The Best Fanfic Is The One The Author Had Fun Writing Actually.

Natsume :3

Green with Envy

Adashino x reader x Ginko (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Oh dear half-child, how do you feel? Does your sharp teeth scare away mortals with softer features? Is your too-human face too unlike that of your spirit friends? Oh if only you knew how loved you were.

Yokai and humans.

They were both different.

       Though you spent a fair amount of time among the yokai, intrinsically familiar with the customs of a world that laid parallel to the human world, the daily company you kept cemented you deeply into the world of mortals. So long spent among them made you maintain a constant front, dulling down yourself to appear palatable. Thus, it wasn’t hard to forget that you were not fully human.

But then there’d be inevitable moments that remind you of what you were and what you weren’t. Claws not fit to be on a normal person that would leave scratches on Adashino’s precious dark wood doorways. A stamina level surpassing even that of Ginko, the ever-wandering man asking to take a break long before the effects of traveling hit you. But nothing reminded you of your otherness as much as watching Adashino and Ginko interact with others.

Sometimes you loved to punish yourself by forcing yourself to watch things as they unfold.

(Because that was what you did, ever since you were a kid.)

(Watch. All you knew was how to watch)

(Even as your family house went up in smoke and flames and your mother died protecting your father in front of you, all her Yokai glory forever stained by dirt and blood.)

(Even as your father perished, too, at the hands of the village he called his own when trying to get her body back.)

Your throat itched with the sensation of phantom smoke and screaming and you knew that today would be a bad day. A day without words as they would stay locked up tight in your throat no matter how much you tried. Bad days like these used to be common, back when wounds were fresher. But since the arrival of two humans in your life, they’d become few and far in between.

(Few but not gone. And today was going to be one of them.)

The sounds of brass bells being rung and cheers rising up from the streets drew your attention from the dark musings of your thoughts and outwards. From your viewpoint up in the trees and surrounded by their foliage, you had a bird’s eye view of the bustling town market from where you sat. A small festival, that’s what it was. A child had just won a prize for successfully scooping up a turtle with his net. Now the parents cheered as the vendor gave the child a sewn turtle animal. Your gaze stayed locked on the idyllic scene, of a precious family moment.

Oh, how you envied them.

If anybody were to look up at your hiding spot at the moment, they would have seen the golden gleam of slit-like eyes and a dark, blurry shadow among the leaves and nothing more. The weak illusion spell that you managed to cast ensured that they couldn’t see you, despite being so near to others. Festivals like these were rare, the village too small to host frequent ones so when they happened it was a special treat. Both you and Ginko had traveled back for this occasion to be able to help out the townsfolks and enjoy it too. But as the days approached it only got busier and busier. You, when not helping out with the village these past few days, had taken up the mantle of talking to the local forest Yokai. A few liked to mingle among humans during this time, taking in the sights and sounds, and a few appreciated the warnings of more frequent traffic occurring in their zones and it was your job to let them know. 

On the other hand, Adashino, being the doctor and honorary member of the village council, was pulled in all sorts of directions. Budgeting, setup, deliveries form the incoming boats. Even now, he was off helping oversee any problems and keep the peace. And Ginko—

Ginko was passing right in front of your line of sight, deep in conversation with Io.

Ah, Io, the girl who swam with the Suiko. The girl who was saved by the collective efforts of the village. You remembered seeking out the Yokai remedies in the forest to help reverse the effects. A kind, kind girl. Sometimes a bit too selfless, but always eager to help. She had felt indebted to you all, even though all of you had seeked no payment except for her good health and happiness. Despite Ginko’s insistence that he didn't want to take anything from her, she still stopped by Adashino’s to occasionally drop off catches of fish when she had some to spare.

Your eyes tracked the pair as they stopped in front of a stall, Ginko helping Io lift up a case of ice. The slick surface of stray ice under his feet made him slip, almost sending him tumbling down, case and all. His limbs flailed for a moment before he steadied himself. The sight of the usually composed man flustered made Io and some of the locals break into well-natured laughter. Ginko ducked his head, rubbing the nape of his neck in embarrassment as he chuckled.

An ugly feeling flared within your chest at the joyous scene, the longing for closeness making your chest ache. On a normal day, you would’ve been down there already, flitting among the stalls and indulging in the treats. But the work the last few days had forced you to expend more magic than you realized. It didn’t hit you how bad it was until this morning when you nearly ripped a crate apart after getting spooked. Thankfully, only Adashino noticed before you quickly excused yourself to slink away before you could hurt anybody. Even now, as you had dropped the exhausting human mirage in favor of the much easier hiding spell, it still made you twitchy and tired.

Such was your hand deal in life, not enough Yokai blood to wield magic extensively like your brethren but with just enough in you to irreversibly put you apart from all mortal men.

The sounds of goodbyes rose up and you watched Ginko and Io depart back to where they came from. Your feet itched to hop down and pursue them, to join the streams of people moving through the village.

But you were tired.

Tired tired tired.

***

Sometimes, Adashino regretted stepping into such an influential position in the village. Despite there being the officials and the elders who made the major decisions, many of them relied on him for aid. Especially with big events such as these when all he wanted was to spend some time in his archives and organize his collections with Ginko, listening to you chattering their ears off with your tales. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loved where he was now, and if given the chance, he would have done it all over again. He loved being able to contribute his knowledge to the people and help them with everything he could. But he just wished they didn’t make him out to be such an important figure. He was just a humble doctor who liked to collect the unusual, after all.

Well–compared to you and Ginko, he wasn’t exactly humble. But he tried to live an honest life. A life that his parents would be proud of too. It was why he moved out to this village in the first place.

(A desperate fisherman coming to the family apothecary. The village was just beginning to pop up then and was hoping to be able to have a physician who could manage the sickness that had fallen over the town)

His mother had encouraged him to go. Sent him off with a small fortune in his hands left behind by his father. She had reassured him she’d be alright. His father’s time as the most successful physician in their town ensured that landed the family with good graces and good fortune, covering for his wife and two sons even after his death.

(Even now, she continued to send parcels, bigger than before ever since he started mentioning two other individuals in his mail.)

But the responsibilities heaped upon him made it impossible to seek you out after he saw what occurred that morning. It happened so quickly, not even the roughhousing boys who crashed into you realized it, but for a second Adashino’s sharper eyes caught the flicker in your appearance as it slipped to reveal snapping teeth and slitted eyes. He saw the way the crate in your hands began to splinter but as soon as it happened you had shut everything down under tight lock and key, expression freezing over like ice over a winter pond. Nobody noticed as you finished, laughing a laugh with no joy in it towards a joke before you slipped away.

Nobody except him.

And he wasn’t able to grasp a moment with you before you slipped away like mist through his fingers.

A voice called out for him and Adashino cursed his altruistic nature, wishing he had his tobacco pipe in hand. “Coming!”

“....ut it here, Ginko. Thank you for your help, I don’t what I’d have done without you.”

“Anytime.”

The familiar tenor made Adashino stop in his tracks, heading whipping back to seek out its owner. Seeing the white mop of hair, the doctor quickly adverted his course and headed straight for the Mushishi. He skidded to a stop in front of him, monocle nearly falling off. “Ginko! There you are. Please tell me you have a moment.”

Ginko tilted his head, blinking slowly through the haze of his cigarette smoke. “Sure do.”

“Okay good, good. Have you seen–” His eyes flitted to the left as he thought he saw you, uttering your name. “–anywhere?”

“Can’t say I have. Why? Dodging responsibilities?”

Adashino shook his head, worry surging back to the forefront of his mind. Why were you not there? Usually, you’d be among the streets already; if not, Ginko should’ve spotted you in the crowd. But to not see hide nor hair of you this entire time? 

It must have shown on his face because Ginko stepped forward. “Is something wrong?”

Despite the responsibilities weighing down his shoulders, he grabbed the man’s arm and began dragging him to the side. “Come on give me a moment and I’ll explain to you. Can you do me a favor?”

***

Ginko was troubled.

The worried look on Adashino’s face as he left the doctor to resume his responsibilities stuck with the white-haired man as he set off to take a lap around the town, looking for you. Now that the doctor brought up his concerns about you, Ginko couldn’t help but re-analyze the entire day so far, recalling a very distinct lack of your sharp laughter and crimson kimono that you loved to wear for festivals. The entire time he attributed your absence to you being busy helping Adashino but when the doctor had asked him if he had seen you it threw him for a loop. And then the short explanation that entailed, Adashino’s concerns about your appearance–which you usually kept under lock and key–nearly being shown in the middle of the market.

So there he was, trying to seek out a flighty little half-spirit like the way he seeked out Mushi. It reminded him of the first time he met you when you both were younger and less experienced in life. It was a Mushi report that turned out to be a Yokai, one that you were also in the region to deal with, and he had accidentally tracked you down instead of the actual issue. Luckily, you were agreeable enough to aid him in finding the Yokai, and your help was crucial in asking it to move out from the river the village used. The rest was history.

Through the length of time that the three of you have known each other, there were things that were shared among you three that no outsiders knew. Moments reserved only for each other and no one else. You had seen him at his worst and he had seen you at yours and thus he was adept at spotting when you were running yourself ragged.

Usually.

Ginko muttered a curse under his breath as he thought about you in the past few days. The ozone smell of your magic fluctuating wildly when you three spent time with each other at home, how your appetite had waned despite it usually increasing when you used a lot of powers, the way you were tenser around open fires lately. But because of the work occupying you all, he had missed all the signs.

His feet picked up the pace as he scanned the area around him. He knew you were smart and capable enough to care for yourself but he didn’t want you to spend your time alone with your thoughts.

(And Adashino would have his sorry hide if Ginko didn’t find you before the end of today.)

An inquiry from a local made him stop as they roped him into a conversation and he tried his best to entertain it without drawing it on for too long. Thankfully his practice in patience paid off and they soon excused themself to send him on his way. Pulling a cigarette out, he lit it up and inhaled the calming smoke. While the festival was entertaining, he couldn’t wait until it was over so he could actually spend some time with you and Adashino beyond hurried conversations as you guys carried stuff past each other on the street.

(Though he lamented that he’d have to leave very soon after the festival, lest he attracts any unsavory Mushi close to people he held so dear.)

With a sigh, the man took another drag and moved on. 

Now… If he was his sneaky little fox spirit, where would he hide?

***

The sun had shifted to shine directly on your face in the time you woke up from your daze and now your skin felt flushed and tacky. Hot and feverish with heat. Despite your state, you still managed to pick up the sounds of a throat clearing at the base of your tree. You shifted, an eye peering down through the fringes of your hair.

“You’ve been here the whole time?” Ginko asked, hands tucked in his pocket and face upturned to smile at you in his small, signature smile. “How long have you been up there, huh? ‘Shino’s been searching around for you.”

You didn’t answer–couldn’t answer as words refuse to give way–but a deliberate shift making the leaves around you rustle was enough of an answer for the man as he let out a good-natured sigh, stepping up to under where you were sitting and extending his arms out to beckon you.

Ginko called your nickname, short and sweet as it fell from his mouth, arms beckoning you. “C’mere. Let’s go back before it gets dark and Adashino decides to lock us in his shed. I’ll catch you.”

There was hesitation in your actions as you began to untuck from the ball that you’d curled up into, but the endless patience in Ginko’s face and his calm demeanor reassured you. As one leg dangled over the branch, you peered down at him with tired eyes.

“As scrawny as I may seem, I’m stronger than I look. I won’t drop you. Don’t you trust me?”

You did.

Gravity swept you down toward him as you pushed off, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation. Lithe arms caught you with a grunt and you let out a quiet wheeze at the impact. Miraculously, the man didn’t topple under the weight and force of your landing. You clambered off him, ready to head back but the moment your feet touched the ground the consequences of perching in a tree the whole day caught up to you. Ginko saw you toppling and quickly went to support you. 

“Don’t think you can make it back to Adashino’s, huh?”

You pursed your lips, shaking your head. To your surprise, Ginko began pulling away from you. There was a moment of panic as you thought he was leaving you before he crouched down in front of you.

“Up you go.”

A moment passed as you stared at him in confusion. Ginko glanced back at you as he raised an eyebrow after seeing you still standing there.

“Come on. You’re really gonna walk all the way home and up the hill?”

That question helped you make up your mind. Quickly, you clambered up, locking your arms around his shoulders and he grabbed the underside of your thighs.

“You’ll be my medicine cabinet for today,” Ginko said as he stood up. “A bigger, livelier one.”

You gently pat him on top of his head, messing with the hair there.

“I’ll drop you if you don’t stop that,” Ginkgo warned, jostling you jokingly.

A small amused huff escaped you at that, knowing full well that he wouldn't do that, and resting your chin on his shoulder. The walk back was peaceful, with Ginko pointing out a few of the harmless Mushi floating around and remarking on some of the Yokai visitors he saw arrive today.

(Some of them, he told you, asked after your wellbeing.)

With his presence came the feeling of your soul settling down, your skin feeling more right on your body. You weren’t like them, but that didn’t matter. There was still a place for you in their world and them in yours.

Studying distortions from a safe distance

I just love it when he stands there

Japes and Jubilations, Pt 2

The Sanctity of Sacred Spaces Masterlist

The various antics of the crews and the various ways you’re involved in it.

(Part 1) | YOU ARE HERE | (Part 3) | (Part 4)

Part 2: Soaked

You learn a wise lesson about avoiding Penguin and Shachi after their swim patrols.

The seasoned members of the crew knew better enough than to hang around the wet room or the surrounding areas when Penguin and Shachi came back from their dives.

You, however, were not a seasoned member of the crew. You were never around when the pair headed into the waters, or came back, so you thought nothing of it when you stuck your head into a room upon earring splashing sounds coming from it. Your eyes widened when you saw the strangely structured room and the two equally drenched crew members. 

“Well, that was a good patrol, Peng!” Shachi said, muscles staining as he closed the door and sealed it shut with the hand wheel.  “And we got fish for dinner, too!”

Water poured from them both—and the net of writhing fish at Penguin’s feet—running in rivulets to the drains set throughout the room.

“Oh, hey!” Penguin grinned, catching sign of you. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” you began. “I just heard water splashing and got curious. What’s this room?”

Penguin let out an ‘ah’. “That’s right. You haven’t seen it yet, huh?”

Before you could even blink, Shachi was right next to you. To your horror, one soaking-wet arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into an equally wet side. You flinched, hands coming up to push him away. The redhead clung to you like a limpet, however, dragging you into the room in question.

“This is the wet room!” Shachi explained, throwing an arm out as if to showcase it. In the background, Penguin made little jazz hands. 

“Cool,” you said limply, lamenting your clothes. It didn’t explain why they were dripping wet, though. 

Penguin’s hat-–still on his head—squelched as he wrung out the flaps. “You have no idea what we’re talking around, do you?”

You shook your head as Shachi wilted in disappointment.

“The island we come from is a North Blue island,” Penguin explained. “For ours, we have especially cold harbors, and a high percentage of the population also boast fishman ancestry.”

You squinted. “So you and Shachi are part fishmen, then?”

“Yep!” Shachi said, popping the ‘p’. He leaned closer and grinned, pulling at his mouth to show you his teeth. A veritable row of canines gleamed at you, sharp and pointed like a predator’s.

“Huh,” you said eloquently. Your uniform dripped onto the floor.

Penguin lifted the ears of his hat when you looked over, giving you a peek of the short, dark hair by the side of his head. On his temple was a scattering of smooth, pale-blue and black  scales, glinting in the light. They littered his hairline in small patches down to his neck, peeking through the dark strands of hair there.

“Pretty…”

Shachi groaned. “‘Pretty’, is that all you have to say??? Seriously?? I have fangs! We have gills!”

“Back to the point,” Penguin redirected before Shich could strip down to show you wherever his gills were. “This is the room Shachi and I use to get in and out of the sub underwater. The inventor who made this submarine built it especially for us, but it’s good for the crew to know how it works too.”

Shachi finally left your side to slap the door he was closing earlier. “This bad boy is fitted with a two-door system, both with built-in seals. The first hatch is on the outside and opens slowly to let water and us in from the outside. It closes and a system drains and pumps it back out. Once done, this inner door unseals and Penguin and I can enter the sub.”

“The two-door system helps control the water pressure, so there’s less chance of a leak,” Penguin said.

“Penguin-ya, Shachi-ya are you guys still in here—” Law stopped and stared at you, a pitying look on his face. “Ah, you got poor Tailor-ya…”

You squinted at that statement and his all too knowing look at your state, trying to straighten out your clothes. “W-What do you mean? Is this like something common?”

“Well…” Penguin began.

Shachi began whistling innocently.

“The crew always avoid them when they come back because they always latch on to the nearest person before changing out,” Law said. “Everyone’s been a victim of them at least once. I forgot to warn you.”

“Well, at least I’m not all the way wet,” you grumbled, pulling at your shirt.

“I’m surprised about that, too,” Law drawled, shifting his sword on his shoulder. “Usually both of them go for their victim at once.”

That was the wrong thing to say as both men stilled, head turning to look at you before at each other.

“Hug time!” They exclaimed.

Your eyes widened. “Hey, hey, hey, NO—”

Two bodies slammed into either side of you, pinning you in between them with a wet squelch.

At seeing your distraught expression, Law grimaced in sympathy. 

Both men had to unstick themselves from you, attention going to Law as they dragged you along. “Let’s get Cap!”

He quickly pulled up his Devil Fruit Powers to Shamble away, a scrap of paper fluttering to the ground where he was.

Mushishi

Ginko

when the sun came up (i was looking at you)

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x fem reader

word count: 4.8k

summary: your poisoning in the woods and everything that comes after

content: angst + hurt/comfort. reader is poisoned which leads to aggression/hallucination; she gets restrained. general near death experience content ?

notes: title from out of the woods by taylor swift. these guys are NEVER escaping the trauma of the woods loll

The door slams inward, and the entire Apollo cabin goes silent.

There’s about ten campers inside, a few of them clustered around the cot in the center of the room. Every single one of them turns to face Luke with the same look painted on their faces.

Panic.

“Where is she?”

They part like the Red Sea, avoiding his eyes and scrambling to disperse throughout the room. Luke’s on autopilot, his eyes darting around the room for any familiar face as he pushes past those who don’t get out of the way fast enough.

A girl named Mary - or Maria? - is sitting by the window. She looks quickly down at her feet when he catches her eye. Beck blinks wide eyed at him as he side steps out of his line of fire.

(Something out in the forest. Screaming that could be heard from three cabins down. Uncontrollable aggression.)

“Luke,” Miles says, the only one brave enough to stand in front of him. He plants a firm hand on his shoulder, his brows knitted together. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

His hand gets shoved off immediately. Luke can’t believe what he’s saying to him — the disapproval in Miles’ voice at his presence in the cabin. He scoffs, trying to cool down the anger that threatens to flare up.

Hyperthermia, someone else had said. It doesn’t take a child of Athena to know the risks of it. You’re somewhere nearby, in pain, and Miles has the gall to tell Luke he shouldn’t be looking for you.

Luke’s badly contained temper comes back with a vengeance.

“You should fucking know better. She’s my…” Luke’s breath shakes as he inhales. “She’s my best friend.”

Miles wilts and turns to his siblings, looking for backup. Not a single one meets his eyes. He’s torn in half, clearly fighting with himself over something.

(“Luke.” Warmth around his wrist. Your hand. “Please hold me.”

Red palms. Your dried blood between the creases on his hands — the lines you’d trace while half asleep, leaning against his shoulder while trying to get some rest.

The coldness of your hands. Chocolate bars so rich you have trouble eating. The suffocating sterility of the hospital.

The entire goddamn state of Pennsylvania.

Luke won’t do it again.)

“Tell me where she is,” he snaps, his voice bordering on a snarl.

Luke Castellan is not above begging.

It’s quiet. Miles’ siblings are staring at the two of them, unashamed. Luke can see the guilt in all of their eyes.

The younger boy is frowning. “We’re not supposed to—”

“So what?” he grits out. “Do you expect me to sit around while she’s fucking dying?” Miles is silent, and Luke scoffs. He turns to the rest of the campers, his gaze sharp enough to hurt. They remain quiet.

“If none of you tell me, I’m going out there to find her myself.”

Miles is frowning. Luke turns his back on him. “Wait, Luke—”

“The river by the strawberry fields.”

It’s one of the older Apollo kids. Luke’s known him for a while, and he couldn’t be more grateful. The boy, Carter, is sitting on the cot that his siblings had been crowding around earlier. There’s a cut over his eyebrow and he’s clutching a bag of ice to his cheek. When his hand drops, Luke can see the tell-tale signs of new bruising.

“She’s hyperthermic,” a girl next to Carter confirms after she glances at Miles wearily. “Whatever got her out there was poisonous. We couldn’t break her fever.”

“A few of them just left for the river,” someone else offers. “It’s the coldest source of water nearby. They have to help her cool down, or else…”

She trails off, but she doesn’t need to continue for Luke to understand. The pity is rolling off her in waves.

What should be a comfort offers him nothing but the realization that it’s all real. You really are dying, so sick that the Apollo kids are at a loss of what to do. This isn’t another night terror — a messed up idea his mind has come up with to torture him.

It’s real. And this time, waking up won’t save him from it.

He can only hope he looks as grateful as he feels when he mutters out his thanks.

“Luke,” your friend Liza calls before he can get too close to the door.

She’d done your hair for you just last week, perfectly woven braids you’d shown him with a grin. When he faces her now, there are unshed tears in her eyes. “You need to be careful. She’s- not herself. And she’s scared.”

Uncontrollable anger. The red mark on Carter’s face is beginning to make more sense.

The other kids standing around the cabin give Luke tentative looks, although he’s not sure why. Do they expect him to cower at the thought of you hurting him? Surely they should know by now.

He turns away from them and starts in the direction of the river.

—

It’s not that far, just a left out of the Apollo cabin and about a five minute walk towards the woods. If he goes fast, he knows he’ll catch up with you in no time.

The short distance is why Luke hears you before he sees you.

As he gets closer to the river, the quiet sounds of nature are drowned out by the words of the Apollo kids standing over you.

“Ah, shit— Lucy, hold her.”

“Gods, I really don’t want to, but if this is going to work, we’re going to need to—”

The girl gets cut off by a scream. A warped plea ripping itself from your throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” another voice says in pity, and the fear that’s wrapped itself around Luke’s chest begins to constrict his lungs.

He’s by the water before he can even realize that he started running. There’s only three healers here, but the way they’re huddled around you still manages to block you from view.

He has to remind himself to breathe, to continue inhaling and exhaling so he doesn’t pass the fuck out.

In.

(Three jagged lines, angry and red hot.)

Out.

(Pus oozing from the gapes made in marred skin.)

In.

(Cold to the touch. The weight of your unconscious body on his back.)

Out.

It’s stupid. They’re trying to save your life, trying to keep you from cooking yourself from the inside out, but Luke takes the closest Apollo kid by the back of their shirt and drags them behind him, breaking the iron tight ring of people hiding you from view.

Your hands are bound.

Golden fabric circles your wrists, locking your arms behind your back. The girl, Lucy, has both of your legs secured under an arm while she tries to work another strip around your ankles.

Luke sees red.

He bites back the venom threatening to spill from his mouth.

These girls are young, he tries to remind himself through the anger that’s burning hot in his chest. They’re scared too.

He drops to his knees, hands moving immediately for your bindings. The same hands that have held him through nightmares and his mother’s fits are locked together and held by your own weight into the dirt.

Your shoulder is inches away from his hand when Luke is yanked backwards harshly. It feels like an electric current shakes his skull when his head hits the stones lining the river.

“Luke,” Casey, the girl he pulled away, says his name frantically. His vision is swimming, but he pushes himself up onto his forearms despite the ringing in his ears that tells him to stay down. “We really didn’t want to, but she’s getting violent, she—”

When the world comes into slight focus, he can see the unmistakable footprint shape pressed into the front of her t-shirt. Maya, the girl by your head that’s trying to help Lucy ease you into the water, has a raw scratch going down the expanse of her arm.

Despite your bindings, you’re putting up a fight. You lock your knees before thrashing out, knocking Lucy back a few inches as you try to jab Maya in the nose with the back of your head.

“It’s everywhere!”

It takes Luke a second to even recognize your voice as your own. It sounds like your larynx has been shredded, the usual cadence of your voice unrecognizable to his ears.

Casey doesn’t bother trying to push him back down when he surges forward for you.

It’s the first good look he’s gotten of you since this morning. You’d eaten breakfast together like always, your knees knocking against his whenever you got super into the story you were telling him and Chris.

When it was over, some of your friends ended up dragging you away for the rest of the day. There was an apologetic grin on your face as you waved at him from across the pavilion.

He should’ve gone with you. Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve.

His fingers are already working to loosen the knots at your wrists when he remembers he should say something. “Killer, it’s me,” he says, trying to tamper down the waver in his voice.

The golden fabric falls limply to the ground. The skin below it is rubbed raw from your thrashing, and the sight makes Luke want to empty his stomach. He tries meeting your gaze, but your eyes are squeezed shut, your face turned away from him as you sob.

You need to calm her down, Luke thinks to himself. Stressing her out is going to worsen everything. Calm her down.

He thinks about his nightmares, about the sweat sticking his shirt to his back and to his bedsheets. You’ve helped him through it countless times, what feels like every night since his quest.

You had seemed so sure of yourself from the very start, like brushing his hair from his face and knowing exactly what to say was second nature to you. He’d hold you on those nights and fall asleep to the feeling of your gentle exhales against his chest. Luke doesn’t know a place safer than with you in his bed, one of your arms thrown over him and the rest of you tangled together.

Luke clenches his hands, trying to will the shaking away. He doesn’t know how to do that for you, and it makes hatred fester in his chest.

He pushes stray strands of hair away from your face before moving to untie the fabric at your ankles. The other girls have long backed away by now, know that trying to stop him would be useless.

You’re quiet. Painfully so. But the moment your legs are free, you move like you’re being fueled by fire. Luke barely dodges the swipe you make at his face as you kick your leg out in a wide arc. He flattens himself against the ground, and you wrestle yourself on top of him, your legs curling around one of his and locking him against the dirt.

He’d taught you how to do this.

Lucy lets out a startled gasp, and Casey moves forward to drag you off of him, but he holds up a firm hand, the message clear.

Stop.

You waste no time. Your hands string around his neck, constricting in a way that's sure to leave bruises. Your eyes had been pressed firmly shut earlier, but now they’re blown wide. The sclera of your eyes are red and aflame, and your constricted pupils are swallowed up by the color of your irises.

Your face is devoid of any emotions. You don’t recognize him.

As the airflow to his lungs slows, it would make sense for his adrenaline to propel him upwards, to get him to wrestle you to the ground and pin your arms. He’s done it before and could do it again, despite how difficult you make it.

But there’s another part of his brain that’s taking over, dragging him away from his instincts to protect himself.

Because it’s you.

The same way his natural battle instincts have been hardwired into his brain, it’s like his body has a visceral reaction to being with you, to hold you in his hands and shelter you from everything else.

Luke rubs soothing circles into the backs of the hands that are wrapped around his throat. They’re searing hot.

“Kill-er,” the syllables are stilted, coming out intermittently whenever he can manage to get air through. He’s surprised he can even speak right now, knowing the strength that courses through your veins. If you’d wanted him to, he’d be down for the count.

You’re going easy on him.

He moves his hands off of yours to hold the back of your head. Sweat runs down from your forehead, your body working tirelessly to cool you down. Your wild eyes dart across his face frantically, taking him in for what seems like the first time. Confusion and recognition is flickering across your face.

It’s then when Luke sees the puncture wound on your neck, the mark green and sickly and throbbing at your pulse point. He brushes hair away from your face.

The grip around his neck begins to loosen slightly, and he takes in as much oxygen as he can through his gasp for air. He takes your hands in his again and squeezes once.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Luke.”

The tension you’re using to lock his legs into place dissipates. You blink hard, like you’re trying to come back to yourself.

He should throw you off of him now, he knows he should. Your hands are no longer tight around his throat, and the heat of your body where it's pressed against his is unbearable.

“Luke,” you rasp. “Luke.”

“It’s me, it’s me,” he mumbles, the relief pouring through the cracks. He lets go of your hands to run a soothing hand down your back. The back of your shirt is soaked through with sweat.

Your face cracks. You lean down close to him, your face curling in anguish.

“Luke, they’re everywhere.” Your voice is quiet, like you’re trying to tell him a secret no one else can hear.

He nods before he knows why. “I know, I know. It’s why we need to take you to the water. It’ll help, killer, I promise.”

You’ve gone a little boneless, your arms giving in as you collapse against him. The heat emanating from your skin is growing oppressive, and he knows he needs to move. “I can feel them, Luke. It’s everywhere.”

“I’m sorry, I know,” he says again, heaving you upwards. One of his hands goes to the back of your head as the other secures itself around your lower back. He repeats his words into your hair as he inches both of you closer to the water.

He’s going to have to let you go. Letting you cling onto his body heat isn’t doing you any favors, but he finds his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt when you wind yourself around him.

Hold her, everything in him seems to say.

So he does.

“Luke,” someone says, snapping him out of your orbit. It’s Casey, standing ankle deep in the water in front of him. He’d almost forgotten anyone else was here. Maya and Lucy look on from the grass with matching concerned expressions. “You have to hurry. There’s not much time.”

There’s a water nymph standing a few feet in fromt of them — this must be her river. She’s cocking her head at you curiously, and when Luke sucks in a broken inhale at the sudden drop in temperature, he knows it’s her doing.

The fabric of his pants gets soaked through with the icy water immediately, but he sinks deeper into the river despite it. You jolt in his arms the second the water comes up to your chest.

“Luke,” you sob, your grip around his shoulders growing painfully tight. “I can’t, I can’t, I—”

He pries your face out of the crook of his neck regardless of the way you’re protesting.

Luke is shivering. You are far from it. You’re even making it worse, trying to wrap yourself around him even with the heat that’s threatening to kill you.

When he knocks his forehead against yours, he says your name, your real name, with as much force as he can muster.

“Do you trust me?”

Luke has no idea what tricks your mind is playing on you. He doesn’t know if the poison will take five minutes or ten hours to leave your system, and has no idea if this water will even help you. Your organs could fail in an hour and this entire thing would have been pointless. He could be lying to you right now, giving you false hope that he can fix it all. But pressed so close to you, he watches as your eyes dilate, and he knows that you’ve placed your trust in him.

The tears that have collected in your eyes spill over, running in rivulets down your face. He wipes them away with careful hands as you slump in his arms. Luke presses another kiss onto the high point of your cheek.

He works to unwind your arms from around his neck, and you groan like it physically pains you. He’s mumbling apologies the entire time, laying you on your back as the salt of your tears mixes with the freshwater of the river.

He knows he shouldn’t be touching you, shouldn’t be giving you another source of heat, but you give him a look that breaks his heart when he tries to loosen your hold on his wrist. He folds. He leaves a comforting hand against your shoulder blades as he scoops water to pour over your head.

He doesn’t stop until he hears your teeth chattering from the cold.

Luke doesn’t torture you with the distance any longer. When Casey gives him a look of approval, he tilts you upward to pull you back into his chest. You fit perfectly into the dip of his shoulder, and he holds the back of your head as close to him as physically possible.

The two of you sit there and listen to the sound of the shifting water around you until your skin begins to prune. He holds you there, feeling your steady heartbeat against his until his breathing evens out.

—

Your hands are cold again.

Luke remembers how they had felt when he had sat by your hospital bed and tried not to cry.

But this time, the cold is comforting. You’re not burning up anymore, your body no longer threatening to swallow you whole.

He had Carter check your temperature. And then check it again fifteen minutes later. Your temperature is a perfectly healthy 98 degrees fahrenheit.

He watches your chest rise and fall underneath the blankets. And then he presses his hand against it just to make sure it isn’t a trick of the light.

He cares about you. A lot. But he knows you’re going to drive him crazy with worry by the time you’re both twenty-five.

Luke sits with a towel wrapped around his shoulders as various Apollo kids come in and out to check on you. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them, but being more than fifty feet away from you isn’t something he thinks he can stomach right now.

He would’ve probably sat in his drenched clothes all day if someone hadn’t threatened to kick him out for dripping water all over the floors. Chris had come by to drop off a change of clothes from the cabin, and had left him with warm sweatpants and the hoodie he had given you a long time ago. There were paint stains on the sleeves from that one time the Apollo kids had dragged him into crafts with the younger campers, and the edge of one of the sleeves had long since worn away with age.

It was your favorite of his, oddly enough. He was more likely to find it draped on your frame than on his.

(“Hey, Castellan,” Chris had joked the first time you’d stolen it from him. “Nice outfit.”

You’d grinned, prodding him with the point of your shoe. “Think I wear it better?”

You did.

For the rest of the night, Luke wondered why he felt so weird after Chris had referred to you with his last name.)

He puts the hoodie aside for you and sits in the plain shirt offered to him earlier instead. The fabric of the sweatshirt smells like you now. It’s not his anymore.

Someone clears their throat from behind him. He turns to find Casey leaning against one of the beams, staring at the two of you with something swimming in her eyes. “The poison’s run its course. She’s on the mend.”

“Right,” Luke says. He’s too tired to say much else, and he’s still bitter about the way he had found you, sobbing with your wrists tied around your back. He’s trying hard not to be angry at them, so he avoids looking at the injuries left behind on your skin. “Thanks.”

She doesn’t move from her spot, watching and observing. Luke waits for her to spit out whatever it is she wants to say.

“You’re lucky, Luke.”

He fights the urge to scoff. ‘Lucky’ is probably the last word Luke Castellan would use to describe himself. If he was really lucky, you’d be sitting by the lake with him and he’d be rubbing sunscreen over your back so you wouldn’t get burned. “I’m lucky that my best friend almost died?”

She purses her lips. “That’s not what I meant.”

Your light breathing rustles the thin sheet over you and he slips his hand into yours. Traces the veins at your wrist.

“I meant that you’re lucky to have each other. I can tell the two of you are close.”

He wants to laugh. Close. Luke wants to think that after a lifetime of having each other, you’d be considered something more than close.

“She wouldn’t have made it, if you hadn’t shown up.”

He had known that, of course. But hearing her say it out loud makes it too real. You’d almost died. Again.

“I know Miles kind of chewed you out earlier, so I’m here to apologize on his behalf. You’re a really good guy, Luke.”

He turns to face her. Her red curly hair is messy, like the stress of the day has worn her down.

Luke finds his lingering irritation dissolving. She’s just a kid.

He nods at her and decides to not acknowledge her compliment. “Thanks for apologizing.”

She turns on her heel quickly, shutting the door behind her.

“I am pretty lucky.”

Luke can’t turn around faster. You squeeze his hand three times and he feels the weight on his chest lifted.

“Sorry that I keep doing this to you.”

You’re halfway smiling. He smiles, too, even though he feels dead on his feet.

He drops half of his face into your stomach, and you move to scratch at his scalp. He sighs. You smell like the cool freshwater of the river.

“Yeah. You should be sorry.”

You sit up before he can protest and kiss the mess of curls on top of his head. You don’t seem to mind how they’re damp and gross, threading your fingers through them and dragging your nails in that way you do.

Luke wants to hold you forever and hurt anything that’s ever looked at you wrong. He wonders how you’d feel if he went back into the forest and sent whatever did this to you back into Tartarus with his bare hands.

“I’m never letting you go out into the woods ever again,” he says instead.

“Oh?”

“You’re living up to your nickname, killer. Each of these hospital trips takes a decade off my life, you know.”

“My bad.”

He drags your hand out of his hair to slot your fingers together. “If I ever catch you in here again, I’m killing you myself.”

“Duly noted.”

“I’m serious. If I see you within thirty feet of this cabin again, you’re in for it.”

You laugh, light and sweet. You do your mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

He doesn’t get up from where he’s laying on your chest, and you don’t move an inch for a while.

“Thank you, Luke,” you say after a bit. “I would’ve been dead, like a decade ago, if you weren’t around. You do so much for me.”

He squeezes your hand. “I’d do anything for you. I’d even let you strangle me a hundred more times.”

You sit up abruptly, and Luke knows he’s fucked up.

“What?”

Your hand goes under his chin and you force him upwards before he can stop you. You tug the neckline of his shirt down and he tries to protest, but he hears you gasp and knows it's too late. He can’t see your expression with the way you’re inspecting the column of his neck, but you are silent the entire time.

“Gods, Luke…” You say after a while. Your hand drops quickly to your lap like just the sight of the bruising has burned you. “I tried to- tried to kill you. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I’m so… I didn’t know-”

He shakes his head, meeting your gaze head on. You’ve started tearing up again, your eyes trained on the splotches of purple around his throat. “Wasn’t your fault. Don’t even imply that shit. You weren’t yourself, do you understand?”

Your hand is limp in his when he reaches for it. The two of you sit in the quiet of the Apollo cabin again, listening to the sounds of the stray campers that walk past the windows outside.

“I can’t believe I did that. I deserve to be locked up. I’m a monster for doing that to your pretty skin,” you say absentmindedly.

Luke cracks a smile. He thinks he’d let you drive a knife through his heart and still say it wasn’t your fault.

“I didn’t understand what was happening. But I could… feel everything.”

He runs a hand up your leg, soothingly. “You don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head. “I couldn’t really see ‘cause my vision was all screwed up. But I wasn’t scared.”

“I was,” he admits readily, squeezing your thigh.

If one of you dies first, he hopes it’s him. He’s had a taste of you dying twice already and isn’t sure what would happen to him if he had to watch it really happen.

“I wasn’t. ‘Cause I could feel you,” you say. You’re looking right at him but seem so far away. “I could hear your voice, but I couldn’t tell if it was you. But I knew you were with me when you were stroking my head like you do when you try and put me to sleep. And I wasn’t scared anymore.”

Luke feels like someone’s torn open his ribcage and shoved his organs back in.

Is this normal? he wonders. To feel this strongly about your best friend?

He stops himself from surging forward and taking your face into his hands.

What would he even do? Luke isn't even sure himself. He forces the ridiculous thoughts from his head and pulls your hand up to kiss your palm. He presses his mouth into the center and moves down to your injured wrist and then to the warm skin by your pulse.

You let out a watery laugh. “You’re stuck with me for life. Until the end.”

He smiles into the skin of your wrist. You’re joking, he’s sure of it, but he wouldn’t mind forever with you.

Luke stands up for the first time in what feels like hours. He nudges you forward on the twin sized cot, and you let him settle behind you. It’s a slightly awkward fit, but you don’t seem to care, lying comfortably against him. Your body is warm where it's pressed to his chest and Luke knows he could do this forever.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he says lightly, pressing a kiss into your hair. He doesn’t want to think about how serious he is. “So don’t get sick of me yet.”

You tuck yourself under his chin, pulling his arms around your front. Something inside of him clicks, like turning on a light, or slotting something into place.

When you turn around to kiss his cheek, it borders dangerously on the corner of his mouth.

“As if I’d ever be sick of you, hero.”

notes: will i ever give her a break? i guess we’ll never know! i cant tell if i dislike this bc im sick of reading it or if i didnt edit it enough 😭 so kindly let me know if u enjoyed :)

tags — lmk if u want to be removed/added!

killerverse: @yoremins @qtkat @mischiefmoons @cedricsleftelbow @syraxesrevenge @whiteoakoak @acourtofdeppressionandanxiety @dummie-dummiest @softtina @amberpanda99 @luvvfromme @3alamari @esposadomd

luke castellan: @chasebeth @silkenthusiasts @urmomsbananabread @sunny747 @randomgurl2326 @repostingmyfavs @au-ghosttype @mrsaluado @holy-macncheese-balls @catluvwr @katemlk @lukecastellandefender @wonuskie @kitkat-writes-stuff @bugcuti3 @bookworm-center @justanotherkpopstanlol @quinnsadilla @tinolawithrice @jjenjoysthings @marisrope @cantstoptherecs @anotherblackreader @iamforeverandalwaystired @siriusly-parker-main @mclando81 @amortencjja @inlovewithcarsthatrunreallyfast @amoreva

Merry Christmas 🎄