do to you." He murmurs, one large hand skimming up your tummy to your breasts. You whimper, eyes clinging to his and communicating how badly you want him to touch you in such an achingly clear way that if he was a man of weaker resolve he would.

Unluckily for you, his resolve may as well be crafted from tungsten steel. He gives a particularly cruel pinch to your already sensitive nipple, the barest smirk crossing his lips watching you yelp with the twinge of pain.

You hate that it always goes like this, that by the end of the night you'll have proven him right yet again. That you're little else but a creature driven by your most basic instincts and that it doesn't matter how little he thinks of you as long as something stuffs your aching cunt full to the brim at the end of the night. For him it's fascinating, most people would balk at the idea of being so utterly, painfully submissive and so nakedly debased but not you. No, you'll happily lick love off the edge of a knife as long as he's holding it.

The way your eyes roll back as the toy slides in, the slow stretch of your body accommodating the ridges and the slick sounds you make once it's buried to the hilt inside you. His hand resting on your chest can feel the way your breathing is thin, your muscles held taut as you anticipate what comes next.

"Hm, what's got you so tense?" His tone is playful and it feels cruel paired with the way he twists the dildo inside you, just to make you squirm.

It's difficult to talk with your own panties stuffed in your mouth, your words coming only in garbled babble muffled by satin. Gingerly he pulls them from your lips, eyes drawn to the shimmering strings of spit connecting them to your tongue.

His lips on yours are far sweeter than anything that exists in nature, like he's dripping honey down your throat with every swipe of his tongue against yours. Whatever you wanted to say fades into the background, drowned out by the way he invades your senses.

The wet squelching sound of your pussy coupled with the way the head of the toy prods at just the right spot makes you moan, throaty and low, into his mouth. Desperately you try angling your hips up, chasing the thrusting motion from his hand.

Suguru is quick to break the kiss, giving a harsh nip to your bottom lip as his hand glides down to firmly press your hip back down against the mattress. The way his fingertips dig into your flesh tell you he has little patience for your habit of getting ahead of yourself.

You're not in control here.

You whimper his name, eyes wide and pleading but to no avail.

The sharp slap against your swollen clit makes your entire body jolt, crying out at the intense sting. Tears prick in your waterline and your breathing picks up in pace ever so slightly but he soothes you before you can reach a fever pitch.

His soft lips place a sweet kiss to your now throbbing clit as he moves down your body in a fluid motion, making you moan and twist your hands in their restraints, aching to touch him.

"Maybe this'll make you relax?" He muses, the way his breath fans over your clit has your toes curling.

Delicately his tongue traces over it, making your breaths come in pants that hitch in your throat. You know it's greedy, the way you want him to be the one filling you up but you can't help it. He's always been right, your need for him wins out over anything else.

"Please Sugu-!" Your voice chokes off into a squeal, feeling his hand make contact with your clit again.

This time he doesn't soothe you, instead letting you sob and squirm your hips, watching bemused with a raised brow. Humming he runs his hands up your inner thighs, squeezing the flesh and enjoying the way you cry out. A pathetic mess promising to be good, promising to follow the rules. You really are adorable.

After a moment letting you stew in your misery he lets his fingers drift back to your pussy, toying with you as his fingers drag through your glistening arousal.

"Do you get it yet?" He asked lightly.

Wide eyed you nod frantically. "Yes, yes I get it. I promise, I won't be greedy-" you trip over yourself in a hiccuped breath, nearly choking on your spit.

The way your lips wobble, and how your eyes glisten with tears tugs at his affection for you. You always look so beautiful like this, reduced to a puddle of blind adoration.

He closes his eyes, soaking in the way you moan his name as his lips find your clit again. Your thigh muscles tense in his hold and the way you sob his name makes him believe for a moment that heaven must exist because it's here in this bed with you.

Softly he sucks at the little bud in his mouth, fingers sliding effortlessly inside you and your cunt reacts eagerly, walls clenching and pulsing around them as he curls them against that spot that makes your back rise off the bed.

His eyes open, lazily glancing up to take in the way your breasts are heaving with your harsh inhales and the way the sweat on your skin shines in the low light of the bedroom.

It's always been so clear.

He is the knife and you are the lamb.

#ive never needed a character to be mean to me as badly as i need him to be #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #geto suguru #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader

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cloverlove-drabble · 7 months

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SLASHERS X MALE!READER

nsfw headcannons!?

Michael Myers:

BDSM to the extreme, knifes, rope, maybe murder

he would not be gentle, he doesn't care how much you hate rough sex he will go 10x harder to spite you

he will in fact cut you up, but not to deep, he doesn't want you dead

not one to focus on your pleasure, don't expect him to give you head.. not even a hand job

if you finish isn't his concern BUTTT

if you do, he kinda gets off on it, in a way, he just likes how helpless you seem when you come

silent.. if he isn't close he won't make any noise, the only reason you know he's enjoying it is the fact he's hard

not prone to start any sexual advances, he leaves that to you

his libedo is low but it exists, and when he is in the mood hes throwing you over his shoulder and speed walking to the bed

his aftercare in non existent, the most he'll do is rub you're head and wonder off afterwards

Jason Vorhees:

gentle giant! he let's you top, whether that be you riding him or fucking him yourself is for you to decide

he loves to see you on top of him, please use him for yourself he doesn't mind

the louder you moan and the more cute facial expressions you make the better

is not afraid to help you out all through out the day, he lives to make you happy

the more pleasure he can give you the happier he is, feels bad and may even cry if you don't finish when you two are having sex

he doenst think to focus on his own pleasure so you'll have to do that yourself

suck him off, please, he is desperate

the bliss he feels from it is unmatched, he'll whimper and whine and try his best not to jerk up into your mouth, he doenst wanna make you gag

speaking of that hes BIG, alot of prep will be needed, and he losses it when you prep yourself infront of him, fingering your hole refusing to let him touch you until you're done drives him mad

with aftercare he is so gentle and soft he'll rub his masked face in your neck and snuggle you close, refusing to get up until hes had enough hugs and kisses from you

Brahms Heelshire:

a real sub-y brat, he expects you to take care of all his needs

hes hypersexual to the extreme, all throughout the day he'll stop you just so he can get head

and hes mean with it, forcing himself deeper down you're throat until you're gagging, but he'll give you a thank you kiss so its okay :)

with sex he wants to bottom 100% of the time, he loves the feeling of you in him, the deeper you go the louder his demands get

he wants you to finish inside him atleast 2 times, he's spoiled and wants alot from you, he wont stop until he's full of you

hes a high pitch moaner, and he refuses to quiet down unless you gag him

he loves when you discipline him, overstim him until he's shaking, he would kill for it

he also loves praise, call him your good boy, tell him how good he makes you feel, pet his head, do anything like that and hes whining

a big biter, he leaves bite marks all over you as a claim, he wants you to know you're his

his aftercare is dependent on you, he's also so tired afterwards he wants you to praise him some more and coddle him until he falls asleep

Bubba Sawyer (leather face):

desperate hypersexual man, if brahms is hyper sexual this man is hyperly obsessed with sex

he wants multiple rounds a day, all through out the day, at least a couple of handjobs to hold him off until he can have you fully

hes been caught by you humping pillows desperately trying to get off, he is always so horny

hes never had someone to give him a helping hand so hes verryy greatful for you, he uses you all through out the day

he can dry hump you for the rest of his life if he could, he just loves the feeling he gets from you

sex with him is very fast and messy, hes humping you, trying to go deeper than possible in you, and all around making a huge mess of both of you

he loves to give to though! you're pleasure is all he cares about sometimes, he wants to give you the best mind blowing sloppy top you've ever experienced, he could spend hours between you're legs

he perfers to top during sex, doggy style is his favorite, he loves to grip you're hips and just go until you're legs are useless, to make it up he carries you around though! hes not a monster

he does have a monster size though, and it never fits fully but he tries his best to make it

aftercare is very good, he rushes you to shower with him, he scrubs your back and kisses you until you're lips are bruised, all this while he's trying to babble out praise, he's so cute

happy Halloween:3

#slasher x male reader #slasher headcannons #slasher x reader #slasher scenarios #Michael Myers #Jason Vorhees #Brahms Heelshire #Bubba Sawyer #Halloween #Friday the 13th #The boy #texas chainsaw massacre #cloverthought

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year

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Title: Shared Stock.

Pairing: Yandere!Cowboy!OC x Reader x Yandere!Farmer!OC.

Word Count: < 1.0k.

TW: Explicit Cowboy Self-Indulgence, Implied Non//con, Prolonged Imprisonment, and Gun Violence.

Mercy thinks Wren is too careful.

She says he treats you too much like a porcelain doll, not enough like the little spitfire she claims to know you are. She'll scoff when you tell her about his paranoia, roll her eyes when she sees you dressed in his aprons and flannel over-shirts, insist that you're tough enough to handle a few weeks on the open road - even if she never lets you out of her sight, much less far enough from her side to stray into any proper danger. She could spend hours admonishing the way Wren fusses over every scrape and scratch, but in all honesty, she's more selfish than trusting, willing to make-believe that you'd do better on horseback than tucked away in some ramshackle farmhouse if it means she gets to take you with her when she leaves town, on her way to some unnamed city on the edge of the world with only a herd of cattle and her crew. She doesn't think you'd stand a chance on your own, not in earnest, but she's far too possessive not to make your life as difficult as hers.

She's far too possessive in general, really. You know better than to say as much aloud (you can still remember the taste of her pistol against your tongue, still hear the sound of her voice as asked if you wanted to call her 'jealous' again), but there's a reason you're not allowed to talk to any of the other wranglers, that she always makes such a show out of splitting you open on her tongue behind the paper-thin scraps of material she calls a tent. One to spend every coin she earns and drain every bottle she comes across, Mercy's not the kind of woman who stand not to use what she has, and she does what she can to wear you down to the bone. Whether that means one of her fraying ropes is rubbing the skin of your wrists raw because 'you look like you've gotten it into your pretty little head to do somethin' stupid again' or you're sobbing you're eyes out because a man from her crew scowled at you the wrong way and, well, Mercy's always been faster to draw her gun than second-guess her own assumptions, she always finds a way to bleed you dry. She could afford to be a little more careful with you, all in all.

Wren thinks Mercy is too rough.

He's not as blatant about it as she is, but you see the way he frowns when she brings you back from a cattle drive covered in dust and cuts and bruise, and you know that, if Wren had his way, you'd spend all day baking apple pies and all night wrapped in handstitched quilts and never so much as cross paths with anything or anyone who might do you harm. There's no rope, when you're with him, no guns when you manage to forget about the shotgun he keeps in the shed behind the farmhouse - just locks on the doors and a few idle warnings that the townsfolk in these parts don't take kindly to troublemakers. When you try to tell him that he and his friends are the ones causing trouble for you, he just frowns and tells you to mind your tongue. You're something to keep safe and stowed away, to Wren, just like you're something to own and flaunt to Mercy. People don't tend to bother arguing with the precious gems they've already decided to hoard.

He doesn't bother talking to you much at all, as welcome as his silence usually is. That might be the worst thing about the farmhouse - how claustrophobic those wooden walls can feel before he comes home and drags you into a hour-long bath, just how suffocating the soundlessness can be and just how much worse it can get when you know you're relying on that monster of a man to break it. For everything you hate about Mercy, you're never bored when you're with her. You're never bored when you're with Wren, either, but Wren's not around very often. The fields have to be tended to, and Wren will barely let you hold a pairing knife, much less a spade. Wren doesn't give you as much to cry about as Mercy does, but sometimes, you almost wish he would. At least then, you'd have something to do.

You've tried to tell them that, if they both think the other's going to be the death of you, they could always let you go, set you free, drop you off on the outskirts of the nearest town with a sturdy pair of boots and enough cash to catch the next train to a more hospitable part of the country, but neither of them have ever taken kindly to your advice. That might be the only thing they have in common - how adamantly they refuse to let you wander farther than the horizon line, how ferociously they respond to any suggestion of a reality where you don't belong to one of them. That might be the only thing they agree on.

Neither of them likes the way the other treats you, but both Wren and Mercy know you wouldn't last a second on your own.

#woman loving wednesday #on thursday #cowboy fucking hours #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere cowboy #yandere oc #yanderecore #yancore

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amiizuki · 2 months

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it will be forever funny to me how the flashback portraits of Wittebrothers made Caleb seem like he's had packing peanuts for a brain

(this post ended up becoming quite lengthy, and so did the tags somehow, because I kinda devolved into a rant closer to the end of writing this whole thing, so bear with me here)

so we know that Philip and Caleb became orphans when both of them were still kids. after that, they ended up in Gravesfield and, to fit in with everyone else who lived there, picked up witch hunting and started thinking that witches are pure evil. Caleb knew perfectly well that he's the only family Philip's had left and that he even may be his his only friend, since, judging by the portraits, they've only ever hung out with each other and we don't know if those two ever made any other actual friends.

until one day, during a witch hunt he and Philip were both a part in (something Caleb seemed happy to do, judging by his smirk there), he met a witch – Evelyn – someone he's been taught to hate and want dead by the townsfolk. someone who, again, in his mind, should be evil.

but he just suddenly does a 180 and goes "damn, you can make fire with your hands, you're actually pretty cool"

and then a few days (?) of talking to her later, he's running off to live with her in the Demon Realm, while simultaneously not giving a single fuck about the brother he's abandoning.

(he even runs off with a smile, with a literal :D face, I fucking can't lmao)

Philip ends up seeing Caleb get dragged off through a weird portal and later follows along, thinking something like "no, my brother wouldn't just up and abandon me without saying anything. he probably got captured by that witch we saw together that one time! she probably used some demon magic to bewitch Caleb and took him through that portal to kill him or worse! I gotta go save him!". and, after spending god knows how long in that realm, searching endlessly for his missing older brother, he eventually finds him. but he also finds that Caleb is not only perfectly okay and not hurt in the slightest, he's also peacefully walking together with the same witch who "captured" him, even holding hands with her.

and when enraged Philip tries to attack Evelyn, to protect Caleb from the witch who took him from his home, from his brother, still thinking that Caleb's under her control, Caleb just... gives him a hug and goes on to introduce the witch as his new wife to him (I'm assuming that portrait is the same day as the other three, if not the same scene), also adding on top of that that they're having a child. all as if nothing happened. treating the whole thing like everything's perfectly okay and just another normal day, fully ignoring the fact that he threw his brother away with no care or thought, leaving him completely alone, a full orphan, now with zero actual family left (in TTT, during their backstory, it's said that "Caleb did his best to take care of his younger brother", meaning that either they never got adopted in Gravesfield, or whoever adopted them didn't give a shit about the two, so they still mostly had to fend for themselves), all to go smash some random 5 out of 10 witchussy he talked to, like, 3 times. no fucking wonder Philip killed him!

(btw, jokes aside, it didn't seem like he intended to kill Caleb, because in that portrait where he's ready to kill with a knife in his hand, he's facing forward, while Caleb is actually to his left. so it just looks to me like Philip was gonna try to kill Evelyn again, and Caleb either jumped in front of her to protect her and got accidentally stabbed or he attacked Philip back, to, again, protect Evelyn, and Philip ended up winning that fight. but that's just my theory)

my brother in literal christ and literal titan – why in the FUCK are you just hugging it out with a smile on your face??? you ran off while giving absolutely no warning to anyone, especially your younger brother! why do you think he's here and actively trying to attack you and your new wife? you're not even trying to address the fact that you left him! at least when Luz ran off to a different realm without warning, she had a "I'm still at the camp" cover, so Camila wouldn't worry that much about where her daughter is, and even then she still felt bad for leaving her mother and planned to go back home once summer was over. this chucklefuck, on the other hand, just permanently portaled away to the Boiling Isles, knocked up a witch and fully settled down there, walking around with a big ol' smile and no care in the world. "Philip who? never heard of him"

the only thing that would sorta make this situation seem better (as in, not make Caleb seem like an overly naive ignorant brick), in my opinion, is if they added one more portrait – after the one where he meets the witch, but before the one where he leaves. in that portrait, Caleb would look like he's trying his best to convince Philip that witches aren't actually evil, and perhaps even try to get him to go live with them in the Demon Realm, all the while Philip's looking at him with either disagreement/disappointment/disgust or just rolling his eyes and full on ignoring him, while sharpening his witch hunt tools or something. then it would look like Caleb at least tried to make his brother change his mind, like he tried to offer him a chance to go with them. but no. with the way the portraits look in the final version it just seems like Caleb was fully on-board with killing witches since he was young, even pulling his younger brother along to think the same way, Philip also thought that Caleb was perfectly fine with killing witches, but once he actually meets a real witch (assuming they've never met one before) he instantly pulls an uno reverse card and just runs off with her, without so much as telling his brother beforehand.

I'm not trying to say that "Belos should've been redeemed, because he's the victim here and Caleb is bad and it's all his fault". he still murdered his brother and went on to manipulate everyone on Boiling Isles for centuries, with his end goal being the death of all witches, while simultaneously being stuck in the loop of "denial" and "bargaining" stages of grief – repeatedly trying and failing to recreate a perfect copy of Caleb, but also killing each one that came out wrong or went against him. Belos not being redeemed in the end was the right choice (ignoring the "Belos was always le bad" from King's dad), I agree with that. frankly, if he actually got redeemed in the end, I'd probably be seething for the next 3 to 5 years, like how I did after the Diamonds' "redemptions" in SU (yes I'm still pissed about that lol). I'm just saying that, from what was shown to us, Caleb didn't seem like that good of a person either, not as bad as Belos ended up being, but still not that great. and, once again, seemingly had a raisin for a brain.

(off topic, but during Masha's retelling of Wittebane's backstory, their "sounds like big bro got a hot witch girlfriend and little bro got upset" line was so fucking cringe, it gave me a fever for 3 days the first time I watched the episode)

k, rant over, I dunno what else to add

TL;DR: I think Caleb was dumb as a brick, because, from what was shown to us in their backstory, he seemed to have run off to Demon Realm and abandon Philip without telling him anything beforehand. when Philip came to BI to look for his brother, who he assumed was under control of the witch who "took" him, since he thought his last living family member wouldn't just abandon him, and when he eventually found him, and it turned out he wasn't in any danger at all, Caleb just brushed the whole "I left you for witchussy" thing under the rug and pretended everything was and is perfectly fine, even though it clearly isn't. rip bozo

#toh critical #toh criticism #big ol' rant here lol #ever since we saw those portraits I've always thought it was kinda weird how Caleb just ran off with no warning #I thought it'd be adressed in the 3rd season at some point #like maybe there'd be a scene of Belos and Hunter talking #and Belos starts getting angry and going on a rant #“you're ALWAYS leaving me Caleb! and for what? for a witch you've just met?!” or something like that #and after Belos started hallucinating Caleb's ghost I instead thought there'd be a scene of him talking directly to it instead of Hunter #but nah it all just kinda got thrown away #and Belos turned into “always been le bad” kaiju #meanwhile Hunter is just 404 not found #lol #lmao even #rant #♤mizu.txt

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sunsents · 1 year

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neteyam sully hcs - how he teases you (M)

headcannons about Neteyam teasing little shit sully. I've been craving to write this because I just KNOW he's so annoying and smug when he wants to be.

➵ pairing: agedup!neteyam x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

➵ warnings: this gets spicy towards the end so be warned. also, neteyams annoying asf, so be warned again.

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

Neteyam has a knack for romantics. He's seen plenty of his parents' very public displays of affection that make the entire herd say "eewwww". At the ripe age of 37, Jake constantly pines over his wife and Neytiri is no better.

The fact that the married couple has enough kids to form a goddamn baseball team is enough proof on its own. (And yes, Jake is painfully aware of this fact and is itching to introduce the sport to the poor na'vi children.)

Neteyam also has a way with words. In fact, he's so good with them that he can wax poetic about your bowel movements and you'd swoon nonetheless.

"Neteyam, are you drunk?" you'd ask after a particularly rowdy festival.

"No, I'm a poet." he'd tell you, drunk off his ass.

Cue the guy saying whatever comes to mind and trying to make it sound beautiful. "Oh, ____, Why, _____. Every move of your unaware knife stabs my heart. Your hands drip rewards of the sweetest juices a man dare crave." when you’re literally trying to cut fruit, or some shit like this. (idk im no poet use your imagination.)

Worst of all, it works. This man is mighty aware of how embarrassed and shy you get when he intricately weaves words just so he can see you blush and swat at him. He takes pleasure in your angry little tone in some weird, fucked up way.

Which ends up with him developing a little...kink, if you will. He loves teasing. And in a condescending way too.

He used to consider himself good-natured - didn't take pleasure in the humiliation of others, surely. His parents' relationship should have taught him well. And it did...but he just can't stop teasing you.

Perhaps it was your strangled voice telling him to cut it out, or the tint of your cheeks complimenting you oh so delightfully. He adored your reactions and coaxing them out was such fun.

With this devilish smirk that could fluster anyone, (or so you'd tell yourself because you aren't weak...okay, maybe you are. but only for him.) he tells you how red you've become. He'd scissor his hands and squeeze your cheek between the two digits, "You're just so easy to mess with, my love."

This led to his teasing gaining an edge. And as he grew confident, he also got mean. His teases degraded you here and there but he was just so condescending; talking down at you as the prince of Omaticaya. Stuff like. “Oh, yawnetu. You’re always falling at my feet. Should I hold your hand?” when you trip and fall (because he made you trip and fall by looking extra good that day, and also ‘forgetting’ to put on pants. in your kelku, of course. or outside in the forest if you’re into that, you weirdo.)

“Look at you, getting that fruit all over your mouth. Can’t even eat properly without my help.” when you eat particularly messily.

“It’s cute that you think you can win these fights.” when you try to snap back.

When he takes things particularly far, you get angry. Because damn, he's just so annoying sometimes. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine the Olo’eyktan in training to be so smug and condescending. At first, he was all gentlemanly and teeth-rotting sweet. He’d encourage you, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and be so freaking kind that it’d make you want to cry.

When your mate got too comfortable, however, things went down. "Can you pass me the f-

"Only if you kiss me,"

"At what point do you become mature?"

"When you kiss me,"

"God, I hate you."

"Your pussy wasn't exactly screaming I hate you Neteyam this morning, but maybe that's just me."

He’s still sweet, of course. This man has no bad bone in his body, it’s true. He loves you so much that he can’t help but poke fun at your antics, and makes sure you know it’s all fun and games. When it’s fun and game time though, he’s ruthless.

And he's so proud of himself too. Puffing out his chest smugly and prancing around, boasting his confidence. You just want to wipe that sly smirk off his face - but you can't. It falls on deaf ears when Neteyam jokingly personalizes a better-than-thou attitude

"Oh, do I annoy you?” he would ask you after watching you groan and roll your eyes. “Not more than usual,” you would tell him, and he would just smirk, striding towards you and pulling you into a fat kiss.

Of course, these shenanigans follow him into the bedroom.

Lo'ak is evidently more like Jake when it comes to teasing. But Neteyam? Eywa have mercy on your poor soul. He's a mix of Neytiri, Jake, and perhaps Tsu'tey combined. (he's alive, argue with the wall.) The epitome of pure sex and the reincarnation of Asmodeus himself.

His tone is sweet yet condescending, smoothly purring into your ear while making fun of how easy it was to make your cunt ache with needy desire.

He would demand you finger yourself right in front of his prying eyes, then coo at you when you couldn't cum no matter how hard you tried. It was pathetic really, how diligently your fingers worked on your poor clit. But to no avail.

Neteyam would feast on the view like it was his meal for the week. With blown-out eyes and feral flicks of his tail, he would tease you all the while. Stuff like, "Let's see those fingers work harder. Oh come on, now you're just messing with me. There's no way you think that's what it takes to make you cum.

"I can’t concentrate when you look at me like that.”

“Well, you should be concentrating on me instead,…maybe learn a few things.” he drawls, circling the head of his cock with a groan while imagining he’s rubbing your swollen clit.

And you'd try your best to remember how he made you cum. But no matter what, you just couldn't copy the way Neteyam spit on your clit to ease the ache or the way he strokes the nerves so gently with a finger. Only the clit, of course - because he's going to tease you, and teasing you involves edging the shit out of you until your eyes water and you can't help but beg.

The fact that you’re so accustomed to his fingers and cock was a little embarrassing. They had become proviso for you to cum.

"You can't make yourself cum? How pathetic. Did I fuck you too good that it made you incompetent, or do you just like me too much?"

Neteyam always basks in his torture. He'd watch your hips buck wildly while begging and crying for him to fuck you right. He'd just sit there with wide legs, palming his hard cock and squeezing his balls ever so slightly at your pained mewls. Arms spread, head thrown back, he'd just observe you with additional snarky comments if he felt like it.

"Come on, you can do it. Oh, you got it, yes, there we g-...oh. What a pity."

#neteyam fic #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam #avatar twow #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar au #neteyam headcanons

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ghostgirl101 · 2 years

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how about a micheal myers dating headcannon list? i always thought he was pretty,,

Dating Michael Myers Would Be Like This:

A/N: The version of Michael Myers I'm writing for here is the younger, original 1978 Halloween, so if you want the older version or Rob Zombie's then feel free to request it (just no smut 🙃)

🔪• Michael Myers... it's hard to know where to start with this. You may have caught his attention as a potential victim, or even as an aspiring slasher, but whatever you did, you can't undo. You're The Shape's new obsession now, and it'll be almost impossible to not carry on being so.

🔪• He doesn't know what it is he's feeling at all; maybe it's the way you stared up at him expectantly, your fear mixed with something searching and curious as you waited for impact, but Michael couldn't make himself kill you. His head told him to do it, and do it now, but, for once, his own willpower won. Michael brushed past you instead, while you watched in surprise, his knife sticky with crimson as it swung slightly as he walked away.

🔪• It won't be the last you see of him, though. Whether you notice it or not, Myers is never too far away, watching you blankly from around the corner, inside a passing beige car, or in plain sight on the road opposite. It's unnerving, his dark eyes hidden and seemingly empty behind the mask as he observes ominously, but if you could get closer, you would see the confusion, annoyance with himself, and the fond calmness he gets just from being in your presence, in his hidden expression.

🔪• You have to sort of allow him into your life and home after a while of him following you around, subtly or obviously, depending on how he feels and what's happening. If Michael wanted you dead, you'd be dead, so him being nearby whenever you look behind you is a form of protection on his part, that, for whatever reason, he wants and needs to give you.

🔪• Simple things like cooking him food and patching him up after his kills mean a lot to him. I mean, the first few times, he'll be looming and making sure you're not poisoning it, or apprehensively staring at the things you're using to fix him up with and stop the blood. But little by little, Michael trusts you more, and gets a bit more relaxed. He still only eats when he's alone because he doesn't want you to see him unmasked (yet, we'll get to that later) but he'll hang around more when you're not in any danger, like watching tv or catching up on work. He's not particularly focused on that, more on you... he stares, a lot, obviously.

🔪• Being in a proper relationship with a lover is something that Michael Myers has never really come close to experiencing, so he has to be eased and gently guided into it. If he panics when things move a little too fast, he won't hurt you or anything, but he'll disappear for an hour or so, until he's in a better state to try again. It starts with small physical touches, sitting closer together, holding hands, and even managing to lean on him or hug him a little. It fazes him at first, and he freezes up but doesn't push you off. It just takes him a bit to mirror it, like letting a strong arm go around your shoulders as he awkwardly returns it. He gets better and more comfortable with it over time.

🔪• Michael is extremely protective, no matter who you are or what you do. He hates the thought of you being scared of him too... I mean, usually, it's a great rush of a feeling, when his victim runs off to get caught by him, with looks of horror on their faces. But it feels wrong with you. You're not his victim. You matter, and you're his. Simple as that, to him. So the stalking doesn't fully stop, since he likes knowing where you are and who you're with; not necessarily in an overly toxic way, more as in him not trusting anyone but you, and making sure you're as safe as you can be. When you're at home watching TV or something, then he'll feel confident enough in you to go off to his nightly activities, before he returns in the early hours of the morning and lets you coax him to sleep.

🔪• Michael Myers finds it almost impossible to sleep, and often time he gets nightmares. He's never slept as well and deeply as he does when you're beside him, or feeling your soft weight on him, grounding him in a way. He still gets nightmares every now and then, but in the dark, he can use the opportunity to cling to you instead, in a way that's a lot more vulnerable than usual. He'll act like it never happened when you get up for the day later on, though, and gets all flustered under his mask if you bring it up.

🔪• Sometimes, after his kills, he'll bring you back little trinkets, like jewellery Michael thinks you might like, or expensive-looking things. Either that or bloody teeth. You accept his more appropriate gifts with a thankful smile and a hug, though you can't wear it out much in case someone notices it. He also likes it when you wear his stuff, like the oversized black t-shirts he wears underneath the boiler suit. It makes Michael feel a lot more possessive.

🔪• Another thing is communication. You can tell what he wants by him just standing straight behind you for you to bump into him when you turn back, whether it's food or to go somewhere else or a hug. Sometimes he'll leave brief, one or two-worded notes around your home when he's gone to tell you to 'stay home' or 'sleep soon' with a small, wobbly heart hidden on the corner of the paper. But what's surprising is that, although he's selectively mute, a part of him wants to talk to you. It's difficult after being silent for so long, but every once in a while, he'll whisper a faded, odd compliment when you're in bed, alone together, to comfort you or answer a question. Unless he can't be bothered. Then Michael's back to doing things himself and just standing in the doorway like 🧍

🔪• Eventually, eventually, Michael feels confident enough to take off his mask with you - and only you - around to see. We saw how taken aback and uncomfortable he was in the movie when the mask was yanked off him, and although his expression usually is calm and stoic underneath, when it's bare, he hates how it's a lot easier to read his feelings. But it is you, so Michael doesn't mind as much. If you slowly reach up to touch his cheek or brush his hair with your hand, he'll flinch back instinctively at first, but grows to like it. If you earnestly tell him how pretty he is, if you look closely, you can see a faint blush dusting his cheeks before he huffs and looks away.

🔪• He likes you playing with his hair, too. It's more of a reason to keep his mask off, like when you're lounging around the house or trying to sleep. Gently tugging and carding your fingers through his brown curls makes him slump onto you and let his mind wander into a place that's not full of darkness and blood. The same goes for if you pull his hair slightly when you're making out. You have to teach him how to kiss you properly first, since he's never done this before. But Michael tones down the roughness and desperate, quick moves the more you do it, and learns how to be gentle. Well, gentler. He likes the feeling of being close together and connected on a deeper level, it balances him out a bit, and he lets himself enjoy it.

🔪• Random point, but if you find the one, specific ticklish spot he has, you could catch a glimpse of his rare smiles as he forces your hands away and tries to glare at you in annoyance. If you're ticklish, watch out, cus he'll get you back until you're in a laughing crying fit. You make him laugh just by being you every so often, and his smile is heart-stopping.

🔪• Michael knows that you're his forever, and that's exactly how he wants it. It's honestly not that bad a relationship (overlooking the kills and all, obviously) if you can take his protectiveness and weird mannerisms. But in the whole world, you'll never find a loyaler person, or anyone who loves as hard and obsessively as him. No one would think it - especially not Loomis - but you treating Michael Myers as a human and not as The Shape or some evil monster keeps a special little part of him awake amongst the darkness that swarms in his head.

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

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Eat Your Young

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (platonic!Ellie Williams x reader)

Author’s note: I’m sorry (gif by @pedrohub)

Summary: “Thoe I walk through the valley in the shadow of death I fear no evil for I am the meanest motherfucker in the valley.” [4.1k!!!]

Warnings: episode 8 spoilers!! David (this is a warning in itself), Ellie in peril, canonical violence, bargaining, reader being a badass because I said so, a slight allusion to sa, PTSD symptoms, physical trauma, angst with a happy (slightly ambiguous) ending

Your body aches when you come to. Your face pulses with bruises, and you can feel broken ribs pushing against your lungs. Memories spark under your throbbing skull— waking up to the sound of the garage opening, Ellie yelling for help, the men, the horse going down. She should've woken you up earlier. She never should've tried to face them by herself. Your eyes blink open, and a hideous red carpet stares back at you. Rope ties your hands and ankles to the chair you're sitting on, and you look around for Ellie.

An empty room has never been as scary as it is right now. Your heartbeat quickens against sore ribs, and your breathing rattles loudly. Did they take you both? If so, where is she, and why isn't she with you? Did they find Joel? You think about how weak he was when you left, how he could barely hold his own knife, and how delirious he was. Your teeth grind together as you try to shrink back tears at the thought of him dying alone in that stupid basement. Your thoughts are interrupted by a door opening, and you look up enough to see the familiar man walking through the door.

David pauses by the swinging door once he sees you're awake. His eyes rake over your injuries with an alarming lack of care, and you shift in the chair. Your shoulders scream in pain, and you wince, but Ellie stays at the forefront of your mind.

"Where is she?" You ask. David grabs a chair from one of the tables and sets it in front of you. He's close enough that you can smell sweat and grime on him. You straighten up, making yourself as big as possible, as he sits across from you and stares at you intently.

"I was starting to worry about you," he says, and you let out a shaky breath. "How are you feeling?"

"Where the fuck is she?"

"She's alive. That's all you need to know right now."

"Let me see her."

"I'm afraid you're not in the position to be demanding things," he says as he rubs his hands together. You glance at the door he came through and make a mental note. She has to be through there. She would be able to hear you if you called for her. Does she know how close you are? "Are you her mother?"

"Fuck you."

"You're feisty just like she is. If you're not her mother, you must be the closest thing to it," he says. You try not to let his words settle over your bones. No mother would fail her child the way you've failed her, the way you're actively failing her. "She wouldn't tell me anything about the man, but she asked if you were okay. She cares a lot about you two."

"Is he here?" You hate how small you sound when you ask about him. David smirks, and your skin crawls.

"Not yet, no. We're looking for him now," he says. "My people are dead set on vengeance. It's a good thing I went out with them this morning. Otherwise, you'd both be dead."

"Lucky us."

"I know you didn't kill Alec, and I'm sorry you've traveled with such an angry man for so long. Once we find him, we'll bring him to justice, and you'll be free," he says like he's offering you a one-way ticket to Heaven. "We have room within our group. You and your daughter could live here safely. Start a new life."

"So, you want someone to pay for the loss of life? Is that it? You kidnapped me and a fucking kid to settle a score?"

"In a sense." He sighs. You bite the inside of your cheek as you think about Ellie. She has to be fucking terrified right now— alone, hungry, and maybe hurt. She's strong, though. She could find Joel and move him to a safer location. You've seen her hold her own before, and you trust her as much as you trust Joel. She doesn't need you, but she needs Joel.

"If you let her go, I'll settle your score. Whatever you need to end this shit. I'll call him off, and they'll leave and never come back." You decide. David sits back in his chair as he considers your offer, your sacrifice.

"You really think a man like him would just leave you here?"

"He'd do anything I asked him to," you say. "Just let her go. This isn't her fight, and I think you know that."

"Why do you care so much about him? He's a murderer."

"So am I. I've done really shitty things to stay alive, things I can never tell her about. I'm not a good person."

"But he is?"

"He's trying to be," you say, catching sight of the Bible sitting on a nearby table. You let yourself soften just enough. "Isn't that what you're all about? Salvation and redemption and sacrificing yourself for the greater good? That girl is his chance at redemption, maybe his last one. They need each other way more than they need me."

"You love him." It's not a question. It's a statement like pointing at the clouds gathering on the horizon and announcing there will be a storm— obvious and beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"Let them go. Please." You breathe. David sits silently, tapping his fingers together, before standing and wordlessly walking through the door he came in from. A tear falls from your eye, but you quickly wipe it on your shirt sleeve. You listen for voices as the building creaks against the force of the blizzard outside before twisting your wrists against the rope. The burn makes you grit your teeth, but the slow loosening is enough for you to continue.

You don't have a plan for getting out of here alive, only a plan for distracting David long enough for Ellie to escape and find Joel. They can take care of each other. They'll finish what we started. They'll be okay. You repeat it like a gospel, like a blind truth that you have to follow because you can't afford to think differently. You hope she understands that this is the last thing you want. That if you could've kept her safe forever, you would've. That abandoning her and Joel was never in the cards. You hope she knows that you love her.

Ellie shouts from the other room, but you can't make out her words. The silence that follows makes you sick to your stomach. You would take her nonstop talking over this eerie stillness. Your fingers search for a weak spot in the ropes as blood drips down your hands.

"Hey!" A gruff voice rings out from the other side of the room, and you freeze. One of David's men walks over to stand in front of you, a heavy semi-automatic weapon in his hands. When you look down the barrel, a gold bullet stares back at you, but you can't look away.

"Did you find him?" You ask. Something uncertain flickers behind his eyes, and that's enough of an answer. There's a chance, however minuscule, that he's alive and out there and trying to find both of you. A dull and dangerous ball of hope forms between your broken ribs. "We can end this here. If you just let us go, we can put this all behind us."

"And if I don't? You'll what? Kill us just like you killed Alec?"

"Oh, no. You'd be lucky to die as fast as he did," you say. "After what you did to her, you really think I'd just let you die that easily? I'll rip all your fucking teeth out of your skull and feed them to you before I even think about putting a bullet in your head." Terror flashes across his face, but Ellie's screams keep it growing. The man in front of you turns toward the sound, giving you a window to slip your hands from the loose ropes and grab at his gun. You push it up and away from him, a stray bullet singing through the air and hitting the ceiling. He shoves you back, and the chair breaks as you hit the ground so hard that you see stars.

David rushes in from the other room, blood splattering his clothes— her blood. He looks pissed as he assesses the situation, holding his hand tightly. "I offer you a home here, and this is what you do," Your molars buzz as molten rage rolls off you. David lunges at you, grabbing your face with one hand and holding up the other so you can see his broken finger. You try to squirm away from him, but his grip is tight enough for your jaw to creak with the threat of it shattering. "Look what she fucking did to me! You think you're going to get any sympathy now?" His breath is hot on your face as he shouts, but Ellie's blood is the only thing you care about. You spit in his eyes and wrestle out of his grasp, reaching for a piece of splintered wood. A warning shot fires by your ear before you can lift it, and splitting, ringing pain slices through your brain.

Your heart beats in your face as you try to army crawl further away, shaking your head hard like it will release the muffled pain. A swift kick to your ribs knocks you down, and you roll onto your back, pressing on the broken rib as you try to breathe. David and David's Bitch (you honestly don't care to learn his name, and that title is more fitting anyway) stare down at you with their guns in your direction. David tsks as he steps forward to stand over you, too close for your comfort. You move to put space between you, but he kicks you again. You gasp and bite your tongue hard enough to taste blood.

"I can't wait for your guy to show up so he can see just how pathetic you actually are." He threatens and you laugh, spitting blood.

"Trust me, he's the least of your fucking problems right now." You say, planting your hands behind you to push yourself off the floor. The butt of a pistol cracks across your skull before you can get far.

"No!" Ellie's voice jolts you awake. Your vision is blurry, and the throbbing pain in your body makes you nauseous, but none of that matters as much as she does. Her screams are the stuff of nightmares, helpless and scared out of her fucking mind. You push off the floor, forcing yourself to walk toward the sound until your foot stops moving. You look down to find a rope tied around your right foot, connecting you to one of the pillars in the middle of the room.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You say as you bend down to try pulling it off of you. There's no time. She needs you now. Tears form in your eyes as the rope burns the skin around your ankle, drawing blood. You look around for a knife, glass, anything to help you cut it but find nothing. She's stopped screaming, but that doesn't do anything to stop you from trying to get to her. The blood dripping into your socks makes the rope slippery and stains your hands when you finally get it off. You stand so fast that you get a headrush but don't stop until Ellie's body collides with yours. She's covered in blood and almost screams until she realizes who you are.

"I... I thought. I heard..." She says, clutching your shirt in between her hands. You shake your head as you grab her and run to the doors. They barely budge as you try to push them open, and Ellie grabs your hand, running into the kitchen. She's shaking, and her hair is a mess as she looks around for something to fight with.

"Ellie, we need to go. We can't stay here." You say as she grabs a smoldering log.

"Cover me." She says, barely looking at you before rushing back out to hide near the door. You grab a knife and duck under a nearby table as David walks in with a bloody cleaver. You grip the knife closer, hoping to slash his Achilles tendon as he walks by when Ellie pops up and throws the log at David's head. The curtain behind him catches fire as you try to track her movements. She stays low and quiet, just like Joel taught her, and you have half a mind to be proud of her for listening.

"There's no way out," David calls as the fire travels up the curtain to the ceiling. He's pacing calmly away from you as the building starts to go up in flames around us. "All the doors are locked, and I have the keys. Nobody is coming to save you, Ellie." You move to the kitchen once his back is turned to you, hoping to find a bottle or bigger knife to distract him. Ellie meets your eyes across the room, and you nod at her, a silent reassurance that you will not let anything happen to her. You find a half-full bottle of wine and quickly dump it down the drain as David rambles about something. You stay low as you look out the kitchen window and throw the bottle to the other side of the room, the last bits of alcohol making the flames grow bigger. You duck when David turns toward the sound and walk back to the swinging door, waiting for the right moment to come out.

A piece of ceiling falls in front of the door, and flames lick under it, just as you hear Ellie stab David. You turn to jump through the kitchen window when one of David's guys enters the room and locks eyes with you. You've got to be fucking kidding me. You swing the knife at him, slicing his arm as he brings his gun up to shoot. The long shotgun pushes at your chest and sends you backward as blood pours from his arm. You hit the edge of the counter hard but stay up and swinging. The man grunts right in your face, and the fire is tearing the building apart, but all you hear is Ellie. She's screaming louder than you've ever heard, and she's calling for you, for help. You swing the knife once more and hit something squishy that gives. The man sobs in pain, and you dig the knife further into his eye until he stops twitching.

Once he hits the ground, you jump through the kitchen window and dive onto the floor below, fire burning your arms as you do. You grip the knife closer to you and stand until you see the full sight of Ellie and David. She's on top of him and hitting him over and over and over again with his cleaver. Blood splatters across her face and clothes as David becomes less of a body and more of a stain. You don't try to stop her. You just drop your knife and slowly walk into her line of sight with your hands up. By the time she stops raising her arms to hack the body, she's crying and breathing hard enough for you to hear her over the flames.

"Ellie," you call, and she jumps like she forgot you were there. The look in her eyes now is so different from the one she gave you earlier when you tried to tell her nothing terrible would happen. It's familiar and heart breaking. She's shaking when you reach for her and pull her off of David. "We need to go, okay? We gotta get out of here." You wrap your arms around her and shield her eyes as you walk past the bodies she left in her wake.

The snow is a welcome relief from the smothering smoke and fire when you leave the building. Ellie stays tucked under your arm, letting you take her weight as you move toward the blue water, away from David and whatever god failed you. Her shoulders fall slack until a pair of arms wrap around us, and she screams again. Your grip on her tightens as she cries and kicks at whoever is trying to grab you. She nearly falls to her knees as the arms spin her around, taking her away from you.

"Hey, look," Joel's voice is soft as he holds her face. You let him take her and take a step back, trying to process that he's alive. "It's me. It's me. It's okay."

"He tried to..." Ellie mumbles, and you have to turn away from them, vomit burning in your throat. You swallow hard as tears fall down your face and do your best to hold your sobs. "He tried to" is a sentence you've heard too many times but never from someone as young as Ellie. He tried to, and you were right there. He tried to, and you couldn't do anything. He tried to, and she was screaming for you. If David weren't already dead and burning, you'd go back and rip his fucking spine out. He tried to.

Joel saying your name makes you turn to see Ellie wrapped in his jacket, a faraway look in her eyes. You take her backpack from him and go to his other side to snake your arm around his back. He's shaking either from fear or pain. You don't know that it matters. Together, you work to get somewhere safe, helping to carry the weight of the past three months silently.

You found an empty house a few miles away from the resort and let Joel clean Ellie up in the bathroom. She clung to him the whole way here, trembling bloody hands wrapped around his middle. The cut on her nose is gnarly, and she has slices on her fingers from gripping the knife she used to kill David. Other than that, she's more mentally scarred than anything. As soon as she was clean and fed with twenty-year-old Spaghetti-O's, she fell asleep on Joel's chest, her bandaged hand resting over his heart as they lay on the floor together. The words you said to David while begging for their lives surround you. They need each other way more than they need me.

You feel like shit now that the adrenaline has died down. There are burns on your forearms, cuts on your hands, bruises swelling your face, and you're pretty sure the hearing in your left ear is permanently fucked. Your head pounds and your ribs twinge in pain when you breathe too deeply, but it's nothing compared to the screams echoing in your mind. They'll probably embed in your brain and repeat themselves for the rest of your life. You've never heard her scream like that— deep in her chest and desperate, like she was praying for someone to hear her and help, to kill the men who put their hands on her and then some.

He tried to.

Joel calls your name softly, but you can't turn to face him. Your eyes stay on the front door, the cool metal of your gun warming under your palm. "You should sleep," Joel murmurs as he puts a comforting hand on your back. He's careful not to jostle Ellie as he rubs circles into your skin. You shake your head as your fingers twitch against the gun.

"I was asleep when she," your voice catches in your throat, and you wipe at your eyes. "I didn't even hear her leave. I can't…."

"She's safe, and she's alive. That's the most important thing."

"I was so fucking scared, Joel. I could hear her screaming, and I couldn't do anything to help her," you sniffle as he tugs at your shirt, making you turn to look at him. His eyes are watery and sad, but he doesn't stop you. "The fucking apocalypse happened, and the scariest thing in the world is still a man who thinks he can take whatever he wants."

"I know, baby."

"I can still hear his voice. I-” He pulls you closer and gently takes the gun out of your hands. Slowly, he makes you lie beside him until you relax and use his bicep as a pillow. You're close enough to count the cuts on Ellie's sleeping face, and you almost wiggle away. Joel feels it and quickly kisses your forehead, his grip on you tightening enough to make you stay.

"Let me lay with my girls," he whispers before you can protest. "Please." You sigh and curl into him, wrapping your arm around his stomach, so your fingers can graze Ellie's arm. He traces patterns into your back as you count Ellie's breaths. Every rise and fall of her chest soothes your anxiety just a little more. Her nose scrunches in her sleep, and she mumbles something as her grip on Joel gets tighter. He shushes her and kisses her forehead, whispering, "we're right here, baby girl," into her temple. Then, probably without even realizing it, she moves her hand until it covers yours, her little fingers squeezing you like she's trying to decide if you're real. You take her hand in yours and squeeze back.

It’s moments like these that make you wonder how you could've gone so long without her. It's moments like these that make you wonder how you could ever go back to the life you had before. It's moments like these that give you a glimpse, a torturous peek, into what could've been. If you had met Joel earlier and had been faster and less guarded, maybe your paths may have crossed sooner. Maybe all those people you loved who died would still be alive somewhere. Maybe nothing would've changed at all.

"I'm so scared of losing her," You tell him, your eyes still stuck to Ellie's face. Joel takes a deep breath and nods. "When did she stop being cargo?"

"She was never just cargo."

"What are we gonna do?"

"We're gonna get her to the Fireflies. They'll do whatever they need, and then, I don't know. We could take her back to Jackson and get her settled. Let her have an actual childhood." He says. A regular, ordinary life with them sounds idyllic, something reserved for people way better than you are.

"What if something bad happens with the Fireflies?"

"Then, we do whatever it takes to keep her alive. Either way, we're gonna finish this."

"Whatever it takes." You echo.

"You should sleep," he says. Your body agrees with him even if you're hesitant. "I'll take the first watch. I've probably had enough sleep to last me, at least, a couple of hours." You stare at him to make sure he's okay to stay up before nodding. You squeeze Ellie's hand again and smoosh your cheek against Joel's shoulder, perfectly wrapped up in both of them. Joel goes back to rubbing your back to lull you to sleep, and all you can hear is their breathing and the birds singing to each other outside. Fireflies, ruthless FEDRA officers, Infected, and religious cults are far enough for you to trust that everything is okay.

"Joel," you say quietly. He hums, and you push yourself up on your elbow to look down at him. "I love you. I don't think I ever told you that, but I want you to know."

"You never had to. I always knew," he says, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "I love you, too." You want to say more. You want to say, "I'm sorry it took me so long to admit it. I'm sorry if it's too late. I'm sorry for falling in love with you in this world that makes love a weakness," but you don't. You lean down and kiss him like you've done hundreds of times and try not to think about what will happen tomorrow.

The only thing you care about is the two people you're curled up within an old, mildewy basement in the middle of fucking Colorado because they are your world now. And nothing will take your world away ever again.

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