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toothfa-1-ry · 6 months

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METAMORPHOSIS -finnick odair

The capital has a way of messing up with your head. Finnick saw it happen to him, he saw it happen to Peeta and worst of all, he had to see it happen to you too

GENRE: Angst

PAIRING: Finnick Odair x gn reader,

WARNING: PTSD, mental illness and abuse, suicidal thoughts, self harm on Finnick's part, reader want through a lot of psychological abuse and physical abuse, Finnick has panic attacks basically very hunger games coated abuses

A/N: back in for a hot minute with the new release of a the ballad of songbirds and snakes! I seem to be pulled back into the hunger games lol however since it's been a pretty long time since I've read or watch the movies this fic is probably not going to be accurate at all! Also I have no idea how to end this fic so I just did it in a hurry. I don't rlly like how it came out but oh well!

You weren't supposed to get taken away

You weren't supposed to fall back down behind, you weren't supposed to be left behind while Finnick was distracted talking to Katniss.

Finnick wasn't supposed to leave you behind, he was supposed to stay by your side just like he promised. He wasn't supposed to let you be taken away and yet your there stuck in the capitol while he lies with wounds all over his body in the 13 district

It should have been him, he thinks, that maybe if he had switch places with you in that moment, that he was right next to you instead of ahead of you, that he would pulled you towards him, maybe..maybe you would be there next to him.

Maybe you would be lieing next to him, perhaps is bruises and wounds as bad as his but atleast the both of you would be safe in each others arms.

Finnick knows that he should get out of his room. The plain cold room with grey walls seem to surround him on all four sides and yet his grief seems to swallow him as a whole

The ringing sound in his ears continue relentlessly and the tremble in his hands refuse to go. He'd find himself picking his scabbed scars and almost healed wounds and waking up in the dead of night screaming. He finds himself scarring his once golden skin which now seemed rusted with red and all of his old wounds once which was kissed by you being reopened at the dead of night.

He screamed screamed for you, every night and even while he was awake he seemed to be mumbling your name over and over again under his breath. As if believing that if he did so that maybe you'd appear infront of him and tell him it's just a bad dream

Sometimes he'd be forced out of his room, sometimes it's by Haymitch or some other person. He couldn't care less, however he was also a beacon of hope for the people maybe not flaming as bright as Katniss the girl on fire but rather hope like the beach waves hitting the shore

But you were different. You were a different kind of hope, not burning bright and flaming with fumes like Katniss or calm and majestic in all its glory like Finnick but you were like moon.

Hope like the moon in the dark night sky guiding travelers for the past million centuries, sailors, prophets and even kings and helping them find way back to their homes, to their solace. You were the light in the dark, a elegant beam of radiance showing way even to a poor man.

You were Finnick's light. The only thing that helped him see, the only time he felt truly like himself not like the capitols charming prince, or the victor from the 4th district but rather just like plain Finnick. The boy who had golden tan skin, hair dry with salty sea water, the boy who smelled like the sea ans the boy he once was before the capitol got a hold of him.

Like the moon's reflection on the ocean bed in the calm, you were a beam of radiance to him that helped him sleep in night, safe and sound..and loved.

He misses you more than he remembered you. And it scared Finnick.

Being forced out was now a usual thing for Finnick. Being forced to sit in a cafeteria with a plate of food which would go cold and remain uneaten.

He usually stayed alone still away from the others which was unlike him but his mind would be plagued with the last look you gave him, his ears repeating your mortifying scream

Sometimes he'd talk to Katniss. She understood him, after all her Peeta was taken away to just you were taken away. Both Finnick and Katniss blamed themselves more than they should have,

He thinks, at first that he is a little envious of Katniss and the way she looks strong. She holds herself in a way he doesn't. He thinks, how does she do it? How does Katniss remain like a fire burning torch when Peeta the person she adores the most is gone like how you were

But then he hears a familiar voice, he sees a all too familiar face across the tv screen and he is immediately filled with desperation and dread. He looks at Peeta's stoic and unmoving face on the tv screen and he feels the tremble beginning in his hands again.

The capitol couldn't have..could they? They wouldn't have- they couldn't have done it. They didn't kill Peeta but..they seemed to have done something even worser

Finnick's thoughts are left troubled when it was disturbed a loud sound of a metallic plate dropping and a cry of despair

He sees Katniss, her tears and the way her hands fly towards her mouth and try to cover her cry.

Thats when he notices the bags under her eyes and the cuts on her hand. He notices the way her heart sank just like his did and he notices the way Katniss called out Peeta's name. He remembers the way she held him in the games and the way she begged him to live

He thinks, maybe they aren't so different at all.

"he's alive..he's alive" Katniss whispers under her breath and Finnick's holds his, his eyes scan the tv screen scanning for your face whi- and he sees it.

Your face in the background, your hair combed and slicked backed tightly into a bun. Your faced filled with white powdery makeup making you look almost as if you were a corpse. Your eyes seemed scarily full and your lips dry.

But you weren't dead, but you didn't really seem alive either.

The fact that you were alive had a unsettling feeling in Finnick but right now he couldn't care, you were alive and breathing

"y/n" Finnick breaths out as he runs towards the screen with no hesitation. His mind is no longer on Katniss or Peeta or the capitol but at you and your face.

His trembling fingers slowly trace your face as he cries your name out repeatedly, he isn't listening to what Peeta is saying or all the commotion in the back

Your alive.

"they're back! Peeta, Johanna and y/n they- they're back"

Finnick runs faster than he has ever done in his entire life.

Faster than he did in the hunger games or faster than he did from the capitol people after they were done with their business with him in their bedrooms.

He throws down whatever he was holding in his hands, leaves whatever thought was occupying his head and runs faster than he ever did

He doesn't care about whether he hit someone or if he was making too much noise. He cried your name out as he ran calling you, searching for you before opening the door with a bang, his eyes red with tears and trembling body.

He sees you in a wheelchair lying lifelessly in the the chair which held your body.

He doesn't notice the way everyone else in the room looks at him, Haymitch, the doctors or nurses or even Johanna who was sitting in a similar wheelchair a few metres away from you. They way they all immediately stood up straight and their body tense, the way their faces were looking at him with pity

Finnick feels as if though he had stopped breathing, every single bone in his body moves automatically. The tears stream across his golden skin as his hands itch to touch you

All he needs is you. All he needs is your touch, your warmth

He runs towards you unaware of the way you tensed up when you saw him, he shouts your name as his hands stretch out to finally hold you, he begs for forgiveness again and again but finds you shaking instead

"Finnick don't go near her- wait Finnick don't" Beetee's immediate warning fails when you start thrashing against Finnick's touch

"y/n?- y/n my love? What's wrong?" Finnick panics as he tries to calm you down as you shout and scream

Just a few seconds ago you were silent and unmoving refusing to speak but here you were with Finnick, screaming and crying trying to get away from him like he was a monster

"my love please-" Finnick begs as his hands touches your face, the panic in his voice and the tears unhidden from anyone. The despair and regret dripping from his words and unhelpful touches which seem to drive you insane even more

"away! Get away from me! I- get away! away!" You try to push Finnick away but your not that strong. You seem to be repeating the same things again and again but you shake your head and scream even louder than before

"Finnick let go of her- don't Finnick!" Finnick's hears the others shouting at him but he can't let you go, not when you don't even recognise him

"it's me- it's me y/n. It's Finnick your sweetheart" his voice cracks at the nickname you gave him, his eyes search for a second of recognition or even love but your eyes are filled with terror and fear

"y/n it's me! I'm here now! I'm sorry I'm never going to let you go- please y/n..it's me" he begs and pleads you but you don't stop resisting against him even going lengths of hitting him with your hands helplessly

"Finnick let go!" Finnick hears Haymitch shout as he pulls him away from you "she isn't the same y/n you know- the capitol played with her mind"

Finnick feels his entire world go cold, his skin gone numb and his brain feels all muddy. There's a dark deep sinking feeling in his gut as he watches you look at him in complete fear, crawling away from him and into the corner of the room hugging yourself

Finnick takes a few steps towards you but is fiercely pushed away by a agitated Johanna "get the fuck away from her Finnick!"

Johanna glares at Finnick alongside with everyone in the room before she runs to the corner you were sobbing in and cradles you in her arms muttering "don't touch us, don't touch us" again and again.

"what- what do you mean? What's going on?" He turns and looks at the faces in the roomwhich was responded with a nervous glance. Finnick feels his blood boil and his anger consume him

"I said what do you mean" he shouts "what the hell happened" his eyebrows furrowed as he watches Betee struggled to form sentences

"we- we don't know exactly what happened" Betee says as he motions towards you and Johanna who was rocking you in her arms, shooting everyone in the room dirty looks still repeating the same words

"but-"

"but what? what...what happened to my y/n why.. why does she seem afraid of me? Why is she scared-" His voice cracks before he began to sob uncontrollably "why?"

The room goes silent and all that could be heard was Finnick's sobs and yours alongside with Johanna's muttering.

Haymitch walks slowly to Finnick and holds him in the shoulder "I think..you should sit down somewhere while we talk about this" he says grimly as he turns around and gives looks at the rest of the people in the room to give them some space

Finnick's breathing is shallow as he listens to Betee. The more he listens the more he wishes that he were dead, that it was all fake. He wishes even more that it was him who was taken into the capitol and regret and anger fills him up

"the capitol obviously wasn't going to let it slide, I mean y/n she- she was the capital's sweetheart. She was one of their favourite victor and seeing her being a part of the uprising? Snow would have never let her or any of them for the fact go unscarred but, we never expected this much"

Betee continues in a whisper, he stops every 2 minutes and looks at Finnick to say something but Finnick would always remain silent and unmoving.

"Johanna she- she's developed this insane fear of water- she was drowned multiple times by the capital and Peeta he..he was also brainwashed. He has developed this insane hatred for Katniss."

"and y/n?" Finnick finally broke his silence "what did they do to her?" You could hear the desperation leaking from his voice, his voice at the verge of breaking

Betee seemed to be hesitant to say, often refusing to make eye contact with Finnick but he sighed and looked straight at him

"y/n was strapped. She was strapped into this machine and they kept on fiddling with her memories. She couldn't differentiate with what was real and what wasnt. They inserted this entire new plot into her head which she now believes some parts of it to be true"

Finnick breathing stopped, a chill ran down his spine as he internally begged that it was not what he was thinking of

Betee looks up to Finnick with sadness and guilt painted in his eyes, he didn't want to break it to Finnick this way. He knew how much it would hurt him

"Finnick" Haymitch says instead, choosing to be the one to break the news to Finnick "y/n, she's scared of you. Just like how Peeta has developed hate for Katniss, y/n has developed fear towards you."

A all too familiar feeling came over Finnick. He was where he was in the beginning. He was nothing but a monster, a killer, a damaged product before you came along and showed him a new path but he had to ruin everything. He had to break you too, he had to ruin you too, it was all his fault

Panic engulfed Finnick as it hit his very core, today was the day he got you back and yet today was also the day he seemed to have forever lost you

"but-" he trembles as he talks "but why- what did they show her? What did I do to her" his breathing becomes fast

"it's not your fault" Haymitch says as Betee nods his head "we're trying to figure that out right now"

"is it only me?" Finnick's blood shot eyes pierce Betee's "am I the only person she's scared of?"

"she's scared of everything and everyone except for Johanna. Johanna was the only one who was there to comfort her but Johanna herself isn't in the right mind right now either" Betee replies

"oh" Finnick's voice is empty and hollow, he doesn't want to ask the question but it seems inevitable "will she ever stop being scared of me?"

Finnick is scared of Betee's answer, his heart hammered agains his chest in panick "do you think..I can get her back?"

Betee purses his lips as he continues "it won't ever be the same Finnick. Y/n.. whatever they implanted in her head has been recognised as real to her now but if we keep on pressing on with the truth maybe" he looks hopefully at Finnick "maybe you could get a piece of her back, not fully but a fragment of her"

"I just..I just want her, I don't care if it's a piece of her or whatever. I just..I want her to be okay"

Betee just nods his head wordlessly as he watches Finnick break down. Right infront of him was probably the strongest person he ever knew, he watched him during his games, watched him become victor and knew everything he went through but he never saw Finnick this broken.

"I'm going to get her back" Finnick says "if that's the last thing I ever do I swear, she's going to be okay"

#hunger games x reader #the hunger games #finnick imagine #finnick odair #thg finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick fics #hunger game x reader #hunger games #peeta mellark #thg peeta #thg series #thg fic #coriolanus snow #snow #district 4

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nimpnawakproduction · 8 months

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The ultimate reference sheets for all of Vash's outfits in Trigun maximum (with commentaries)

IT IS DONE. I'M FREE. Now I can forget all about Trimax and draw Trigun stampede designs only hahaha (just kidding I have things for Trimax on the stove).

Trigun bookclub was an awesome initiative, I loved the manga with my all heart and wanted to honor Nightow's designs ;w; I also wanted to help my fellow artists with references for Vash's clothes because DEAR GOD it's difficult to understand how the hell he dresses himself in the morning. I have a lot of fun dressing and undressing him like a barbie doll. My hyperfixation is completely healthy.

I put a "read more" section to avoid spoilers :) !

The July coat

The very first coat in Trigun chronology and the one he wores during the destruction of July ! There is not a lot of panels to take references but I tried to stay as close as possible to the manga. I don't know what number of prosthesis he had before but let name this one Prosthesis 1.

Scars map

Next, nakey Vash ! There's A LOT of changes between one panel to another. Scars changes places and forms panel to panel and the design evolved from the first chapters of Trigun, the time we see him naked as Eriks and his undressed state while he was a prisoner on the Ark. I drew the scars that appeared more than once or were in clean view in a panel (but really you can do like Nightow and draw as many scars as you want without thinking about consistency, this boy has been in a meat grinder)

After July underclothes

Or the jumpsuit that gave me grey hair. His suit does not make ANY sense, I don't know how the hell he dresses himself in the morning with this. My solution is that it's very long gloves and chaps strapped to a belt. The position and shapes of the belts changes IN EVERY PANEL. Same for his knee guards, sometimes they're here, sometime they cover his shins, sometimes they are tiny..... I gave up in the end and draw them as we see them in the very last panel he wears this suit. But damn he looks good in it.

Also in all of the 13 volumes, there is not a single panel with a clear view of his holster (I checked...) so here is my interpretation.

This is prosthesis n°2, the design is a little different from the first one so I guess Prosthesis 1 got destroyed (this happens a lot).

After July coat

The very first Trigun coat he wears in the manga ! Very simple, very basic, it gives him impossibly wide shoulders but Vash deserves it. The first one is worn Post July until Vash's confrontation against Brilliant Dynamite Neon. The second one is the state of his coat after the sandsteamer incident. He loses his prothesis after his fight against Monev the gale. He meets Wolfwood with only one arm and stays that way while he fights Knives for the first time.

Eriks

I took liberties with colors because there's no colored panels with Vash as Eriks. Yes I drew him without suspenders because he has them for like 5 panels and then Nightow drew him without them for the rest of Eriks arc so I made choices ;w;

I love the fact that Vash choose to wear tight jeans even in his casual outfits, this boy will not let his skin breath. This is now Prosthesis 3 ! It's way less advanced than the ones he wore in the rest of the manga, the other ones seem to replicate skin.

After his years as Eriks

And now the first Maximum coat, he wears it until the famous Yuri hospital arc! Finally an undersuit that makes sense, I love it, too bad Nightow-san decided that I had to suffer and changed it again to add BELTS EVERYWHERE. We only see his legs in this part of the manga so I gave him the same top because I can.

The tubes he has on his waist are filled with bullets, he can connect them to his prosthesis to have a mini machine gun.

We are now at Prosthesis 4 !

Hospitalization on the Home ship

The famous Yuri hospital phase! Vash definitely shared his wardrobe with Wolfwood, you can't tell me otherwise.

The first outfit still shows Prothesis 4 but he keeps it for like 5 minutes and lost it again against Nine-lives. I don't really know if the prothesis comes with the integrated glove or if there's synthetic skin under it but why would he keep the glove on if it's not intergrated?

The second pictures is the different outfits he wears during his convalescence. I took liberties with the colors, I drew this in like 10 minutes, everything seems easy when you don't have to draw BELTS. We are now on Prothesis 5 ! Nightow drew it as a regular arm so I guess Vash wears gloves on top of it??????

Back on the road in pursuit of Knives

He wears this one after his stay at Home, throughout the Dragon's nest ark and until his 2nd fight against Knives.

I liked the design of his jumpsuit until I looked closer at the panels and saw that the design change ON EVERY ONE OF THEM. Knee guard on only one knee? No kneeguards? Two??? WHO KNOWS ??? I tried to make it work but really go wild with this one, even the author does not know how his pant looks.

Still prosthesis 5, BUT UNTIL WHEN?

Prisoner on the Ark

THEY MASSACRED MY BOY. Did they even feed him at least in 7 months? Those pictures are the definition of the drenched kitty cat left under the rain. Give this man a blanket and a therapist.

Bye bye Prothesis 5 ! And see what I mean when I say that his outfit does not make sense????? It comes out in parts????

After his imprisonment on the Ark

The last suit in the manga! He keeps this coat until the end of the story. From this point, only his hair changes (or the color of his coat).

I adore the little angel wing symbol on his left arm, such a cute addition. Too bad it appears in one of the most traumatic event of his life.

Speaking of his jumpsuit...The return of belts.... But at least this outfit stays relatively coherent except for his kneeguards who appear and disappear panel from panel but most of the time he doesn't have any, so no kneeguard it is. Prosthesis 6 hello !

Final battle and end of the story

It hurted to drew those outfits ;w; And working on the design of his coat when he fights Legato made me realize where Orange studio took inspiration to chose the colors for Vash's coat in the final episode of Stampede ! Great job ! I tried to color the same effects as one of the illustrations showing dark Vash but I'm not really good with colors..... He actually radiates energy but with some purple undertones, I took some liberties because those are my drawings I do what I want.

I'm not sure at 100% that he has a tuft of blond hair left when his outfit turns black but his hair is all black at the end of the fight. His prosthesis is destroyed at the end of the fight. He got another one in the final chapter. So 7 prosthesis throughout the story!

#play with vash like a barbie doll #I love reference sheets #took years to do but it helps so much when drawing comics #or writing fics #how the hell do you expect me to show him undress if I don't know how his clothes work #anyway enjoy #vash the stampede #vash #trigun #trigun maximum #a's art

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judebelle · 7 months

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one with gavi where u guys r long distance and finally see each other again and it’s just cute and fluff

did i mention i missed you? - p.g. x reader

pairing : pablo gavi x fem!reader

cw : just stomach churning fluff

wc : 1.2k

author note : i need to write fluff more often cus wtf

---

it had been 34 days, 6 hours, and 43 minutes since you’d last seen pablo.

just kidding, you had no clue how long it’s been, but you felt sick with longing. all you knew was it had been a little over a month, and you couldn't wait any longer.

he played in barcelona and lived there as well, but you attended university in cueta, spain. it was around a 13 hour drive away, and with both your schedules being so busy and it being impractical, neither of you could drive so far on the regular.

it was just past mid terms, and you had planned to make a trip to see pablo. you two had talked about it, and he said he wasn’t too busy, and that you two would be able to spend a good amount of time together.

and that was all you needed. you packed your backpack and convinced an unsuspecting taxi driver to drive you to barcelona.

keep in mind, you were a broke university student, you didn’t have money to buy a plane ticket to barcelona as well as a return one. of course if you told pablo, he would pay for it, but you didn’t like to ask him for money.

13 too many hours lately, the taxi driver dropped you off at a coffee shop not too far from pablo’s house. you bought two small coffees and started your walk with your backpack slung on your hunched back. you were so excited you felt giddy.

you tried to get your mind off seeing your boyfriend in a few minutes because if you kept thinking about him, you might've just fainted and dropped the overpriced coffees on the ground.

your hands were full, so you couldn’t text pablo that you were closeby, so you just walked until you got to his house. you placed one coffee on the stone ground in front of his door before ringing the bell and picking the coffee back up.

you were smiling like a little kid, your body shaking slightly with excitement.

it took a little bit of waiting, but the door finally opened.

there he was, in all his glory.

his hair was all disheveled, his grey sweatpants and white t-shirt wrinkled and wonky. he was napping.

he rubbed his eyes in confusion before looking at you, looking at his watch, and back at you.

a toothy grin spread on his face, accentuating his dimples. he bit his lips before finally opening his arms, calling you to hug him.

you squealed in excitement, your hands beginning to wrap around his neck before realizing you were still holding the coffees.

you quickly stepped into his house, placing the coffees on the table near his door before turning around and squealing again, finally getting to wrap your arms around him.

he engulfed you into a warm hug, chuckling into your hair. he dipped his head into the crook of your neck and breathed in your scent. “missed you so much, hermosa.”

you laughed and squeezed him hard.

“i took a long ass taxi ride over here, so you better have missed me.” you planted a teasing kiss on his cheek.

he pulled back from you.

“you took a taxi? bebé, that’s so unnecessary and unsafe! what were you think-“

you shut him up with a kiss, his arms going back to wrapping around your waist. he shut the door behind you, stopping the cool evening air from hitting your back.

“shh, just wanna kiss you” you whispered, kissing him and shrugging your backpack off your shoulders and onto the floor with a thump.

he laughed into the kiss before sighing in satisfaction.

he broke the kiss to look at you.

“did i mention that i missed you?” he teased.

you smiled “no, maybe you should say it again..”.

he bit his lip and kissed you on your cheek “i missed you”. he kissed your other cheek, “i missed you” before kissing your forehead, eyes, nose, and lips. “i missed you, i missed you, i missed you,”.

you giggled and grabbed his arms, pushing him back. “okay, i think i got it. i take it you.. missed me?” you questioned sarcastically.

“spot on, mi amor.”

---

you had finally finished greeting each other. he took your backpack to his room as you removed your shoes and used the washroom downstairs. he came back down to see you handing him a coffee.

“drink it, its a new place nearby, never seen it before.” you said, smiling softly.

he smiled and gently took the coffee. you both took a sip at the same time, locking eyes.

ew.

both your faces scrunched in disgust. the coffee was bitter, bland, and just plain disgusting. it was like drinking plastic.

“ew, what is this?!” you said, covering your mouth dramatically.

he turned the cup over to see the label on the cup.

“el café..?” (the coffee)

he drew his eyebrows together.

“that’s the name of the shop? the coffee?”

you both laughed at the choice of shop name. “how unoriginal can somebody get?”

---

after dumping out that expensive cup of trash people called coffee, you two snuggled up on his bed and turned on the tv.

you had changed into one of his clean boxers and crewnecks which were both too large on you, the fabric your body.

he scrolled through netflix, hovering over each movie he deemed interesting before you dismissed it with a “ew no”.

“baby, how can we watch a movie if you say no to everything?” he looked down at your curled up form, snuggled into the warmth of his torso, leg thrown over his waist.

you shrugged “not my fault everything on here is shit.” he giggled at your words.

after what seemed like an eternity, you two had finally picked a rom com. pablo didn’t necessarily like romantic comedies, but you did, and he loved you. he just decided he would suck it up for 2 hours.

funny enough, the 13 hour car drive was starting to creep up on you. your eyelids felt heavy. the mixture of the exhaustion and you being back in pablo’s warm embrace sent you into a deep sleep.

pablo didn’t notice, and continued watching the movie, internally cringing at some moments. he would be lying if he said it wasn’t interesting.

when you two would finish watching a movie, you would usually complain about how stupid the characters were, or discuss the plot. but ironically, pablo had a lot to say about this specific film.

“i don’t understand why he would leave if he really loved her? i just don’t get the whole concept of loving someone so much that you’re willing to leave them. it’s so stup- y/n?”

he stopped his rant halfway when he saw you practically knocked out against him. you were snoring lightly, which was unnoticeable when there loud movie was playing.

he smiled softly, admiring your gentle features, and placed a loving kiss on your forehead before reaching for his phone.

he snapped a picture of you cuddled up against him and posted it on his instagram story, captioned:

“mi chica soñolienta <;3” (my sleepy girl <3)

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wh0re43van · 6 months

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Boyfriend pt 3 (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You wake up at Warrens house, then finally indirectly break up with your boyfriend.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of Warrens wounds from the fight, mentions of weed

A/n: Okay y’all, i think this might be the last part. I could probably continue this for another part or two if i really wanted to. (i have a couple rough ideas) but I’m probably gonna focus on other fics.

Pt 1, Pt 2

As I open my eyes, I’m startled for a split second, not recognizing the bed I’m in or the ceiling I’m looking at, but the familiar scent of weed and the sound of a bong bubbling while a Green Day CD plays in the background reminds me that I’m at Warrens house. I sit up in his bed, the t-shirt of his that I’m wearing hangs off me, still smelling of his cologne.

“Well good morning sleeping beauty,” Warren says between coughs, I sit up in the bed yawning.

“Why’d you leave me,” I frown, looking at the cold spot next to me where Warren fell asleep last night.

“Well, I waited for you to wake up for like an hour, I got bored,” he laughs, standing from the couch then walking to the bed, bong in hand. I smile at the boy in front of me. His disheveled brown hair that’s falling into his bruised face, the white tank top that hugs his torso snug and his grey sweatpants that don’t leave much to the imagination. “Does this make up for it?” He hands me the glass and the lighter.

“Only if you go get me some water,” I smile sweetly, accepting the bong.

“Anything for you,” he winks, making my heart flutter as he turns to walk up the steps. I take a small hit from the bong before laying back down on the bed, watching the smoke I blow out cloud above my head and dissipate into the yellow light in the ceiling.

‘How did I get here?’ I think to myself. Just last month I had a routine. I was comfortable- albeit bored. I knew what every day was going to consist of, there were no surprises. I woke up, smoked, then either went to work or went to Dakota’s house. If I went to my job at the library, I had a set task list; the exact same every day. If I went to Dakotas, we either went on deliveries or argued because he’d been cheating on me again. Sad, I know, but that’s how it was, and I was fine with it. Everything’s different now, not in a bad way though. Warren invaded my thoughts and my heart as soon as we reunited, and I don’t think he intends on leaving anytime soon. I’m grateful for him. He’s made me see that life can be exciting-and messy. I’ll never be able to think of sex the same for the rest of my life, regardless of what happens with us.

‘Us,’ I think to myself. ‘What are we?’ Are we friends with benefits? Is he seeing other girls? He wants me to break up with my boyfriend, but I don’t even know where he and I stand. I’m going to break up with Dakota- for many reasons- but, do I really want to jump straight into a relationship again? Is that what Warren wants? Will he lose interest once I’m single? Regardless, I don’t want whatever me and him have to end; That’s the only thing I know for sure.

“Here you go, beautiful,” Warren interrupts my thoughts, his voice bringing a smile to my face as he hands me the glass of water.

“You’re so chivalrous,” I giggle before taking a sip of the cold water. Warren crawls over top of me and flops down on the bed, laying on his back with his toned arms crossed above his head. He smiles and sighs, turning his battered face to look at me with heavy eyes.

“What?” I giggle, unsure of why he’s staring. His grin stays plastered on him as he shakes his head.

“Nothing… It’s just if you had told 13 year old me about this past month, I would have never believed you. How did I manage to get the most beautiful girl in Fayette County in my bed, wearing my shirt…only my shirt?” he says in a dreamy tone as he props himself up on a bruised arm. I can’t help but blush at his words. He knows exactly how to flatter a woman.

“Oh stop,” I giggle. “You’re quite the looker yourself,” I smirk as crawl on top him, sitting on his stomach. “You look really good in this wifebeater with your busted lip,” I run my hand up his chest and to his face, brushing my thumb over his healing abrasion. He brings his strong arms to my hips, leaning into my hand on his face. “You look dangerous,” I wiggle my eyebrows, smirking. He laughs as he flips me over so that he’s hovering above me, he slips his hand under the t-shirt I’m wearing, ghosting over my bare core.

“You have no idea,” he whispers lowly in my ear before nibbling on my neck, sending electric shoot through my entire body.

“I don’t think that I thanked you properly for defending my honor,” I smile, before pulling the shirt up and over my body, leaving me completely bare underneath him. His eyes scan my body as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“This view right here is thanks enough,” his sultry tone resonates in my ears as he runs his busted knuckles over my curves, leaving goosebumps on every inch of skin that he touches.

“I have a little bit more to offer,” I smirk as I sit up, shoving him on to his back. He watches in anticipation as I settle between his legs. “I gotta say,” I purr slowly as my hand ghosts over his crotch. “You looked really hot fighting for me,” I smile through my lashes as I slide my fingers under the top his waistband.

“And I’d do it again, especially if you’re my reward,” he brings a rough hand to my cheek, pushing my hair out of my face as he stares bullets into my soul. I’ve always adored his dark eyes, the color of freshly brewed coffee; bitter yet comforting. A single glance from the man below me is enough to make my core ache.

“You know Warren,” I begin as I slowly pull his sweats down, holding his gaze. “When you look at me like that, you could get me to do absolutely anything you want,” I say before biting my lip in anticipation as I slide his boxers down to reveal his semi hard cock awaiting my attention.

“Mmm, I could say the same thing about you, darlin’,” he groans out, his deep voice sending chills down my spine straight to my core. I spit into my hand before grabbing his cock, pumping it a few times to fully wake it up. He hums at the contact, his body relaxes as he lays flat on his back, laying his arms above his head. I cup his balls in one hand and his base in the other as I slowly sink my mouth down on him until he hits my throat, earning a low moan from the back of his throat.

“You always treat me so well, baby,” Warren groans, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. I begin to bob my head up and down on him, hollowing out my cheeks. “Mmm, atta’ girl. Just like that, beautiful,” he sits up to watch me gag on him; a feeling that I’ve grown to love. Every ounce of praise he gives my goes straight to my stomach, fueling the butterflies that are erupting. His eyes, dark with lust, gaze down at me. I lose myself in the moment. His moans and words of praise fill the room as he repeatedly thrusts against the back of my throat. My jaw starts to go numb, but I ignore it; The site of Warrens face contorted in pleasure and the compliments falling from his blushed lips is worth every ounce of pain.

I see his hand go the night stand, picking up my vibrating phone. I pull away from him, catching my breath as he puts the phone to his ear.

“What do you want?” he asks with a sly grin before gently guiding my head back to his erection. I’m confused, but I obey and slip him back into my mouth. “She’s right here, but she’s a little busy at the moment,” he smirks into the phone.

‘Oh god. It’s got to be Dakota’ I think to myself as I kitten lick around his tip. I hear him raise his voice on the other end of the line.

‘Yep. It’s Dakota,’ I think I hear him ask warren to put me on the phone, followed by some curses. Warren laughs as he thrusts deep into my throat, making me audibly gag.

“She can’t talk right now man, her mouths a little preoccupied,” he winks at me, my cheeks burn red. I can tell Warren is enjoying this- maybe a little too much and I hate to admit that I also find this situation extremely hot, so I play along. I take his entire length into my throat, past my gag reflex until my nose is nestled against the small patch of brown hair decorating his skin.

“Fuck! Just like that baby,” he moans loudly, chuckling into the receiver. He begins to thrust deep into my throat, groaning in pleasure. “What’s she doing?” He laughs breathlessly as his free hand uses my hair to hold my head in place as he violates my mouth. “Mmm, I’ll spare you the details, dude,” he says, his stupid grin not leaving his face. I can hear Dakota cussing Warren out. His eyes focus on me as thick strings of spit drip from my mouth around him as he fucks my throat, my gagging filling the room. Warren uses my hair to pull my head back, spit rolling down my face as I gasp for air. He holds the small phone up to my mouth. “Do you like gagging on me y/n?” he asks I nod my head still trying catch my breath. “Use your words beautiful,” he says with the biggest shit eating grin, using his eyes to motion to the phone.

“I fucking love it,” I say breathlessly, a smirk falling across my own face as my knees becoming weak from how aroused I am. With that, he shoves his cock back into my mouth.

“Holy fucking shit,” he growls in a way I’ve never heard before as he drops the phone on his chest, Dakotas small voice still shouting on the other end of the line. Warren grabs either side of my head guiding me up and down his cock a couple more times.

“Fuck, just like that, baby. I’m cumming,” Warren groans as he releases deep into my throat and onto my tongue, I lap up every last drop, pulling away gasping again. “Did you swallow all of it, darlin’?” he asks, panting as he wipes a tear from my cheek. Dakotas frantic voice still chirping through the small plastic brick.

“Yes sir,” I giggle opening my mouth, sticking my tongue. Warren smirks, grabbing my ass to scootch me up to him. “Good girl,” he says against my lips.

“Warren!” I hear Dakotas infuriated voice boom from the phone. Warren laughs holding it up to his ear again. Dakota bellows every slur, insult, and curse word I’ve ever heard through the cell until Warren cuts him off.

“Yeah that’s why I fucked your girl,” he laughs loudly, his shit eating grin plastered proudly on his battered face. “Bitchass cuck!” he shouts before ending the call, tossing the phone to the side.

“Warren, what was all that about,” I giggle as he attacks my bare skin with kisses and love bites.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.” He pants against my skin. “Turn over, beautiful, I’m not done yet,” he slaps my ass, standing to remove his tank top, his dick still hard as ever. My stomach flips as I get on my hands and knees on his bed. He comes up behind me, pulling me to the edge of the bed, using his hands to spread me open. Wasting no time, he licks a long strip across my core, earning a whimper from me. “You taste so sweet baby,” he coos before inserting a finger inside of me. I whine at the contact. He begins pumping his finger inside of me. “You really liked that, hm? You’re soaked,” I can hear the smirk in his voice, all I can do is nod my head as he curls exactly where I need him most.

“Fuck Warren,” I whimper, desperate for more of his touch.

“You’re so fucking stunning,” he runs his hand down my back and over my ass, admiring my body while he slips another finger inside of me, I whine in response. It’s strange the kind of affect he has on me; With one touch from his hand, I’m soaked. I’m so pathetically attracted to this man, I’m almost ashamed. He fuels a lust deep inside of me that I never even knew was there. No drug is any match for the way that Warren can make me feel.

“Fuck me, Warren,” I whimper out as his fingers pump into me. “Please, I can’t stand it, I need you Warren, please,” I plead in a way that I’d never imagined I would beg a man.

“Anything for my girl,’’ he coos, pulling his fingers out to lean down and place wet kiss on my lower back, nibbling at the skin, sure to leave a mark.

‘His girl’ the phrase fills my heart with joy.

Soon, I feel Warren slowly pushing into me. His hand reaches up, snaking gently around my throat as he pushes deeper and deeper into my sopping wet cunt. I let out the unholiest of sounds as he stretches me out.

“Fuck,” my voice comes out shaky and desperate as he begins to thrust into me.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groans, his grip on my throat tightening as he pounds into me. He slaps my ass, making me gasp loudly. He rubs his hand gently over the stinging skin. “This is mine,” he growls lowly, then he wraps his other hand around my torso, pulling me up to so that my back is flush against his chest as I rest my knees on the bed. This new angle allows him to hit even deeper inside of me, making me see stars. I lean my head back on his shoulder, my eyes rolling back in their sockets. He grabs my face and ducks his head down to pull me into an intense kiss. His tongue explores my mouth as he pounds my pussy into oblivion.

“You’re all mine,” he growls against my lips, his grip tightening on my throat a bit. My knees go so weak that his arms are the only thing holding me up, keeping our sweaty skin pressed together.

“Fuck Warren,” I pant out, barely audible. The rubber band that has been tightly winding in my stomach snaps, sending ecstasy to every cell of my body. My walls convulse around him while he continues to thrust into me mercilessly. “That’s my girl,” he groans lowly in my ear, reaching down to rub my clit to encourage my orgasm. I come completely undone around him, my body begins to shake as I scream out his name, the pleasure almost to much when he reaches his own release. He pumps me full of his cum, fucking it deep into me as I clench around him. His warm seed drips out of my cunt around his cock as he rides out his orgasm, surely leaving bruises underneath every fingertip gripping my neck. He finally slows down, pulling out of me before picking me up with shaky arms to lay me gently on the bed. I lay with my eyes closed trying to catch my breath, a sweaty puddle on the disheveled bed. Warren lays down beside me. “I’m sorry, was that too much?” he asks sincerely, placing a loving hand on my stomach. I open my eyes, turning to look at him.

“Are you kidding,” I giggle weakly. His worried expression quickly matches my own. “Warren that was amazing,” I crawl up to lay on his sweaty chest, his quick heartbeat is comforting as it rings through my ears.

“You can always tell me if I do something you don’t like,” he says honestly as he traces circles on my back, using his other hand to run his fingers through my hair.

“Warren Lipka, you know that you can do no wrong,” I giggle as I snuggle further into him. He laughs lightly, the room is filled with a comfortable silence.

“Hey, how ‘bout we get cleaned up and I take you to that new cafe that opened up in town?” He offers. I sit up to meet his gaze, he has a serious expression on his bruised face.

“What? Like… like a date?” I smile a bit sheepishly. He smiles right back.

“I’d sure like it to be,” he says hopefully. My grin stretches from ear to ear as I stand from the bed, tugging on his arm.

“Well, come on then. I don’t want to go on our first date with your cum dripping down my leg,” I laugh as I pull him into the bathroom.

“Hm, I don’t know. Sounds kinda hot to me,” he chuckles as he closes the bathroom door behind us, pulling me into a deep kiss before he turns the shower head on.

#evan peters #evan peters smut #ahs cult #ahs hotel #jimmy darling smut #kai anderson #kit walker smut #ahs asylum #ahs fandom #ahs murder house #warren lipka smut #warren lipka #kai anderson smut #kit walker x reader #evan peters x reader #peter maximoff smut #peter maximoff #tate langdon smut #tate langdon

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buckets-and-trees · 9 months

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Peering In My Hollow Core

Fandom: MCU Title: Peering In My Hollow Core Characters/Pairings: Nomad!Steve x Morally Grey!Female Reader Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Even the best laid plans can go up in flames. You're both wrong, and yet also more right for each other than you know.

Content Warnings: explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT due to sex pollen, masturbation, rough fucking/vaginal sex, unprotected sex/ejaculation

Logistical Notes: I claimed prompt 13 for @lunarbuck's Star-Crossed Lovers Soulmate AU challenge and also knocking off I1 "masturbation" for @the-slumberparty's August/September Bingo challenge. And because you know I can't resist... it's also using one of the prompts (first bolded line) for @witchywithwhiskey's Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon! And it's answering an ask I got from one very mischievous @stargazingfangirl18 that's been on my mind for the last two weeks.

Additional Notes: @biteofcherry and @vonalyn let me suss out how this evolved, so thank you for enduring my brainstorming! Eva also gave a line of dialogue inspiration that I found too delicious not to snatch up, and so that's bolded for acknowledgement as well (near the end). Title from Scars by Basement Jaxx.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“What’s your grand plan here, Doc?” The golden-haired, bearded hulk of a man, America’s golden boy now a rogue in the shadows is pacing before you. “Are you even a doctor?”

His tone is biting, angry, and you don’t hold it against him.

He did fall right into your trap.

“You’re a smart boy, you can guess.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I think it will bruise your ego more if I spell it out for you.”

“You should have thought of my rage before you put yourself in this situation, Doc,” he all but growls, still prowling back and forth across the living room floor. “What’s your exit strategy here?”

“You’re getting more volatile and heated, that’s good. That’s what I need.”

“Do you think this is a fucking game? You’re on dangerous ground.”

Your lips curl up slightly, but you try not to smirk. “I dangled myself in front of you. Good Captain America couldn’t resist trying to liberate the poor scientist who got wrongfully entangled with the remnants of HYDRA. You never even stopped to consider that I was dangling myself out in the wind to get you here like this, and you’ve read enough about HYDRA, you know what I gave you.”

“But why?” he barks.

“No one can beat you for strength. You’re driven, resourceful, able to evade an attack. Your weakness is caring,” you pause because he stops his pacing, he looks ready to spring, but doesn’t yet. His eyes haven’t left you for even a moment since he realized it’s you he needed to worry about, not save. “I need your DNA, blood samples, bodily fluid, and I can’t trap you with anything, but I banked on the one physical vulnerability even a super soldier isn’t immune from: a compound they initially developed as something called a sex pollen. In fact, I think you know they tested it on a super soldier, don’t you?”

He slams his fist on the table between you two, and it splits from his actions.

You shouldn’t have provoked him with that. It wouldn’t yield the results you were trying to manipulate him into.

“Easy, Nomad,” you raise your hands cautiously to ease the tension just slightly. “That’s what they call you now – Nomad is the moniker now that you can’t be Captain America out there to the world anymore.” He flexes his fists, another angry reflex, but one you know speaks to a slight de-escalation, self-regulation. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t agree with everything HYDRA has done.”

He lets out a bitter laugh.

“I don’t,” you insist.

“If you’re not in with them, you’ve made a deal with a devil you’ve vastly underestimated.”

“They’re a means to an end.”

“How can you be so foolish to think that?”

“No one will fund my research at the rate and without regulatory oversight the way they do. They’re desperate to have more of you but under their thumb, especially since you’re at the root of them losing their prize assassin.”

“You’re not stupid, so why are you giving them what they want?”

You lift your chin defiantly.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Oh god. You can’t tell me… Really? You think you’re gonna keep your research and development from them in the end?”

“Look at what I’ve done so far,” you gesture. “You’ve evaded every attempt they’ve made to get you, you’re evading all the countries who are supposed to enforce the accords and hand you over, and yet I have you trapped here.”

“Why do you care about a super soldier serum?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m interested in a serum, but I don’t need super soldiers. The list of your medical ailments before you were injected, and then you’re instantly cured of everything? Do you know how many people need even a drop of what cured you?”

“And you think I’d be opposed to that?”

You scoffed, “Yeah, easily. Once the research exists, it will get applied for things it was never intended to be used for, up to and including developing super soldiers for HYDRA and people who pretend they’re better than HYDRA.”

“So, who has made you this desperate?”

“You don’t get to know that.”

He scoffs now. “You don’t get to set the terms here if you intend to get what you want.”

“Don’t I? You’re uncomfortable. You’ve been uncomfortable for a while. It’s going to get worse, but I adapted the formula for what I gave you in that drink of water. All you have to do is ejaculate, and the toxin will abate from your system.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he deadpans.

Then his demeanor changes. He sniffs, and his eyes finally stray from you.

“You said this house is reinforced in its lockdown to keep me in until you initiate and secure your extraction with the HYDRA team?”

“Yes,” you answer slowly, trying to follow his line of sight and decipher what he’s looking at.

“I think you’re going to need to adjust your plans and priorities and do it quickly.”

You open your mouth to ask why, but then your mind quickly makes the leap. “They modified my ventilation system.”

“HYDRA has refused to be eliminated for decades. They can wait for a purebred super soldier and think they can get one in your womb today.”

The heat of humiliation floods your body. How could you have been so foolish not to account for a maneuver like this. They had clearly approved of your strategy too easily.

“Soon you won’t be able to think about anything more than my cock in your cunt, so you better start thinking of how you’re going to get yourself out of this, Doc, because Nomad is not who everyone knew Captain America to be, and I’m certainly not inclined to assist you in any way now. Been doing fine evading capture as you yourself asserted, I can probably figure out my own exit strategy here and fight off the sex pollen until I make it out. But for someone without any biological enhancements… I’m not optimistic over your odds. I read everything on HYDRA. This stuff was nasty when they first developed it, but you can bet they will have reverse engineered whatever you did to the formula to make it even worse.”

As if on cue, you start to feel the physical effects of whatever nearly imperceptible airborne toxin – imperceptible to you, but apparently not to enhanced individuals. Heat flares again in your body, but this time it is a pulsating sexual need.

You close your eyes to try and keep your breath steady and even, but after another moment, you whimper and draw your hands to your stomach as the poisonous desire pulses more strongly, the tremor of need undeniable.

Your eyes burst open again, seeking out the male across the room from you.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, no. I’m not giving you anything you want. If you’re as brilliant as you think you are, you don’t need me to get out of your unfortunate predicament.”

Your body is yearning for him, but you know he’s serious.

You also know he’s right; you need to think fast.

You’re coherent enough to get both of you out of the lockdown state of the house now – because HYDRA was clearly going to come for both of your – you had a failsafe to get out in case there was some loss of electrical power. But could you get away in this state?

And you know if you get out, you’ll never get the DNA you need from Steve Rogers – you’ll never be close enough to or even see him again. You know that in your bones.

Over the next hour, at different points during the feverish state that overtakes you, you can sometimes hear the super soldier nearby, doing things around your home, undoubtedly trying to apply his own ingenuity.

He might be successful.

It hardly matters.

Now you’re in the shower, under a stream of cold water, trying both to alleviate the unbearable heat your body has peaked to and to hide the sound of your sobs as best you can. You’ve stripped down to a nearly naked state. You ripped off your shirt and pants in your room, left them on the floor, your panties are on the tiled floor outside the shower, but you couldn’t spare your hands to remove your bra. At first you were almost experiencing a sliver of relief with one hand between your legs, paying every attention to your excessively slick folds and throbbing clit, thrusting your fingers in and out of your cunt as well, but it was a false grasp at hope.

You don’t know when you slid down the tiled wall of the wet glass tomb where you think you may die, curled in on yourself, one hand still trying pointlessly to trigger the orgasm that will flush the desperate physical pain from your body, surely it must come.

You don’t know how long he’s been standing in the doorway of the bathroom before you try to shift pathetically, your eyes open, and you see him slowly stroking his hard cock, watching you. You shut your eyes again, in agony wondering how he can possibly seem so collected. Why isn’t he pumping his fist in a frenzy? You couldn’t stroke your clit fast enough, and now you can’t bear to touch it, but the heel of your hand can’t help bumping it as you try to fuck yourself on your fingers.

Then a rush of air blasts over your body.

You open your eyes weakly to see Steve reach to shut off the water, before he bends down and without a word grabs your limp body from the floor, drapes you over his arm, where you hand limply, bent in half, and he hauls you back to your room, and throws you on the bed.

You continue to cry and stroke yourself while you hear him unzip and unfasten, your body a trembling heap, facing away from him as he’s undressing.

“I’m going to fuck you, and then you’re going to let me out before HYDRA comes for both of us. You’re fucking clever and I can’t get out of here without you.”

You whimper when you feel his weight on the bed behind you.

He forces you into a kneeling position, but he doesn’t care that you can’t even prop yourself up, head and shoulders slumped down on the mattress, ass in the air. His left hand grips your hip, and he groans as he guides the head of his cock up and down the slit of your dripping cunt before he finally slides in. It’s deliberate, sliding down to the base, his hips pushing into yours. The way he invades and stretches you is painful, and yet you need it, keening at the fullness.

You do catch that his breathing hitches.

He needs this, too.

You’ll give it to him if he’ll just put your body out of its misery.

After a moment of slowly rutting against you, only shifting his girth inside of you a bit, teasing, perhaps warning, you whine, “move, please, more.”

“More than you bargained for,” he growls, then pulls back, and then thrusts back into you, adopting a brutal pace, both hands anchored at your hips now, slamming you back and forth roughly.

He pulls a first orgasm from your body quickly, but the second comes not long after when he reaches around to pinch and roll your clit between his fingers, still using your pussy for chasing his pleasure.

A third, and you’ve gone from whimpers and keens to crying out and a fresh wave of tears. This is rough and you’re over stimulated, and he knows. He leans over your back to smirk against your neck.

“Please,” you cry. You don’t know if you’re begging for more or for less because your body is screaming in exhaustion, but the fire is still tormenting your veins.

Because you haven’t been filled.

The smirk turns to a sneer against your neck, and Steve snarls, "You wanted it. You staged it. So, you're going to take it and keep fucking taking it until I'm done with your pathetic fragile body."

He’s pressing into places you’ve never felt before, and you cry out more, face pressed into the sheets. He pushes back up and pulls his cock out of you. His fingers work the clasp of your bra, and he pulls it off while he flips you over so you’re on your back. You can’t even open your eyes, but you feel him looming above you, kneeling between your splayed out thighs.

But then you feel something shift. He mutters a curse and is suddenly still.

You open your eyes and look up at him, but he’s looking at your chest. His hand moves up to trace his fingers over a scar near your collarbone. You look and see the same scar evident on his chest.

You reach up and your fingers quest along his bicep, and they do find a scar there, very faint but long, matching one you’ve had nearly your entire life.

Your eyes lock on each other now, and the acknowledgement there between you is terrifying.

There are more scars, but you don’t need to continue to confirm what you know.

You’re soulmates.

You’ve betrayed him before you even knew.

You’re still beholden to the drive of the sex pollen, boneless and exhausted, but this revelation drives with adrenaline through the haze, too hard to deny. It gives you enough to say, “We can’t deal with this now if we want to get out of here with a chance to escape HYDRA, fuck me and end this.”

He does, but he can’t look at you. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, and spears you with his cock. The fucking is rough, and you take it. It’s punishing penance and painful pleasure. You cling to him as he thrusts you over the cliff of ecstasy again, coming with you finally, and his spend pumps hotly into you. The physical relief from the torture is blessedly immediate. His hand ghosts over your lower abdomen where he’s just planted his seed. With his eyes closed, he touches his forehead to yours, then pushes roughly away and rolls off of you.

“Get up, get dressed, pack light,” he says, stone cold. “Between us we might get out of this dangerous trap. That’s all we need for now.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers smut #horrormoviehoeathon #tw: dubcon #sex pollen #aspen wrote something #female reader

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thatonepersonwhocantwrite · 2 months

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Wonderland pt 1

Part 1 (Eventually) Yandere Luke castellan x Gender neutral reader

Summary you're from wonderland well at least you're mother is you're father is a God. The best swordsman in camp takes an.... interesting and obsessive liking to you

Also I feel like we offen forget wine isn't the only thing Dionysus is the God of but madness as well. I currently have bad writers block and couldn't currently think of anything else to add so I decided to split it into parts since I needed to post something.

Trigger warnings nothing yet, but eventually in future parts yandere themes like stalking, manipulation, kidnapping (extra)

You weren't from this world well......technically you are you were from a part of the world everyone thought was made up just another part of the human imagination......Wonderland . Wonderland was very.....disconnected from actual sane people or large bustling cities like New York. Your mother was probably one of the subjects of the queen of hearts just kinda surviving. Your father isn't exactly normal either he was also never around. Honestly as much as you love your mother it was kinda hard to imagine a God falling for her or really a God falling for anyone in Wonderland because while some of the inhabitants of Wonderland is more sane then others even the more sane ones start to go insane eventually.

Which is why when you were 13 you ran away from home. Although you had no clue where to go or what to do now you had left Wonderland. You're clothes and mismatched socks probably also made you stand out to by standers because in real life on Earth the other humans weren't used to seeing people dress in bright colors and patterns unless celebrating. After a few days of wandering aimlessly you ran into help or rather help ran into you.

You were desperately scrounging around for food thinking maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave home when you felt someone run smack into you causing you both to tumble towards the ground. "Oh my pan! I'm so sorry." A male voice said. He had ...goat horns? Ehh not the weirdest thing you've ever seen. "Are those horns really or .....?" You asked. "They're real. Oh I'm Grover. " Grover replied. You weren't sure what to say or do and that's how you met Grover. After about a week of traveling with Grover is when you met Luke, Thalia and Annabeth.

" Hey Grover I'm going to find something to eat for myself. " You replied. " Ok just don't go far I'll finish setting up camp." Grover said. You did in fact wander to far when you stumbled upon a bush full of berries and you were about to eat some when you heard a voice tell you to wait. "Wait, don't eat those! those are holly berries they are poisonous!" A young female voice exclaimed. You looked around for the source of the voice. You spotted a young girl no older than 7 standing between some trees you could make out 2 more figures behind her one another female and the other male. You backed away your left hand reaching for a dagger in your pocket you swear wasn't there a moment ago while you're right hand still held the berries.

" Who are you why should I trust you?" You questioned. You got a closer look at them the seven year old girl had grey eyes , black hair and brown skin, the other gir who looked about a year younger than you so 12 had choppy short black hair , blue eyes and is white. She pushed the younger seven year old behind her. " Thalia I can protect myself!" The seven year old exclaimed. While the two girls were arguing you managed to sneak away not noticing the male following you.

" Grover!" You exclaimed finally making it back to the very stressed looking satyr. Grover rushed over to you. " Y/n there you are! You were gone for an hour I was worried I was calling your name but no reply and I didn't want to leave the fire unattended. Your not hurt are you?" Grover asked like a panicked father looking over you to make sure you didn't have any new injuries. " Hey Grover I'm ok. I'm ok." You replied. " Pan Y/n you had me so worried!" Grover exclaimed. "LUKE!" The older female voice Thalia called out causing You and Grover to look in the direction of Thalia's voice and there stood the male that had been with the 2 younger females.

Now learning his name is Luke. You started to reach for your dagger once again.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. "

#x reader #yn #percy jackson and the olympians #gender neutral reader #yandere luke castellan #grover pjo #grover underwood #thalia grace #annabeth chase #luke castellan x reader

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morallyinept · 4 months

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A full character analysis on OBERYN MARTELL from the TV show GAME OF THRONES.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to learn more about the character. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

FULL CHARACTER STUDY:

Basic Details:

Full Name: Oberyn Nymeros Martell

Nickname(s): The Red Viper

Appears in: Game Of Thrones, 2014 (first appearance on screen in episode 1, season 4, seen at approx. 09:13)

Age (if known): Oberyn is stated to be around 42 when he died

Sexuality: Bisexual

Nationality: Dornish. According to author George R.R. Martin, Dorne is loosely inspired by Spain, particularly the south's Moorish heritage, which culturally sets it apart from the rest of the country and of Western Europe.

Family: Eight daughters (Obara Sand, Nymeria Sand, Tyene Sand, Sarella Sand, Elia Sand, Obella Sand, Dorea Sand & Loreza Sand). Younger brother of Doran Martell, younger brother of Elia Martell

Spouse/Partner: Ellaria Sand, paramour

Relationship Status: In a sexually open relationship with his paramour, Ellaria Sand

Current Living Status: Deceased, killed by The Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane

Languages Spoken: English, Dornish

Education: Oberyn studied poisons at the Citadel, earning six links of the Maester's chain, rendering him a specialist in his field and a master at poisons. He left when he got bored of studying.

Occupation:

Job Role/Title: Prince of Dorne

Special Skill(s): Fighting, poisons, bedding many lovers

Notable Colleague(s): Ellaria Sand, Tyrion Lannister

Distinguishing Features:

Tattoo(s): None

Piercings: None

Scar(s): None notable

Other Markings: None notable

Prominent Feature(s): Slight greying in his hair, beard and moustache

Injuries: Oberyn is knocked to his feet by The Mountain unexpectedly during the fight, and punched in the mouth, resulting him losing most of his teeth. He has his eyes gouged out by The Mountain using his thumbs. Then having his skull crushed and caved in is what ultimately kills him

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Brown

Personality:

Traits: Seductive, cunning, vengeful

Oberyn is from Dorne. Dorne is one of the nine constituent regions of the Seven Kingdoms. It is the southernmost part of the continent of Westeros, located thousands of miles from Winterfell and the North, and has a harsh desert climate. Sunspear, also known as the Old Palace, is the seat of House Nymeros Martell and the capital of the Principality of Dorne. According to author George R.R. Martin, Dorne is loosely inspired by Spain, particularly the south's Moorish heritage, which culturally sets it apart from the rest of the country and of Western Europe. Oberyn speaks with an accent reminiscent of his heritage from Dorne, of which Pedro mentioned he used his own father's Chilean accent as inspiration.

Oberyn is seeking vengeance for the murder of his sister Elia against her murderer, The Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane. He also named his fifth daughter after his sister.

Oberyn has eight illegitimate bastard daughters (born outside of marriage), collectively known as the "Sand Snakes". Four of which he had with his current partner, his paramour, Ellaria Sand.

Whilst in love, Oberyn and Ellaria are not married as Ellaria herself is a bastard (born outside of marriage). Although Oberyn is allowed to be with her, marrying her would not be allowed as in Dorne as a Prince cannot marry a bastard.

As soon as Oberyn arrives in Kings Landing, arriving in the dawn to avoid a greeting party, he immediately goes to the brothel to indulge with Ellaria.

Oberyn's overall attitude was that life is short, and one must enjoy all of life's pleasures while one can. He would rather live life on his own terms, openly challenging his enemies and risk destruction rather than live by someone else's rules. Rather ironically, it was Oberyn's zest for life, his temper, overconfidence, love for his sister, and hatred towards Ser Gregor Clegane that ultimately led to his death.

Despite Oberyn dying at the hands of The Mountain, he was still able to extract revenge from beyond the grave. While The Mountain is being treated for his injuries, it is discovered that before the duel Oberyn had his spear blade coated with Manticore venom, which causes The Mountain's already severe wounds from the fight to putrefy horribly, leaving him in a catatonic, decaying, and agonized state.

Pedro learned Wushu to fight with a spear in the fight scene against The Mountain to enable Oberyn to move with speed and grace.

Fashion/Outfits:

Outfit 1 - (Opening scene) Golden yellow robe embellished with bronze sun studding, orange silken undershirt, leather boots, brown leather belt, brass/bronze chain with pendant

Outfit 2 - (King Joffrey's wedding ceremony and feast scenes) Cream/white robes embellished with satin, silken embellished scarf wrapped around waist, leather boots, brass/bronze chain with pendant

Outfit 3 - (In the brothel scene) Dark black embellished scarf, dark lounge pants, brass/bronze chain with pendant

Outfit 4 - (Walking with Cersei and on the council scenes) Golden yellow robe embellished with bronze sun studding, yellow silken undershirt, sand coloured pants, leather boots, brown leather belt, brass/bronze chain with pendant

Outfit 5 - (Talking with Lord Varys scene) Yellow/orange silken embroidered robe, orange silken under shirt, leather brown belt, leather boots

Outfit 6 - (Tyrion's trial and visiting Tyrion in his cell) Golden yellow robe embellished with bronze sun studding, yellow silken undershirt, sand coloured pants, leather boots, brown leather belt, brass/bronze chain with pendant

Outfit 7 - (Fighting the mountain scene) Brown leather snakeskin embossed armour, brown leather belt, brown pants, brown leather boots. Matching helmet, which he did not wear.

Accessories: Oberyn wears a brass/bronze pendant with floral detailing on the plate. He wears a gold band ring on each thumb. His belts also act as sheaths for his dagger and sword.

Weapons Used:

Weapon(s): (Exact weapons pictured below)

Oberyn has a dagger he wears on his right hip in a sheath on his belt. The dagger has a dark handle, possibly onyx, with red jewelled detailing blended into the handle.

Oberyn's spear is entwined with a golden snake and the shape of the blade is said to be modelled to represent a snake's tongue. He laced the spear head with poison. The tassels are made from snakeskin.

Oberyn's sword has a snake head handle and has the same black and red jewelled detailing as his dagger. Oberyn is not seen using his sword at all, instead favouring to use another spear when his first one is broken by The Mountain.

Modes of Transport:

Vehicle(s):

Oberyn is not seen using any forms of transport, however as a Prince he would have his own horse. Tyrion sets out to greet the cavalcade of horses, however Oberyn, in place of his brother Doran, had already arrived in the early dawn in secret. According to the book version of Oberyn, his horse is a Sand Steed, "a stallion black as sin with a mane and tail the colour of fire" when arriving in King's Landing.

Dialogue:

🗨 See Oberyn's full dialogue from the show, including deleted scenes.

Further Character Links (if any):

Oberyn Martell A Fire & Ice Wiki, Oberyn Martell A Wiki Of Westeros, Behind The Scenes The Viper & The Mountain

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

#oberyn martell #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #oberyn martell game of thrones #game of thrones #the red viper #pedro pascal character database #oberyn martell character analysis #pedro pascal character analysis

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tomcruiseishot · 11 months

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One shot: Ethan hunt x Rival Reader

I am shocked at the lack of Ethan hunt/Mission impossible fanfics on here. Anyways, I love a good enemies to loved so I decided to write one. Sorry if this sucks LMAO. If anyone likes this lmk i’ll write more.

WARNINGS: Kissing, Some blood, Mild language. This one is pretty PG-13. *Gif is not mine*

After finally arriving at the safe house, your feet are begging you to lay down. Unfortunately, you are covered in blood from todays mission and the last thing you want to do is go to bed without showering. The mission your on forces you to be in uncomfortable proximity to Infamous Agent Ethan Hunt. Even just hearing his name makes you irritated. This is not the only mission that you had to work with him. The two of you often get in each others way since you both want be making the decisions. What’s more aggravating is that no matter what you do on a mission, Ethan always gets credit for YOUR accomplishments. Anyway, instead of berating Ethan Hunt in your head, you really do need to shower. You slowly approach the bathroom. you hear the shower and realize ethan is occupying the only bathroom in the apartment. “Ethan hurry up, how much longer?”

The door opens and he leans against the white frame. You suddenly feel unable to breathe. He smiles at you with a hint of arrogance and an emotion you can’t quite place. “You missed me?” He sarcastically says, low and raspy in an attempt to not wake your sleeping colleague. Despite your best efforts you can’t help but watch the water bead of his chest onto his loose grey sweatpants. His abs are so defined they look sculpted. But you don’t have time for this. Besides, this is Ethan hunt we’re talking about here and you’re supposed to hate him. You try to think of something witty to say but your at a loss. “I need to shower Ethan, Im covered in blood and I’m tired.” He stares at you intently and you want to break his gaze but you keep from looking away. “You got pretty messed up out there.” He says. “Yeah no shit.” He chuckles lowly at this. “Listen. I know we haven’t always gotten along” he starts, “But you did really good today. We wouldn’t have killed the general without your quick thinking.”

I can’t believe Ethan hunt is being nice to me. When he says this, Your stomach erupts in a warm feeling that spreads throughout your veins and goes from your toes all the way up to your ears. I don’t have feelings for Ethan do I? We’re just talking agent-to-agent. He would’ve said that to anyone. His muscular arm brushes a tendril of hair out of your face and tucks it he kind your ear. You look up at him and begin to feel feel your stomach explode in butterfly’s. Suddenly you no longer remember why you knocked on the door.

Your legs start to feel like jelly but this time it’s not from exhaustion. He’s so close you can practically feel his breath on your face. He smells like a pine tree and his body heat makes you feel warm. He looks at you with something unprecedented: affection. For the first time you notice how handsome Ethan is. You begin to wonder what it would be like to press your lips against his. Ethan takes a brisk breath like he’s going to say something but then just stares at you, then nods in dismissal. “We’ll I should probably hurry up then.” He says. “Yeah probably.” You say chuckling.

He begins to shut the door. For some reason you’re filled with desperation for the man who you called your enemy 5 minutes ago. “Hey, Ethan?” He slowly turns back around and reopens the door. “Thanks for your help today. If I’m being honest I was pretty scared earlier and I don’t know what happened if you weren’t there,” The corners of his mouth turn up, “Hey, it’s my job. Don’t worry about it.” I start again, “But Im not just talking about the job. I guess what i’m trying to say is I’m really glad I met you. I mean glad know you-have you. you.” When he doesn’t respond you start regretting saying anything at all. “I’m sorry I don’t even know why I said that so I’m just gonna-” Suddenly he grabs your waist with his strong hands and pulls you in so close you can hear and feel his heart beat. He leans in and he puts his mouth on yours and kisses you roughly. You’re shocked but pleasantly surprised and immediately kiss back. Your whole body is tinging and it feels as if fireworks are going off inside the apartment. You grasp at his nape with one hand and with the other you feel the crevice’s of his abs that you’ve always secretly longed to feel.

He pulls away from the kiss and smiles at you with love and appreciation. He leans to whisper something in your ear. “we should take this… elsewhere.” You cock your head the same way a confused puppy does. “What, did you have something planned?” You both look towards the agent asleep of the bed. He looks back at you and his green eyes suddenly change to a hungry lust. You wryly smile. With one of his strong hands he forcefully pulls you into the bathroom and uses your body to shut the door. He raises your wrists above your head and pins you against the door with one hand, the other on the back of your neck. You wish this moment could last forever. He steps closer, roughly kissing you. He pulls back panting and looks st you with a small smirk. You smile then bite your lip. All you can think is you hope your friend isn’t a light sleeper.

#ethan hunt #ethan hunt x reader #mission impossible #tom cruise #tom cruise x reader #one shot #enemies to lovers #make out #tomcruiseishot #ethan hunt one shot #Lime

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manicrouge · 5 months

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Episode One: A Deal Set in Stone

[𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛] || [𝙰𝚄: 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜] || 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 13/01/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Tensions between Price's and Fisher's gangs are seemingly settled upon a deal made between the two leaders. After a brief celebration alone, Price is informed that there is a new detective in town looking to put a stop to the cities Communist Revolutionaries.

[𝙲𝚠]: mild threats (nothing too extreme), brief mentions of religion.

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 6.7k

[𝙰/𝙽]: Hi !! This is the first part of what is going to be a series. As a pre-warning, the first few parts will be there to build relationships so this series will be a slowburn romance. Also, I have rewrote history a little here for the sake of plot, so please excuse that (I'm hoping my history GCSE and A level will make it somewhat coherent).

ENJOY!!

Comments are always appreciated !!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

There's an illness in the air, a sickly disease running through the men surrounding the table.

They keep their heads raised, not daring to look down as they stare down their noses to the man sitting opposite to him.

A shadow is cast over his eyes, sockets and pupils disguised by the flat hat on the top of his head as he pulls his cigar from between his lips, a grey cloud of spoke escaping from out of his mouth.

Sitting across from him is a man, his hair lathered in hair gel, slicked back. A stray strand of ink back hair curls forward, pressing against his forehead as he offers the latter a tight-lipped smile. A thin moustache sits atop his upper lip, appearing as though the few fine hairs have been drawn on with a pen, and his blue eyes pierce through his soul as he assesses him.

As he shifts, dipping his hand in his pocket, he hears the shift of something behind him and then the clink of metal.

Such response in the sudden movement results in the men crowded behind the man sitting on the other side of the table to dip their hands into the inside of their blazer pockets, a gleam of metal greeting his eye. Only, such is resolved as the man holds up his hand, offering the view of a box of cigarettes.

Turning his head to the side, he catches the man with a mohawk standing behind him holding his pistol firmly aimed at the man's head. With a gentle sigh, he grabs his wrist with his hand, 'not now, Johnny,' he utters, looking at the man. Even in the dingy light of the room, he notes the red flush on the man's face, though, he doesn't elaborate on such a sight as his hold tightens on the man's wrist.

Johnny looks down at him and with a reluctant shrug, he puts his gun back into his holster, his arms falling back down to his side.

He’s got a good heart about him, wanting to protect him- did the very same thing during the war, and he feels his own heart ache slightly when he requests he does so. Nothing more than a stern father in that regard, though, when he turns his attention back to the group on the other side of the table, he's assured in his decision.

Can't fuck this up. Not now.

'A man can't even smoke wit' y'ur men,' snarls the man from the other side of the table, his voice notably pitchy as he strikes his match, holding it to the end of his cigarette.

Holding his arm out to the side, he waves his hand in the air quickly to extinguish the flame, tossing the match over his shoulder. ‘Is it a crime to smoke 'round here now, John?'

'Not at all,' he answers bluntly, 'sure you'd know it was though; it's a struggle to keep your nose out of my business, isn't it, Irving?' he asks with a smile forming on his face as he clears his throat, tapping his cigar, ash sprinkling into the ashtray beside him.

Drawn out laughter graces his ears as Irving leans back into his chair, elbow staying firmly placed against the table with his cigarette between his fingers.

'Very funny man, you are, Price,' he responds with a scoff, 'when I hear about the things you're doin' it is my business,' he states, 'never heard of your family until you came back from the war, I suppose that has something to do with the woman running the business while you boys were away, ey?'

The air freezes, none of them even muster up the courage to laugh at the man, instead, he narrows his eyes and takes another drag from his cigar.

There's a noise behind him, fortunately, for the sake of the deal, it isn't a gun this time.

'Not like you'd know that is it?' a voice from behind him emerges in a bitter tone.

The man sitting opposite to them stops laughing, looking through John to the man behind him.

'No, 'cause you didn't fight for your country, just stayed here at home sitting on your ass,' he continues, resting his hand at the back of Price’s chair.

His lip twitches at the comment, the wrinkles on the man's forehead being so telling of the mental turmoil in his mind, he reserves the pestering feeling to laugh for when they're free from the room.

'I was exempt, more honourable than what happened with your old Cap'n here, isn't it, Gaz?’ he asks, pointing his cigarette in his direction. 'Really ruined your chances of wanting to be a Captain, hey? And for what?’

In his veins, his blood grows hotter by the second, the disrespect directed towards him causing his throat to tighten. It’s as though he has a noose around his neck, each comment made in passing being said with the intent to pull the noose tighter until his neck eventually snaps from the pressure. It’s the oldest trick in the book, truly it is. If he snaps now, he knows he will carry the regret til his last breath. So, he takes a breath to calm his temper, shaking off the urge to reach for his pistol to put a bullet between the eyes of the smug faced prick sitting before him.

'We're not here to discuss that,’ he smoothly states.

Sinking further into his chair, Irving rubs the stubble on his chin with puckered lips as his eyes scan John. It's supposedly demeaning, the type of look a wolf gives to a defenceless lamb. It's a real shame that this wolf never gets blood on his own pristine coat; if such was not the case, he very well would have shuddered in his view.

'Please proceed then, Price,' he says briefly, 'you fought hard to get this meeting with me so I hope whatever it is you have to suggest is worth your efforts and my time.'

'I want you to rig the race in our favour,' he simply says.

'Rig the race in your favour?' snorts Irving, 'in your fucking dreams.'

'We've seen a 200% in increase in bets over the course of this week,' he simply says, 'people are votin' for the magical horse we've got and they commies are sneaking payments under the table to us to make sure they have a chance of the money if the horse does win.'

Rolling the cigarette between his fingers, he looks back to the men sitting behind him. There’s a look of amusement etched into his feature, although, the look on his face was as flattering as the sight of a name of a relative carved into a grave tone.

'And why would I do that for you?' he asks, ‘y’ haven't given me a single good reason why I should do something of convenience to you considering you've been nothing but an inconvenience to me since you returned from the war.'

Rubbing his mouth with his hands, he attempts to quell the brewing heat bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He's a difficult man to please, and had he been elsewhere, he very well would have succumb to the temptation wrecking his mind.

One shot and he’d be gone.

Yet, a man who is not trigger happy is much more of a man than one who goes around killing whoever. Killing with intent is what makes you a true threat.

'We've been tiring resources tryin' to get back at each other, you're missing out on making money and so am I... besides, with the communists, it's getting harder and harder for you to fund these events—'

'That's not true,' he cuts off, 'we have plenty of people investing in our horses.'

'Not what I've seen,' a gruff voice from behind John answers.

Irving sneers in the direction of the group. It's unflattering- the way his top lip lifts to exposes his yellow teeth, how the muscles in the face dent his appearance. Truly, all his charm is to be found in his money.

Had he been a poor man, Price is convinced he would die alone.

'You need us,' John says, 'I'm willing to put aside our differences, I'm willing to help you make money- besides, with the way the Adams' have been acting recently, you need us to make sure your business stays intact.'

'I have other people who are offering me a handsome sum of money for my services,’ he says with a smile, ‘and I can deal with the Adams’ anyway, they’re not a threat to me nor my business.’

'Can you?' John asks, 'you've been promising to kill him for months and he's still walkin' around actin' like he runs shit,' he scoffs, leaning further over the desk. 'I'm offering to pay you out of my pocket to ensure we keep making money and you're going to get share of that; more business for me means more business for you.'

The cogs are turning in his thick skull as he turns his head to the side, looking at a man standing at the front of the group surrounding him.

Circular glasses sit on the edge of his protruding nose, his thin lips pressing together as the man before him looks at him. Small dots for eyes grow wide from the shift of attention as John also looks to the man. His boney fingers clench around the leather book in his hands as he steps forward.

'How much will you be making Mr. Fisher?' he asks, his tone coming explicitly from his nose.

John hears Johnny snicker behind him, followed by a small 'oof' as fabric shifts.

'Three hundred guineas,' he answers, 'and if we continue to work together, that amount will only go up.'

The man looks down at the book in his hand, flipping it open with a short 'hm'. His fist clenches at the sight, though he busies himself with the changing look on the wrinkled brow of the man.

'You can sink the Adams' if you do this,' prompts another voice from behind him.

Good lad, Simon.

Pursing his lips, he pulls out his chair, standing up. For a moment, Price feels his heart sink at the very sight of the man preparing to leave the room, yet, such doubt is salvaged as the man places his hands against the table, leaning forward.

'Speak with my lawyer,' he says, 'if I do this for you, I want all the men you have working under me gone; I know you have some snooping around in business that does not concern them.’

Price smiles.

'Only if you do the same for me.’

Irving’s bottom lips tighten as he sneers at Price.

'Fine,' he exhales sharply, 'you go against your word, Price, I'll have all of you hanged on the leashes you need to keep your men on.'

'Been through this hundreds of times before, y' don't have to tell me twice,' he answers with a smile.

Irving takes a moment to look at the man before pulling away, straightening his posture. As though he's a stroppy toddler, he juts out his bottom lip at his words, turning his nose up upwards while pressing his arms against his torso. Without another word, he walks out of the room, three men following behind him, leaving the lawyer shakily sitting down in the chair alongside two men standing behind him.

Placing the book in his hands down, he opens his mouth and lets out a short breath. Sweat gathers on his brow as he turns his attention towards Price.

'You promise no foul play, right?' gulps the man, 'c- cause if you do something that messes everything up, then you're risking—'

'No foul play,' calmly answers the latter, 'you're safe; we're not gonna do anything, are we boys?' he asks, lifting his head up, motioning towards the three standing behind him.

'Nae,' Johnny confirms, 'got no reason t' risk a decent deal.’

'See?' Price asks, holding his arms out either side of him, causing the man sitting in front of him to flinch. 'Y' can trust us. Men of our word, we are.'

Pulling a pen from out of the front pocket of his blazer, he gulps, flicking through pages in his notepad. John watches with narrow eyes, lifting his hand to grab the edge of the flat cap sitting on his head. Tugging it down, the tips of his fingers ghost the metal sewed into the hat, and when he look back to the man sitting in front of him, he offers him a tight-lipped smile.

'So lets talk business, ey?'

─

Smoke pours from the chimneys of the homes and factories in the street as he travels down the road. The smoke billowing from his cigar in his mouth mixes with the spouts of smog blowing in the breeze.

Houses tightly-knitted either side of him contain the laughter of children, the calling of working men, and the conversations of the women passing by. Yet, their talk is muted as they cup their hands around their mouths. Such secrecy does not contain the content of what they’re discussing as Price catches them occasionally glancing at him as he walk. He’s not disheartened by such, in fact welcomes them.

Besides, secrecy only got as far as a shilling does.

It’s a noose around the neck of the speaking user by the time that shilling is tucked in a pocket of the Peeping Tom; that's simply how the business works, and of course he knows that.

He has to considering some of the eyes on him.

Fortunately, that's where he likes to be; had he been someone who disliked the eyes on someone else, then he definitely chose the wrong career to pursue.

Pulling the cigar from out of his mouth, he tugs on his waistcoat, jacket trailing behind him as he walks down the main street, flames from the blacksmiths firing back as the ting of a shovel hitting the pile of coal sitting on the street fills his ears.

Its been a while since he's seen the sun, and his dull mind aches as he attempts to figure out the last time he's seen the glowing orb in the sky. Perhaps it might have been last week, though, he never really looks up, only downward.

'Mornin', Mr. Price,' calls a voice brightly.

Lifting his head up, he looks at the man adorned in the uniform of the law and he watches as he holds the tip of his helmet, tilting it in his direction. A smile beckons upon his lips, though he doesn't let it show as he exhales a mouthful of smoke, giving a short nod in the direction of the man.

Coppa's were blind, a quids enough to make them forget whatever they saw, sweep it under the table and into a grave.

Flicking the cigar onto the street, he holds his arms up, pushing open the wooden doors to the pub, the faint smell of booze greeting him before he even steps foot through the door.

It's difficult to breathe in the Hindsight; the air is pumped with the hot breath of the generous patrons and the smoke from the cigarettes in the hands of them. It’s not something he would change about it though; the burn in his lungs was simply just a reminder that he's indeed alive, away from Flanders Fields and home.

Pushing open the door to the pub, all heads in the surrounding area snap around to see him.

It's silent as he walks in, the chatter and laughter he heard while standing outside the doors of the pub being nothing but a flaking memory. They look at him with doe eyes, even the wrinkled skin of the weathered men he recalls seeing on the battlefield look to him with the same fear he spies in the eyes of the women.

Without a word, he moves up to the bar, the talking resuming, though, no longer to the level it had been prior to his arrival.

Digging his hand into the pocket of his coat, he pulls out one coin, as the man behind the bar quickly approaches him with worn sunk in eyes looking at him with a bated breath. 'What can I get you today, Mr. Price?' he sweetly asks, his voice wobbling as he looks at him.

'Scotch,' Price answers.

'Yes, right away, on the house as always,' he says with a nod, though, when he turns his back to retrieve the bottle from behind him, Price settling a coin down onto the counter.

Placing the glass down, he pops off the diamond lid on the bottle, pouring some into the glass he grabbed from under the bar.

'I was readin' the paper this morning,' begins the man, grabbing the glass one the stream of liquor stops. 'Saw you've been looking for a barmaid in here.'

'Yeah... with the constant freak outs from Blake, Melissa didn't want to stay after he hit her,' he confesses, 'can't blame the girl not wantin' to be here, but I doubt she'll find a man to marry her; she was a barmaid for a reason,' he stiffly explains, busying himself with cleaning an unmarked glass. 'What had you readin' the paper?'

'Looking at the races,' he says, 'business as usual.'

'You see the thing in the paper about the States?' asks the man, leaning in closer, lowering his tone, 'there's a rumour that Mr. Churchill is in a deal with them; one of the reporters spoke on their close relations. Can you believe that? The government are doing this, even after we've refused to give 'em the money back from the First World War.'

He finds a smile meeting his face as he looks down at the glass in his hand, bringing it to his mouth, pouring the contents of the drink down. A warmth spreads through his chest as he places it down, all for it to be refilled immediately, the man nearly shattering the glass in his hand as he fumbled to pick the bottle back up.

'Wouldn't put it past 'em,' answers the other, 'the Americans were like bumbling idiots in the fuckin' trenches.'

Memories crop up from his time in the war, the difference of the Yanks to the Brits and the French. He recalls how his skin was branded with thick clumps of congealed blood and dirt, how his feet were sore and cut up from the thick mud from the flooded trenches. They enjoyed to call out for mercy, to point their fingers and make demands when they weren't even in the thick of it.

They didn't know war.

They weren't soldiers.

'I remember them being like that- came into war prim and proper they did while we rotted in those fucking trenches for years before they even bothered to join the fight,' he scoffs, placing the bottle down, 'and they have the cheek to tell us that we owe them money? It's because of our fuckin' fight that they're still allowed to be the oh so great country they are,' he snarls.

'Never lost yourself in those trenches, did you, James?' he asks with a smile, 'good to see y' still got that fight in you.'

'Only because of you, Cap'n,' he answers with a small nod of his head as Price drinks some more of his drink. 'Say, John, don't suppose you could do me a favour, ey?' he asks, dipping his hands into the front of his dirty white apron, pulling out a coin, 'I'm workin' til late all week so I won't be able to put money down for the races, could you pick a horse for me?'

Holding his hand out, the coin is dropped in his palm and he looks down at it, 'what horse?' he asks, looking at him.

'Heard Johnny's gonna have a spell cast on Midnight Willow, that true?' he asks, 'horse is supposed to be blessed if that happens, I heard. Never thought a witch would be one for dealing blessings, but I suppose I might as well not judge a book by its cover.'

Pressing his thumb down onto the coin, his tongue trailed on the back of his teeth as he takes a deep breath. 'Yeah, it is,' he says, nodding his head, 'she's gonna be the fastest horse in the race,' he says so with a grin.

The doors behind him creak with the force of which they're pushed open, and the chatter falls quiet as footsteps fill his ears.

Picking up his glass, he brings it to his mouth once again. His eyebrows raise as he catches sight of the same flat cap on his own head as the man approaches him, leaning against the countertop.

'Kyle, can I get you something to drink?' the man behind the bar promptly asks.

'No; not staying long,' responds Kyle with a small smile, 'thanks though,' he adds, looking at Price.

'What's wrong?'

'Kate wants to see you; she said it's urgent,' he promptly says.

Standing up, he tilts his head back as he finishes the rest of his drink, placing the glass against the counter. Offering a short nod to the man, the pair of them begin to head towards the exit of the pub.

'She say what she wants?'

'No, but she sounds pissed. What have you done?' he asks with an amused smile on his face.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he takes a moment to ponder the possibilities of what could have the woman in such a foul mood, although, as he thinks of recent events, he struggles to think about what exactly he could have done to antagonise her.

'Nothing I can think of; she was more than happy with the peace deal between us and Irving,' he says, 'never know with her though; sticks her nose into all sorts, goes where she has no business going.’

Kyle raises an eyebrow.

'You saying you've done something you don't want her to know about recently?'

His expression remains stoic as they continue through the street. Flames from the iron works fan against them, and he lifts his head upwards as the sound of cheers fill his ears. Kyle scoffs, dipping his hand into his blazer, grabbing a box of cigarettes.

'Fuckin' commies,' he snarls, opening the box of cigarettes in his hands. 'They've been gettin' worse too; they trashed a cart in the train station the other week.'

'I saw it in the news,' answers the other with a prompt nod of his head, 'causin' more trouble than we are.'

'I don't know why they even bother,' Kyle says.

‘They're angry,' John answers, 'not surprised; fought to keep the country a float and the reward the common man gets is a cut in wages.’

Kyle laughs.

'Should go and get a sign and join the crowd if that's how you feel about them.’

'I'm not an idiot,' he retorts, 'nothings gonna change no matter how much paint and ply wood they use.'

As the crowd progresses down the street, the pair of them move from off of the road onto the pathway. Kyle lights his cigarette, placing it between his lips, taking a drag. People on the path move quickly out of the pairs way as they turn towards a house, moving up a step.

Pushing the door open, Kyle takes another drag from the cigarette in his hand, holding the door for a moment for John to follow in behind. Progressing through the cramped living room, John watches for a moment as he closes the door behind him.

Despite the small space, there's a thudding from beyond the room which translates to many footsteps and he 's bemused at the thought of the business happening beyond the tiny living room.

Shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders, he placed it on the clothes rack, progressing further through the house, following the scent of the lit cigarette with ease. He tucks his hands into the pocket of his blazer as he rounds the corner into the dining room, seeing the doors against the far wall of the living room have been opened.

A busy bustling strikes him as a knife would, wounding him with a weeping wound of pride as he lifts his head, lazily trotting into the room with a smug smile on his face. Kyle stands in the middle of the busy room, his hand placed on the shoulder of a blonde haired woman who turns her head upwards to Price as he enters.

Her lips are pressed firmly against one another as her brows furrow before she looks back at Kyle positioned behind her. As far as he can see, the look on her face doesn't shift- instead, it stays the same as she slowly starts to raise from the chair. Moving past the crowds of men, parting them as Moses did the red sea, she crosses her arms, her black boots clunking against the ground as she approaches him.

'Took your time,' she comments, 'thought you would have come right back here after making that deal with Irving.'

'Wasn't in the mood for a verbal beating,' he confesses, pulling his hat from off of his head, 'went to the Hindsight instead.'

She rolls her eyes.

'Kyle said you have something important to tell me.'

'I do,' she confirms, nodding her head. She pauses for a moment as she raises her hand, the sleeve of her black cardigan falling down her arm as she brushed her hands through his hair, taking a short moment to look at him before shortly nodding. 'I wouldn't call a meeting for no reason,' she adds, pulling her hand away from him.

'Alright!' he calls, addressing the room of people.

The ticking of the typewriters and the low chatter all comes to a sudden stop and it's as though he has frozen time. Beady eyes look to him and Kate standing at the front of the room, all aside from one man standing in the corner of the room, far too focused on the knife in his hand.

'Everyone take twenty, got something important to discuss with the lady,' he sharply states.

The air thickens as people quickly pick up their belongings. Fortunately, they're smart enough to know who he expects too stay and who he expects to leave, and as the crowd files through the doors, Kate moves past him, closing the door behind the last worker who leaves.

It closes with a click and the emptiness of the room is notable as he finds only three men standing. Walking further in, he rests against one of the desks, looking at the blonde-haired woman.

'You have the floor,' he says, motioning to her, ‘go on.’

'I got news from the boys working in London,' she begins, walking back into the room, her hands dipping into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a carton of cigarettes. 'Apparently, they're sending a detective here to look for something- boy's heard something about it having something to do with the communists.'

His eyebrows raise.

'And this concerns us because?'

'The detective they're sending is from the States, John,' she confirms, 'got a familiar name, I've read about him in the papers when I visited home after the war... infamous detective when it comes to crushing crime and commies.'

A small 'hm' escapes his mouth as he raises his hand to rub the scruff of his beard, tilting his head to the side as he watches the woman light her cigarette.

'How'd he treat the gangs back home?' asks the man stationed in the corner of the room, pushing himself off of the desk. 'He cruel to them?'

'From what I know,' she begins, pulling her cigarette from her mouth, 'he's had a lot of people put behind bars. Although, supposedly, he's here to deal with the raising threat of the communists; you know how it's been recently, the governments scared to do anything about them in case they upset Russia.'

'So, they're sendin' a random guy from the States to sort it out?' asks Simon, 'bit odd.'

Keeping her eyes trained on John, the man shifts under her view, turning his attention to behind him to Johnny. The man chews on his bottom lip.

'Y' sure he's not coming here for us?' Johnny asks.

Kate simply looks at him with a raised eyebrow before turning to John, 'what have you done?' she asks with narrow eyes.

A prompt smile appears on the man's face as he shrugs his shoulders, looking at the woman. 'What?' he says politely.

'Boys, do you mind giving us some space?' Kate says, though, all of them know she is not asking them to leave, rather, telling them. At the very least, she can't get tripped on her attitude, and fortunately for themselves, they know better than to question her judgement as the three of them are quick to leave the room.

John watches as they move through the room, and as they step through the same door as all of the other workers, the door closes with a click.

Immediately, her eyes are back on him, the look similar to one he was familiar with in his prime years of youth before he cared to sort his act out. Ironically, he found that the older he grew, the more he found himself falling back into the same habits he had had during his teenage years, only, this time, the police didn't attempt to trip him up on his petty crimes.

Lessened the blow of the more serious ones too.

'What have you done?' she cautiously asks, 'clearly, you've done something; I can see it in your eyes.'

'Read me like a fuckin' book don't you?' he snorts, placing his hands against the edge of the table he was leaning against, not daring to have his eyes leave hers. Her smugness is elegant, frankly a tad disturbing too as he knows the brewing anger in her stomach is sure to be boiling the impending vitriol bubbling in her throat.

'A robbery went wrong- nothin' I can't handle by myself.'

'What?' she asks, 'John—'

'Told my men to steal me four bikes,' he begins, pushing himself up from off of the table, plucking the cigarette out of her hand and placing it in his mouth. 'Y'know, the yard that Dean owns in London, gets loads of shipments every day and I had them tracking a shipment of bikes; thought it'd be better than them havin' to take my car everywhere—'

'What happened?'

'They stole the wrong thing,' he answers quickly, 'got the shipment, moved it to Alex's scrapyard, and when they opened it, they didn't find bikes, no,' he laughs, taking another drag from the cigarette, 'instead of the bikes, inside the shipment we found twenty-five Lewis machine guns, ten-thousand rounds of ammunition, fifty semi-automatic rifles, and two-hundred pistols with shells.’

The words leave his mouth as a mouthful of bile would, though, he doesn't flinch at his confession. Kate's face pales as she stares at him while he busies himself with putting the cigarette out in the ashtray.

'Christ, John,' she exhales.

'All bound for here- England. They were sent by someone, probably something concerning government officials; you know what they're like, y' can't trust anythin' they say.'

'You stupid boy,' she scolds, catching the edge of his blazer in her hand, balling his fist around the fabric, 'tell me you threw them into the dock.'

He pauses.

‘We put them back in the factory to keep them out of the rain- they hadn't even been greased yet.'

Her grip on his blazer falls loose as she raises her hand, slapping his chest harshly.

Instead of catching her wrists, he allows her to do so, simply standing and taking every blow she delivers to him. After a short while, she relents, turning her back to him, brushing her hand through her blonde hair, huffing. She pauses, looking over her shoulder at him.

'So that's why they're sending a cop from the States?' she asks, 'to get the missing shipment of guns back?'

'Maybe, maybe not; the crate was unmarked, whoever was sending the guns clearly didn't wanna be known. They were in London, so, whoever was getting the shipment is there- I don't know anything else.'

'John,' she lowly says, 'you're going to make unnecessary enemies- do you even know who they belong to?' she asks, 'they could be anyones- what if that shipment was for the Corallo's? Or even worse, what if they are meant for the government? Then what?' Her voice swells in her throat as she paces back and forward, rubbing her hands together. ‘You have lost enough through stupid actions, I'm not going to let you ruin the business I managed while you were away at war.'

'I'm not going to,' he reassures softly, although, with the tone she was carrying (had it been anyone else), he would have fancied cutting her tongue out of her mouth for just a short period of silence. 'I'll get rid of them after everything with Fisher has been sorted. I'll drop them in the dock n' no one will have to worry about them.'

She looks at him with a weary glint in her eyes, something he can only liken to a frightened small animal. It's a rarity to see genuine uneasiness in her eyes; he's become far too acquainted with the familiarity of her stoic, cold gaze. Only time ‘er eyes ever light up is when she sees her missus.

But this time, it's different; she's scared.

'I'll get rid of them, Kate, you have my word,' he says firmly, resting his hand against her should in an attempt to comfort her. 'Don't tell any of the boys f'r me, eh? Don't need to make it any harder than it has to be.'

There's trouble brewing behind her eyes, the brewing acid of an argument lingering on her mouth as she trails her tongue across her bottom lip, wetting it with saliva before pressing her lips firmly together. The tension in her brow remains as she eyes him.

'Three days time,' she says, 'I want them gone in three days; you're a capable man, John, you're not a fool and I don't want you to do something that could cause more trouble than it's worth.'

Of course, she's right, and his preemptive interest falls short at the sound of her voice.

'I won't,' he says, 'keep it a secret for me, eh?'

'Three days, and if they're not gone, I'm telling the boys,' she warns sharply, turning on her heel towards the door. 'Keep your head down with this detective coming as well; if he's here for the communists make sure you don’t change his aim.'

He watches as she walks away, her black skirt swaying as she marches towards the door. Pushing himself up off of the table, he exhales, crossing his arms. 'Did they say the name of the detective?'

'Phillip Graves,' she calls, not bothering to turn her head as she walks out of the door.

His brow creases upon hearing the name of the man leaving her mouth. It met his ears as an old friend meets another for a drink, sitting comfortably, acting as though time never passed them by.

'Phillip Graves,' he utters to himself, narrowing his eyes as he follows after Kate.

─

You sit on a park bench, your hands pressed against your knees, a navy blue hat atop your head as you look forward. When a figure moves to sit beside you, you don't flinch, instead, you busy yourself with the view of the ducks in the pond before you, only shifting to cross your legs.

The fabric of his suit settles as he lets out a sharp breath, spreading his legs a little. Leaning forward, he rests his forearms against his thighs, keeping his eyes glued in the same direction as yours, only, you're sure he has very little concern for the ducks in the pond.

'Nice to finally meet ya in person,' he utters, 'though, I suppose we could have met in some other way,' he says quietly under his breath.

'As far as people are concerned, we're not working together,' you respond.

'I know, just... British intelligence shit goes over my head; we usually just go in guns blazin’ and hope for the best,' he admits.

'Can't do that- not if you're right about who has the guns.'

You don't miss the chuckle that escapes his mouth. It's demeaning, one that states that he knows better than you do.

He doesn’t.

'Oh, I'm right, doll,' he firmly says, 'John Price.'

He speaks his name with an unflattering tone, the words falling from is mouth as phlegm would. There's very little you really know about this man, and, had you not been informed by past police reports and various individuals, you very much would have been fooled by the mans outward appearance.

You recall the picture in the file you were handed during the meeting you attended with the Prime Minister and Mr. Churchill, how the man passed you the item and while they had been talking, you spent all your time reading through the notes on what they kept on him. Even then, in the eyes of those who ran the country, you commend his ability to keep the truth in the shadows.

Besides, he’s a war hero.

His photo was charming, though you know well the man has most definitely changed from the youthful boy who stared up at you from the page. He was a 'young juvenile' Churchill had remarked, always getting into trouble, until he joined the military.

But now he's back to his troublesome ways, striking a match without the true knowledge of how big the flame could be.

'Remember what we agreed on. He frequents the pub by his home address- so do the people in his group,' he explains, 'they're lookin' for a barmaid and, fortunately, you're looking for a job.'

Clutching the fabric of your blue skirt, you nod your head, watching as the Mallards in the water fight. Two males. The female watches idly, uninterested in their fight, opting to swim away from the chaos.

'I know,' you say firmly, 'don't get too close to the fire,' you warn, standing up from off of the bench.

You turn to him for a short moment, catching the grin on his face as he nods his head.

‘You're the one going into the monsters den, doll,' he says, 'fortunately, if it gets too hot, you've got me to fan the flame,' he says, offering a wink as you turn your head, grabbing your bag off of the bench with a sigh.

You say nothing else to him as you turn to follow the same path you used to get to the pond in the first place, leaving the grinning man to watch you as you walk away.

The smile on his face doesn't fade as you leave and he doesn't move from where he is sitting. Instead he leans further into the bench, tugging down his black tie with a small sigh, the straps of the holster holding his gun under his arm tightening as he moves his arms backwards to stretch.

There's a heat brewing in his chest, causing his heart to tighten and an exciting nausea to strike him like a blade. It's an odd feeling which causes sweat to pour from his pores, though, he's not fearful in the eyes of duty, and, when you're but a dot in the distance, he tugs at the hat on his head. It presses firmly against his forehead, a shadow cast over his eyes as he stands up and turns his back to the sun, walking in the opposite direction to which you went.

‘Duty calls,’ he utters with a smile, his eyes narrowing as he heads further and further away from the sun.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old @iizx7y @phantomreadsandreblogs @talooolaaloolla

#cod #call of duty #alternate universe #john price x reader #captain john price #peakyblinder!johnprice #simon riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #phillip graves #john price x you #captain price #peaky blinders au #cod mw2 #john price #price cod #captain johnathan price #john price cod #kate laswell

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rocknroll7575 · 4 months

Text

Where Is Jaune?

Jaune couldn't feel himself breathe when he hit the water and as he tried to breathe, he simply took in water. he began to panic and tried to move, but he simply sunk deeper.

However, Jaune then felt something pulling him up and out of the water and onto a beach, and when he was on the sandy shore, he gasped for air and spat water out, coughing horribly.

"Are you ok!?" Came the voice of a young female girl.

Jaune coughed before finally answering, "I-I'm fine," Jaune said, taking in a deep breath.

"You nearly drowned man!" said the voice of a young boy. "What happened? Why are you wearing that armor? Better yet, where'd you come from!?"

Jaune took a few more deep breaths before he looked up and he got a look at the two young teens that saved his life and noticed they were quite young, likely around 13 or 14.

The girl had blond hair in a braid, though he noticed a streak of silver, and she had grey eyes.

The boy had black hair, a silver streak in it, and sea-green eyes.

Both wore orange t-shirts with a pegisus and the words, "Camp Halfblood" on them.

The girl had a bead necklace, jean shorts, and high tops, but strapped to her side was a knife.

As for the boy, he wore black jean pants, a hoodie over the camp shirt, and a pair of sneakers.

Jaune looked around and noticed a forest of Pine trees surrounding him and the beach, and he became confused.

"Is this Vale?" Jaune asked.

"No, you're in Long Island," Replied the boy.

Jaune was confused, "Long Island?" He asked.

"Yeah," replied the girl. "What's your name?"

Jaune... Jaune Arc," He replied.

The girl nodded, "Good, nice to meet you, Jaune," the girl greeted, "My name is Annabeth, and this is Percy,"

Jaune nodded, "Nice to meet you both, but can you please tell me how I got... wherever it is I am now?" He asked.

Percy looked at him, "We saw you fall from the sky and land in the water, you looked like a shooting star, man," Percy told him. "What... Are you?"

Jaune was confused, "What do you mean?"

"Are you a half-blood?" Annabeth asked.

"A what?" Jaune asked, even more confused.

Both of them exchanged a look and then Annabeth looked back at Jaune, "I think you might wanna come with us back to our camp, maybe Chiron or Mr. D will have some answers,"

Percy chuckled, "Chiron, yes, but Mr. D... I don't think he'll care too much," He replied.

Jaune was so confused, he had no idea where he was or what the two young teens were talking about, but one thing was for sure...

Things were going to get weirder...

#rwby #percy jackson #jaune arc #annabeth chase #percy and annabeth #crossover

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fruit-salad-ship · 1 year

Text

She's returned from Hisui, some mons find her out in the field in the same spot where she was taken, unconcious and hurt badly, but alive, Val in her arms even in her state. Theyre rushed to the labs, and despite brutal injury, should be fine. Val's put in the ICU, the staff do not leave her alone, if anything were to happen to that pokemon Peach would lose it.

The professor herself is taken home, dosed to the hilt with pain meds, and put in bed after being cleaned up a little, checked out. Some broken ribs, fractures in the hands, a knuckle completly shattered, the healing mons come to her, repair what they can, but theres not a lot to be done about broken bones, those just take time.

Grey cannot explain the clothes, the scars that she never had, healed and seemingly old now, nor the changes in her physical apperance, hairs longer than it was that morning, she's somehow bigger? the notable white streak in the hair??? Only thing she's got on her is a half filled notebook tucked away in a pocket, small but hers, full of scribbles, sketches, mons long extinct in some cases, unusual variants, some kid he's never seen, Val, scenery. Plum in particular thumbs through it for a long while, unaware that this woman had any artistic skill, but it had to be her right? Thats her hand writing... some of it in Ancient Hisuian????? A pretty dead language these days. She said she was from Sinnoh but didnt expect this level of knowedge from her.

Takes 13 hours for her to wake up, the longest 13 hours theyve sat through, neither able to sleep, pacing around the house. When she's finally awake, totally buzzed from painkillers, nothing feels real, its out of body, touching stuff is abstract, the feeling is all wrong, heads fuzzy, she hit the deck pretty hard during the battle with Arcaeus, body went through a lot, she recalls falling for a long time, the impact should have broken her back, cracked her head, but here she is. She must be dead, this is a dream, being back home again like this is not new, she's had this dream so many times since leaving.

It is Val, waking in the ICU and demanding Booker comes to see her immediatly that is the turning point. Since peach left, she'd used taste to ground herself, when dreams felt too real, when reality felt off, taste stays the same. There when youre awake, gone if youre in a dream, or even an illusion. Val tells the Teddiursa to get some potent tasting berry and force feed Peach, only then will she realise this is the real timeline she was suppost to be in. Bob ambles in and sits with Val for the rest of her rest, old friends.

Once Peach realises she's home, truly, her thoughts immediatly go to her partner, and despite dizzy head and a body full of breaks and bruises, she gets on her feet, staggers her way to the labs, finds her partner, in just a bad a way as she is. The two sit together and say nothing, they dont need to. She waits until Val wakes up again, in and out of rest, petting bob as he dozes close. They've gone through hell and back, and now, with her partner, she makes the joke, the one she's sat on the whole time, recalling their original weekend holiday plans.

"Maybe we'll get to go camping now." knowing neither want to be anywhere but curled up at home right now. They fought god and came out alive, fuck camping.

Days pass recovering, neither well, but alive, repairing, it takes time. And in that time, Peach tells her loved ones everything, every lie, every hidden secret, all out on the table, Val even shares some memories with Grey and Plum, who have both a million questions, and new found deep understanding for her personlaity and behaviours now. She is sorry, painfully so, and sees she's made a lifetime of mistakes, too afraid to lose what she'd gained, the good in her life something she was not willing to risk, but in being secretive, she was putting them in danger. If they left now, she would understand, theyre free to do whatever they need to. Grey looks at Plum, a moment passing, before the pair get up. Peach thinks to leave, accepting it, but they wrap her up in their arms and squeeze as much as her damaged body can take.

They're sad for her, she has not had it easy by any means, but after being handed that shitshow of a childhood, Peach made something good of her life, and that takes real strength.

#i said id doodle it all #and i did #prof.peach #doodle #pokemon

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kalembappe · 11 months

Note

Kylian Mbappe-13, aftercare after your first time having sex together, Fluff /suggestive

Firsts | k.m. 7

a/n: sorry it took so long anon even if it's short but i still wanted make it a little sweet WAAAHH😭 (the pics r rlly random and idk where to put the keep reading thing without the pics glitching, sorry) wordcount:1308

“You’re always trying to get ahead of yourself.” In a blink of an eye, he’s already in front of you. With the many times you’ve seen him doze off, you didn’t think he was a light sleeper–but you digress, given that your boyfriend is now standing in front of you, clad in just grey boxers that looked way too good on him, his arms crossed on his chest.

And just to clarify, you weren’t getting ahead of yourself, you were just trying to make things convenient by doing it on your own, quietly.

It’s not the first time you shared a bed with each other, meaning there were other times that you indeed left the bed to go to the bathroom undetected. But this night wasn’t like those nights.

There’s nothing you can really say, you just didn’t wanna be caught struggling out of bed, but here you were. You sigh to yourself, unable to have the heart to tell him you were shy.

Kylian, the inconveniently observing man that he is, senses a slight discomfort from your lack of words. Arms untangling and finding themselves on your shoulders, brushing your hair away from your neck before falling back to his sides. “Are you okay?” You blink up at him, sputtering over words that won’t come out.

“I’m– yes.” It’s a flat answer but it’s not enough for him. Your eyes flick to the bathroom door, his gaze following yours for a split second.

He looks back at you, “Were you trying to… what…pee?”

It catches your attention. You groan, “Ew, why do you care?” There’s a small quirk in his mouth that he forces in, trying not to laugh at how you’re reacting so violently, but ultimately he failed when he spent a second more looking at your bothered face. Your ears burn, “JUST…! Let me go to the bathroom.” It’s amusing to Kylian how you’re still the same after everything you’ve done together, with each other. He isn’t a stranger to your hostility, it’s more endearing to him now that you’re his. His reminiscence is cut short when you swing your feet over the bed, attempting to continue your mission but the numb feeling between your legs return, causing you to let out a strangled squirm.

This alerts Kylian, his eyes shifting into a more concerned expression.“ I can help you if you’re having a hard time.” It’s a warm sight, the moon barely peeking out the window but it’s still enough to light you from behind, small marks still fresh on the right side of your neck and a duvet wrapped on your front. You got a pout on your lips and that crinkle on your forehead that you give him when you think he’s being unreasonably annoying, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you how much it makes him feel whole.

He stares down at you, it feels intimidating from your receiving end, but it isn’t his intention. You’re always quick to fold when it’s him, case in point; two hours ago– or now, when his hand finds your face, the other resting on your neck rubbing soothingly. “What’s wrong?”

You’re putty in his hands, “Can you help me up?” With glossy eyes, you stare back at him. He can feel the warmth of your cheeks on his thumb as it rubbed up and down, he knows it’s mean but he likes it when you’re embarrassed, he finds it cute almost. He knows you, he knows you’re never one to stop yourself from talking the way you want to anyone, he knows you act out when you want to, but he also knows that he’s the only one who could get you hot and bothered. Without another second to contemplate, he lifts the duvet off you before bringing you flush to his chest in a bridal carry. You yelp, soon covering your own mouth when you remember there are other people in the building.

“You should’ve done that a while ago.” The comment catches you off guard, immediately responding with a smack to his head. He walks to the bathroom unbothered, your head tucked in his shoulder, warm skin and all.

He drops you on the counter, you flinch at the cold marble on your skin. He hears you curse quietly, drawing a snort from his nose. He feels a little bad knowing he’s the reason for your demise, but it’s already been done and all he can do is make up for it. A displeased look graces your features when your face meets his, not too far from each other.

“Are you gonna watch me use the toilet too?”

“I don’t know, will you be able to walk yourself there?” Again, he leaves you in a mess of stutters. “What are you so red about?”

“Ky, I’m nearly naked!” The words echo in the bathroom, your arms instinctively wrap closer around yourself as if it were an admission. Your boyfriend stands there, with his wide brown eyes that could coax you into anything, he didn’t expect you to be so flustered.

But what you did expect is how Kylian laughs with his chest in response. It’s hearty, and it makes you warm–it doesn’t help with all the emotions clashing on you. “Ma belle, I’ve seen everything at this point!” You hide your face in your hands, unable to look at the cackling man.

If it wasn’t clear enough, this is new territory you’re dealing with. You’ve known Kylian for as long as you can remember, you’ve been through a lot. You’ve had many firsts, many of his are with you, all of yours are with him.

You’ve done a lot of very embarrassing things in front of each other even, yet you still flush at his light teasing and hands that linger on your body. It never made sense to you how someone could be so uncertain about something yet crave it so deeply. Until now.

He stares sweetly, sympathizing with your state. “I wasn’t going to leave anyway.” You feel him nudge your elbow; a signal to let him see your face–steadily, you do. Sometimes, he thinks, you could physically catch his breath, no, steal it. He stares at you like he’s seen the sun for the first time, you fight the urge to hide again. He steals a chaste kiss, unable to resist himself, “I still have to take care of you. You can barely walk.”

“No thanks to you.” He smirks at your wit, you never let up, always having the last word. So close can share them between your lips, his nose brushes against yours like it always does when you part from a kiss.

Something else you did notice was how he’s more handsy now. As if he’s claiming every part of your flesh he could reach, leaving his hands on you just to touch. Like now, his hands are rubbing your hips, pinky gaining closer to the swell of your ass that’s been sitting on the counter. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” It's a genuine question but it still makes your heart beat a little faster.

He knows you’re about to fall into old habits when you're looking down again, away from him, but this time you press flush and bury your face in his neck, arms wrapping around his torso. He doesn’t see your face, but the touch is enough.

“Just a little.” You answer late. He repeats in a whisper “A little?”, the breath tickles the shell of your ear and it has you giggling like an idiot. He apologizes, you forgive him with another kiss that turns sloppy, the taste of wine from your dinner still strong on his tongue as it swipes against yours upon entering your mouth. Hands are on you again. Warm and greedy, getting ahead of himself.

#kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe #again #blurb #anon #anon request #anon asks #football imagine #football fluff #fluff #k's masterlist #kylian x reader

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skyward-floored · 8 months

Text

Whumptober Day 13: Cold compress, Infection, “I don’t feel so good”

This was originally day 2’s fic, but looking at the prompts, I decided to swap them because they fit a little better. Course this one didn’t turn out exactly the way I wanted... *grumble grumble*

Also my medical research was a bit stymied by a lot of “if this happens you’re dead basically” but this is fiction so I decided it was fine. He’s fine. Dw.

Read on ao3

Warnings: injury, infected injury, intense symptoms that arise from infected injury.

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Warriors hurried through the woods, nearly tripping on a root as the setting sun shone in his eyes through the trees.

He’d been away from the cave where he’d left Four for more than an hour now, collecting water and looking for signs of the others, and leaving the smithy alone had sent his stomach into knots, even though it had been a necessary trip.

He and Four had been separated from the others after a portal the night before, dropped right into a rough fight. Warriors was only superficially injured, but Four had gotten a nasty gash that went nearly from his ankle to his knee.

They’d done their best to clean and bandage it, but they had no potions and few supplies, and the smithy had lost a lot of blood. He put on a brave face, but was obviously in a lot of pain, and couldn’t even stand without Warriors holding him up.

“I’ll be fine,” he’d said before Warriors had left, but the captain had heard the tremble in his voice, despite the easy-going grin Four had shot him.

And Warriors had left him anyway.

You had no other option, he tried to tell himself as the small cave where he and Four had hunkered down came into view. We needed more water, and that stream was the closest one. Leaving him completely undefended and barely able to move was your only option...

Warriors quickly brushed past the handful of vines that half-obscured the opening, and looked around, breathing heavily from his run.

“Smithy?” he asked as he caught his breath, and the small lump near the wall shifted slightly, revealing a few wayward strands of blond hair.

Warriors let out a quiet sigh of relief at the sight and went over to the pile. Two eyes peered at him through tired sockets, pale cheeks making the grey of Four’s eyes seem even brighter, and for a moment when they caught the light, they almost seemed to shine with a faint iridescence.

“...Wars?” Four mumbled, and Warriors quickly got to a knee next to him, studying the smithy.

Perhaps it was because he’d been away from him for a while, but Four looked significantly worse than he had just an hour ago, pale and weak, trembling when he moved. He seemed even smaller like this, and terribly young, but Warriors firmly shook his worry aside, placing a gentle hand on his forehead. The heat that met him made his heart sink, and he leaned back, feeling dread creep up his spine.

If Four had a fever, that could only mean two things, neither of them good.

“You’re back,” Four murmured in a tired voice, and Warriors nodded, guilt threatening to knock him over with its intensity.

“Yes. I’m so sorry I was gone as long as I was,” he apologized quietly, and Four hummed.

“S’okay. I was fine.”

Warriors looked at him a moment, then asked if he could check his bandages.

Four mumbled an affirmative as he stretched out his leg, and Warriors gently began removing the bandages, trying to convince himself that Four’s skin was merely hot from being wrapped in a blanket. He pulled the bandages loose, and stopped short, heart sinking at the sight underneath confirming what he had suspected.

The gash was now an angry red, inflamed and radiating heat. The edges had hints of pus around them, an unpleasant smell hitting his nose, and Warriors swallowed, setting aside the old bandages and wishing fervently he had more supplies.

Infection had set in.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Four murmured when he continued to stare, and Warriors nodded, dread hollowing out his chest. “....it infected?”

“Yes,” Warriors said steadily, hoping his voice didn’t betray his fear. “But I’ll get you through it until the others find us. You’ll be fine Smithy.”

“That’s good...”

He went silent, and Warriors got to work cleaning the wound as best as he could, murmuring apologies whenever Four flinched. The bandages were replaced overtop it, and Warriors leaned back, looking over his work. He had laughably few supplies to be dealing with an infection, or really any injury, but he did his best.

No worse then some of the supply shortages in the war.

He could handle this.

“Wars..?” Four murmured a little bit after he finished, and the captain looked down at him, still swaddled in blankets.

“Yes smithy?”

Four looked at him a moment, his grey eyes looking unnaturally bright, then he closed them, turning his head to the side.

“...I don’t feel so good,” Four admitted quietly.

And that more than anything else that had happened today made Warriors’ heart stop with fear. Four never admitted to feeling anything less than fine.

Ever.

Warriors swallowed, and pushed down the panic that was threatening to constrict him. Focus on the problem!

“Can you try eating something?” Warriors said quietly. “You need to keep up your strength.”

Four nodded in reply, and Warriors handed him some of the food they had, watching him nibble silently at the bread. He only managed about half before stopping, and Warriors helped him lie back down, unable to stop himself from feeling his forehead again.

It seemed even hotter, and he quietly sent up a prayer, hoping fervently that Four would only improve.

Goddesses please let this be mild.

But as the sun sank below the horizon and twilight set in, Four grew more and more hazy, taking longer to reply to Warriors’ questions, hands shaking when he reached for water. With every star that appeared, his shivers increased, and Warriors soon found himself waging war against Four’s raging fever.

The smithy kept turning from side to side, seeming like he just couldn’t get comfortable no matter how he lay. Sweat poured down his face, and Warriors had to stop him from getting up more than once, his addled brain making him forget he was injured.

He’d deteriorated so rapidly, Warriors was beginning to wonder if Four had already been sick.

The smithy moaned, and Warriors replaced the damp cloth over his forehead after it was knocked off yet again, sighing as he brushed some dirt off of it.

“Wars...” Four croaked, and the captain ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on the sweaty strands.

“I’m here smithy, you’re alright,” he said softly, and Four closed his eyes, face screwed up in a wince.

“Wh-where’s everyone else..?” he asked, cracking his eyes open again.

“We were separated, remember Four?” Warriors reminded him. “I’m sure they’re nearby, they’ll be here soon. I know they have potions, so as soon as they get here we’ll fix you up.”

“Oh... good,” he said hazily, then shivered as he closed his eyes. “Not feeling s-so great...”

“I know, just hang on Smithy,” Warriors said quietly, running his hand through his hair again. “You’ll be okay.”

Four leaned into the touch, and soon fell asleep, still shivering on and off. Warriors tucked him a little closer to his side, and made sure he was wrapped fully in the blanket. All he could really do was keep Four comfortable, and try to ease his symptoms until the others found them.

He just hoped it would be enough.

Warriors spent most of the night in a light doze, tending to Four and keeping an ear out for anything approaching the cave. Sometime before dawn Four began to whimper, and Warriors calmed him down, wiping the sweat from his face yet again. His worry only grew stronger as he felt his temperature, and he looked down at the smithy in dismay.

Four looked dazed where he was lying, his eyes half-lidded, shivers wracking through his body. Warriors had never seen him so fragile-looking before, and it... scared him, honestly.

Warriors admittedly didn’t know all that much about Four, not compared to some of the others. But he knew that he was an experienced young man, and possessed a surprising strength for his size, in both physical and mental capacities. Four always came across as so put-together, strong in the face of pain, and dependable to a fault.

Seeing him laid up by an infection, shivering and moaning, and pale as a sheet, worried Warriors more then he’d care to admit.

He’d never seen Four like this.

Warriors sighed, and leaned away to rifle through his bag yet again, hoping he’d find some supplies he’d somehow missed. But a hand grabbed at his arm, hot and shaking, and he looked back to see Four’s expression had turned to a frantic one, eyes wide and scared.

“Don’... don’ leave...” Four breathed, his voice slurred and panicked. “Don’...”

“I’m not going to leave,” Warriors soothed as he leaned back to where he had been, wiping Four’s face again. “I’m staying right here.”

A violent shiver wracked through him, and Warriors moved Four so he was more on his lap, hoping his body heat would help warm him up. Four whimpered and turned into Warriors’ chest, and the captain ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, firmly squashing his fear.

Four would be fine. He was strong. He would be able to fight through this until the others came.

The words were harder to believe the next day when Four was in even worse shape.

His temperature was blistering hot, so much that Warriors was beginning to run out of water to dip the cloth in. He thought about heading to the stream again, but the thought of leaving Four alone in his condition made his stomach churn. Leaving Four by himself wasn’t an option, unless it was a matter of life or death.

It may come to that, he thought grimly as Four moaned, sweat pouring down his face.

“Z-Zel...” he murmured, shivering under the blankets Warriors had placed over him. “Vio, y-you have t...”

Four’s feverish gaze caught on Warriors’ scarf, and his eyes widened, reaching a hand out towards him.

“W-Wars, don’...” he whispered, and Warriors took his hand in his. “I’m not crazy, I’m n-not... I’m not...”

A tear trickled down his cheek, and Warriors gently squeezed his hand.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Four,” he said in a reassuring voice, and Four closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Everyone does...” he whimpered, more tears falling. “Th-they say I talk to nothing, a-and my shadow... they don’t think Zel should b-be near... me...”

He let out a hiccupy sob, and Warriors tucked him more into his arms, rubbing his back to try and calm him down.

“Shh, smithy, you’re alright,” he said, and Four buried his head in his lap, a muffled sob escaping him.

“I’m not crazy... I’m not crazy...” Four cried into his tunic, and Warriors continued to hold him until his breathing evened out, and he fell back asleep.

Warriors held him a little tighter, and cleaned his wound again, using up the last of his bandages.

Please, let them find us.

The hours ticked by with nary a sign of anyone aside from themselves, and Four grew weaker every time Warriors checked. He could barely get him to eat anything, no less drink, and his feverish rambling had mostly petered out, replaced only with occasional, faint mumbling.

Warriors never let him go, dutifully cleaning his wound, helping him drink water, and calming him down when he suddenly started crying or otherwise reacted strangely.

Four abruptly woke up again and started gasping that the mirror was broken, and no matter what Warriors did he couldn’t get him to calm down, the smithy either ignoring Warriors’ presence or completely unaware of it.

“Link, easy, you’re safe,” Warriors said soothingly, but Four only panicked even more, nearly throwing himself out of Warriors’ arms.

“He wants to marry her!” Four screamed, and tried to jump to his feet. Warriors put an arm around him to stop him from moving, and Four thrashed, surprisingly strong. “No! No, no no l-lemme go!”

“Four, please, it’s okay,” Warriors tried, and Four screamed again, though it quickly dissolved into more sobbing.

“No, no no no sh-she’s dead...” he wailed, and Warriors held him tight to his chest, trying to comfort him in the only way his addled brain could understand. “Th-the bell... E-Ezlo we were too late.”

He let out an agonized sob, then stared up at Warriors’ face, tears pouring down his cheeks.

Then he abruptly fell limp.

Warriors’ heart skipped a beat as all of Four’s frantic resisting stopped, and his head fell against his arm.

“Smithy?” he asked, but Four didn’t reply, and Warriors quickly turned him over, careful not to jar his leg. “Link. Link.”

Four didn’t move, and Warriors pressed an ear to his chest, blood roaring in his ears. Come on Four, please...

A faint breath rattled under his ear, and Warriors exhaled in relief, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. He was still alive. He still had time.

But now he had a choice.

He could stay here, in a defensible position, safe from monsters and other dangers, or... try and find help.

It wouldn’t be the best for Four to be moved, not with his leg injured, and the overall state he was in. But between sitting here and watching more and more life drain out of him, or be out and actively searching for a way to help...

Warriors closed his eyes, and began to shove things into his pouch.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Staying here wasn’t doing Four any favors.

At least out of the cave, they’d have a chance of finding a town, one with a doctor, or maybe even a fairy loose in the forest. If they were truly fortunate they’d come across the others, but Warriors wasn’t confident in that regard.

They might not even be in the same era as us.

Warriors finished collecting all of his things, and he nudged Four, hoping for a reaction of some kind.

Nothing.

“Come on Smithy. We’re going to find the others,” Warriors said softly, and pulled Four up into his arms, blankets and all. “Or a fairy or something, but we’re not waiting here any longer.”

Four’s head flopped against his shoulder, and Warriors got him settled, making sure his leg especially was secure and wouldn’t be knocked around.

Then he set off into the woods, the late afternoon sun lighting his path.

The weight of Four in his arms was a familiar one, and as Warriors trotted quickly along, he couldn’t help but think back to during the war, and carrying around a different blond hero.

He’d ended up carrying Mask around more than once, but he remembered one incident in particular where Mask had broken his ankle, and Warriors had had to carry him since he could barely move. Mask had nearly complained his ear off at not being able to walk, but he’d rested his head on Warriors’ shoulder anyway, and in the end, fallen asleep in his arms.

Four let out a weak moan, and Warriors sped up his pace. Now wasn��t the time to get lost in memories.

The woods went by at a steady pace, Warriors keeping a sharp eye out for any herbs or fairies or anything that could help Four. His eye didn’t catch on anything though, and all he could do was keep walking as the sun began to go down, and the shadows grew longer.

Four remained almost completely still in his arms, and Warriors stopped more than once to make sure he was still breathing. It was hard to make out, but it was there, and as long as Four was fighting, Warriors would keep walking.

As long as it took.

A flicker of light caught his eye, and Warriors turned to it, immediately hopeful.

“Hello?” he called, then immediately cursed himself for giving himself away. If it was a monster, they were dead.

But Four doesn’t have much longer anyway.

The light flickered again, and Warriors stayed still as he watched it, on guard, but hopeful. A blue, glowing creature abruptly poked its head up, and Warriors stared, watching as it wiggled its... antennae?

Is that a rabbit? he thought wonderingly, staring at the little creature in awe. He’d never seen one before, only heard stories. It’s cute I guess... in a weird sort of way.

“...Can you help me?” he asked, slowly crouching down while still holding Four to his chest. “My friend needs to be healed, he’s... he’s sick.”

The rabbit tilted it’s head, then hopped an inch or two forward, it’s heart-shaped face turned towards Four. It’s nose twitched slightly, then it bolted away and disappeared into a shower of sparkles.

Warriors stared, then closed his eyes in disappointment. He should have known better. Strange magical creatures in the woods were rarely helpful, unless they were fairies.

Four let out a weak murmur, and Warriors pressed his forehead to the smithy’s burning one.

“I’m sorry Four,” he apologized in a whisper, listening to his labored breathing. “I’m so sorry.”

A faint flicker of light caught his eye again, and Warriors raised his head, meeting the golden eyes of the blue rabbit.

It blinked at him, then tilted its head, almost as if it was beckoning him towards him. Warriors carefully got to his feet and took a step forward, and the rabbit twitched it’s antennae, taking a hop away from him. Warriors repeated the action, and the rabbit hopped again, and he began to follow it through the woods, hope starting to rise in his chest.

The sun began to disappear behind the tree trunks, the sky darkening and making the glow of the rabbit stick out more.

Warriors continued to follow, Four growing heavy in his arms. He was still sore from the battle that Four had been injured in, and gotten barely any sleep the night before. He was tired, and aching, and nearly sick with fear for Four, but he kept going, Four’s head tucked under his chin.

The rabbit suddenly stopped in its tracks, raising itself up onto its haunches and twitching its nose. Warriors stopped as well, and the rabbit met his eyes again, glowing softly in the darkness of the woods.

“Captain?!”

Warriors’ head shot to the side, and he nearly fell to his knees in relief as Sky and Wild ran towards him, their worried faces lit by a glowing rod Wild held.

“We’ve been looking for you for days Captain! After that portal we were all together except you and— what happened to Four?” Wild asked, and Warriors closed his eyes as Sky put a worried hand on Four’s head.

“Infection. We need to get him to camp,” he managed to get out, worry for Four one of the few things still fueling him. Sky gave him a searching look as Wild immediately began to lead them back the way they came, and Warriors didn’t resist when he gave him a bit of support.

“How did you find us?” Sky asked, and Warriors glanced back at the rabbit, not surprised to see the creature was nowhere to be found.

“...long story,” he settled with, and Four murmured something in his arms as Sky nodded in silence. Warriors held the smithy tighter, and ran a hand through his hair.

Hold on Four. You’re safe now, you’ll be okay.

Just hold on.

#all tiny creatures care for Four #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu four #lu warriors #linked universe fanfic #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #day 13 #cold compress #infection #i don’t feel good #writing from the floor

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