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chokemeanakin · 3 years ago

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Hypothermia -- Anakin Skywalker x gn reader

Im writing again guys!!! Mostly working on GML but if you have any thoughts send em my way and I'll answer!! Also gonna try my best to work my way through my inbox from previous months. Happy New Year and lets continue to ravenously thirst over our lord and savior anakin mf skywalker 😌❤️

ps this was a work that I wrote and posted on here a while ago, but I took it down cause it got some hate. I rewrote it so hopefully its not too different but also better cause i personally really like it.

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Wc: 2.4k

This had to be some sort of sick joke.

“I t-thought you said this planet was supposed to be w-warmer than Hoth.”

“It is-- by 3 degrees.”

“Amazing h-how that little detail was l-left out.”

“Hey,” Anakin looked from the map in his hands to you, face hidden by the layers of cloth wrapped around it. “You’re the one who wanted to sneak onto this mission with me.”

You huffed, the sound lost in the wind as it howled past you. The clone armor that you were currently wearing clacked together as you struggled through the snow, buried up to your mid-thigh. Each step was like dragging boulders by your ankles, tripping and stumbling after Anakin as he searched out the Jumjee tree that supposedly grew on these frozen grounds.

There was nothing around you for miles-- just cold, white snow.

“Anakin,” your voice was weak. “A-Anakin.”

“Hm?” He finally stopped and looked back at you. You had fallen behind a few paces, hunched over in order to preserve as much heat as possible. Your knees dug into the snow, too numb to hold yourself up.

“Are- are we almost there?”

Through the shades of your clone helmet, you were just able to catch the flash of concern that flooded his gaze. In two effortless steps, he conquered the snow and knelt beside you, hoisting you to your feet and steadying you with an arm around your waist.

“It should be just a couple miles away now,” he informed you, shrugging off one of his many jackets to zip up your shivering form. He had already done this three times. “You think you can keep going?”

You were far past the point of being cold. First the shivering, then the burning pain of something deeper than cold. Then the numbness. Now, you were struggling to remember how to move your limbs. Your lungs stung with each piercing inhale, your fingers pulsing with a freezing sting. But Anakin was right-- you had wanted this.

“Y-yes,” one hand clasped onto the arm that supported you by the waist, keeping him there in case he decided to pull away. You were sure you couldn’t walk without his help, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

Anakin didn’t move. You could feel his eyes sizing you up, deciding if it was worth it to keep going, or to call the mission and get busted for smuggling you along.

“I’m calling a transport ship.”

“No, Anakin,” you lunged for his com wrist, catching it and lowering it back to his side. “I’m okay. J-just cold.”

“You’re freezing.”

“Can we just hurry this up?”

His eyes flicked over you again, clearly not happy with the ultimatum, but giving into your wishes anyway.

“As soon as we get back,” Anakin helped you forward, supporting most of your weight. “I’ll run you a big, warm bath.”

“You b-better,” you mumbled, head lolling as a sudden wave of exhaustion clouded your senses. Each step was excruciating for your frozen feet, the cold seeping in under the helmet Rex let you borrow.

“It’s a promise,” Anakin continued. “I’ll even light a couple candles, as long as you let me sit with you.”

“Outside the tub, y-you mean.”

“Sure,” he chuckled. You always insisted on your baths being just for you-- having two people in one tub was just too crowded. “I’ll sit with you outside the tub.”

“And,” you swallowed weakly. “You can’t w-wear a shirt.”

“And I won’t wear a shirt.”

“Good,” you shuffled forward, snow falling into the cracks of your armor. “Are we almost there?”

“We’ve been walking for two minutes.”

“Why didn’t we just get dropped off closer to the Jumanjee tree in the first place?”

“You know why,” Anakin huffed, dragging your dead weight at this point. “The fruits die within any close proximity of fuel. We couldn’t risk polluting the possibly last Jumjee tree to exist.”

“Weak,” you groaned. “No w-wander they’re all dead now.”

Anakin wanted to comment on the irony of that statement, noting how you seemed halfway on your way to the grave as well. The joke died before it even formed on his lips, the realization of how screwed up this all was suddenly becoming very clear. You weren’t moving your legs anymore, and your head hung heavily in front of you. Even the grasp of your fist on his arm was weak, your voice soft, talking mostly to keep yourself conscious.

“Rex, I’m sending you my coordinates. We need an immediate pickup.”

“Copy that, General Skywalker.”

“Noooo,” you moaned, the long syllable shaking in time with your muscles. “Why’d you call it?”

Anakin stopped walking, turning his body in front of you to shield you from the wind and snow. He pulled you close into him with both arms, lowering the two of you so that you were kneeling in the snow, clutching onto each other as if you would be swept away by the wind.

“There’s no way you’ll make it to the tree and then back to the landing zone alive. You’re half frozen already-- I should have known better than to bring you with me.”

Hurt tears sprung to your eyes. You were glad for the helmet hiding your face from him, unable to wipe them away before a drop spilled down your cheek in an icy trail.

Anakin hesitated, hand moving up to catch the side of your helmet as if he could see right through it. “That’s not what I meant--”

“I’m sorry.”

“No– no I mean I should have known better than to make you suffer alongside me on this one. I could have snuck you in on an easier mission. One where there were beaches maybe, and wookies.”

“You don’t like beaches,” you laughed tearfully. “T-the sand.”

“I could make an exception.”

A shadow blanketed you in darkness overhead, the figure of a ship quickly descending to the left of you and Anakin. A bridge opened up, clones wearing white and blue armor rushing out to help you and Anakin inside.

“Rex,” Anakin nodded at the man in regular infantry armor. “You got the location up?”

Rex punched a couple buttons on his wrist, a map showing up with a highlighted red dot. The Jumjee tree. “All set, General.”

“Good. I owe you one.”

Anakin pat Rex’s helmet as he passed, descending the bridge to the snowy abyss outside.

At that moment, Rex was an angel to you.

You let Anakin lead you to a private resting room, staving off the concerns of his soldiers and denying a call from the council as he ushered you into the room.

“As far as anyone knows,” Anakin announced rather loudly, “Our connection was cut from gamma interference.” Then he slammed the door closed.

“I still don’t understand how you’re not cold,” your teeth clattered, heavy arms reaching to take your helmet off. Anakin beat you to it, carefully lifting the plastoid material up and off your head and setting it to the side.

“I am cold,” he began to pull his own wrappings off his face, revealing the blue of his lips and the pale skin of his usually tan face. “Just not on the verge of getting hypothermia, like you.”

He yanked his gloves off, snow falling off around him as the jackets followed. He did it quickly so that he could help you, finding your zipper and tugging it off your shoulders. Layer after layer was shed, falling into a pile at your feet until all you were left in was the black, heat absorbing undersuit the both of you had zipped into for the mission. Even that had failed you.

The shivers were wracking your body full force now, no longer protected by the heavy furs like before.

“Is that material wet?” Anakin voiced, still reaching out a hand to feel the fabric of your suit himself. He hummed disapprovingly. “We need to get you out of this.”

“What? Anakin--”

“I can’t let you sit here and freeze in a wet undersuit. Come on, turn around for me.”

No matter how much you didn’t want him to see you undressed in this state, you knew he was right. The only thing worse than being cold was being wet and cold.

Anakin unzipped the back of your suit quickly, nothing sexual or romantic about it as he began helping you peel the tight material off your arms. Your pale skin was revealed in segments, discolored from the lack of blood. The look on his face told you everything you needed to know-- not good.

“I’ve got a blanket for you right here,” he mumbled, reaching behind you to the compartment over your head. He pulled a standard blanket down and wrapped you in it before you had time to be embarrassed about being naked from the waist up.

He cloaked the blanket around your shoulders, wrapping it around you and rubbing your shoulders up and down a couple times for good measure. You followed his lead as he urged you to sit on the cot, trembling and trying to burrow yourself as deep as you could into the blankets as he got to work shimmying the rest of the suit off of your hips and legs.

“There we go, that’s it,” he finally pulled them off of you, plopping them onto the rest of the pile of clothes. “You okay for now? I’m gonna go look for more blankets.”

“Anakin,” you nudged your chin toward him. “Your suit must be wet, too.”

“I’m actually dry.” The words were wry. “Probably because I didn’t fall into that heap of snow as soon as we landed.”

“I didn’t think it would be so deep.”

He gave you a short, frosty kiss to your forehead, promising to be right back before stalking out of the room. You were left to yourself, the only sounds being the whirring of the engines and the chattering of your teeth.

Your head was so fuzzy. The single lamp in the room was doubled, your whole world off-tilt. You decided that laying down might be the best option in order to avoid any nausea. Plus, curling up in a ball might help you save what little bit of warmth you had left.

You were sure you would never be warm again.

That much was apparent, as you nearly shivered your way off the edge of the bed. Your jaw clenched hard, teeth gnashing onto each other as your muscles spasmed with uncontrollable trembles. You would do anything for a warm bath, a hug, or a nap.

“Still alive?” Anakin joked lightheartedly as the door whooshed open. You cracked your eyes open to seem him carrying a bundle of blankets, too miserable to smile back at him.

“B-barely.”

“Okay,” he whispered, dropping to his knees by the edge of the cot. He threw each blanket on top of you, tucking the edges around your body to keep in as much warmth as possible. When he had no more blankets to give, he settled for smoothing your wet hair out of your face, drying it with the edges of one of the quilts. “I tried to see if I could get you anything hot to drink, but Jesse broke the microwave.”

“‘ts okay,” you muttered, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his fingers on your face. You forced them open suddenly, taking in his position on the floor in nothing but his undersuit.

“You idiot,” you pushed yourself onto your elbows. He frowned, fingers pausing in your hair. “Get into bed with me. You must be freezing, too.”

“I told you, I’m fine--”

You were already throwing one of your blankets around his shoulders, tugging him up so that he was on the cot beside you. He huffed and followed suit, settling beside you and letting you curl up into the side of his body. For some unfair reason, his undersuit really was miraculously dry, and he was even emanating a little bit of warmth. You closed your eyes and nuzzled deep into his chest.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got you.”

His arms settled around you, surrounding you in his embrace and the blankets that he had gathered. You were just now beginning to regain feeling in your hands.

“I’m never touching snow again,” you decided.

“I second that.”

You focused on your breathing for a few more moments. There passed a certain point where the cold became painful, and the bad part about warming up was that you had to go through all the stages again to regain bodily homeostasis. You had passed the numb part-- now you were dealing with the pain and shivering.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asked softly. “I didn’t check for any frozen toes or fingers. Just thought I’d get you in as many blankets as I could as soon as possible.”

“I think I’m okay,” you wiggled your toes. They felt like little ice blocks.

“Your lips are still purple.”

“So are yours,” you finally were able to give him a little smile, humming quietly as the cool pad of his thumb found your bottom lip. “You still owe me a bath when we get back.”

“Oh, I didn’t forget.”

You captured his hand in your blanketed ones, cradling it against your chest in case his fingers were cold, too. “Maybe I’ll even let you in this time.”

“Really?”

“Just this one time,” you insisted. “And no funny business.”

“Of course, no funny business.”

“I mean it.”

“Me, too.”

You rolled your eyes at his lopsided grin, leaning into his neck. He was the warmest there. You couldn’t help but brush your lips over the delicate skin of his throat, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. He didn’t complain about it-- instead, his metal hand came up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you close to him.

“I’ll wake you up when we touch down,” Anakin’s soft voice whispered past your ear, reading the exhaustion in your force signature. “Sleep now-- you’ll be warm when you wake up.”

The large, muscled planes of Anakin’s body were already doing a wonderful job of thawing your frozen bones. You felt safe in his arms-- no matter how impossible it was for him to fight off something intangible such as the cold, you knew he would do anything in his power to help you through it. His biceps curled around your back, breath soft against your ear, legs tangled together among the blankets. Soon, the shivers subsided to occasional trembles, and the steady rise and fall of Anakin’s chest as he breathed lulled you off into a deep, healing sleep.

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nagipops · 4 years ago

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Hello!Can I request Giyuu x wind hashira reader who is very kind and compassionate to others (even demons).She’s also a doctor who’s amazing at concocting a medicine ( just like Shinobu) and she’s also Giyuu’s best friend ( She always protect him from Shinobu insults).Thank you very much,feel free to write this if you’re comfortable❣️.Also Sanemi and Shinobu are like her real brother and sister💖)Love ya~Have a great day~💕

FEATHERLIGHT

FEATURING: giyuu tomioka!

SUMMARY: in which your reward after a poignant battle becomes your new motivation.

WARNINGS: blood/gore tw, fem!reader

A/N: loved this prompt! my apologies for this being so late; it got buried in my inbox :( thank you for being so patient, this was incredibly fun to write!

"Ara ara, Tomioka-san," your sister's lilting voice sounded from behind you as the familiar scent of flora enveloped your senses. "Having some fun with my little butterfly again, aren't you?"

"Tch." Giyuu's cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink as he swiftly dropped your arm from his grip.

Whirling around to face your sister with a scowl, you cried, "Shinobu! We were just practicing sparring, don't get any ideas!" You could feel your face begin to heat up at your teasing sister.

"Mmm," she raised an eyebrow inquisitively before poking your cheek with a slender finger. "Maybe you should get to work concocting a love potion for a certain someone..."

"That's enough," Giyuu muttered, grabbing a hold of your arm once again. "Come on, let's go practice somewhere with less Shinobu-ing and more room to spar." He cast a murderous glance over your shoulder at your older sister who was innocently waving at the two of you with the sweetest smile on her face.

You gave an exasperated sigh as your best friend dragged you out of earshot from your teasing sister. "Sorry about that, Giyuu, she really is insufferable, isn't she?"

"I'm just lucky you didn't get the same personality as her," he mumbled from up ahead as you navigated through tangled branches and boulders. “Her teasing is relentless.” Although his straightforward words must not have meant much to him, who always says what he truly thinks, they warmed your heart. You made him feel lucky.

“She’s only kidding, you know. She only teases people she really loves.” Taking a deep breath of the cool forest air, you recalled the countless times your older sister had been there for you, training you to create antidotes for all sorts of poisons, fighting off demons for you during perilous missions, and teaching you that the best way to get through a tough situation is to have a smile on your face.

She really did love you, more than anyone you knew. And you returned that love for your only sister.

All of a sudden, the raucous, persistent cawing of a crow circling above interrupted your nostalgic thoughts.

You immediately extended an arm, creating a perch for your Kasugai crow to land on. “What is it, Jiyu?” You soothingly stroked the ebony bird’s soft feathers, receiving grateful beady eyes in return.

“Caw! Sightings of demons reported in the forest in the South! Forest of the South! Wind and Water Hashira, report to the area immediately! Caw!” the crow screeched, tensing its sharp claws on your arm for a second before swiftly darting off into the sky.

You locked eyes with Giyuu, giving him a determined nod before dashing off to the forest in the South.

“There,” Giyuu whispered harshly, directing your gaze to the hulking demon less than ten meters away from you. The two of you were concealed behind a thick tree trunk as you scouted out the clearing, watching as the gigantic monster trundled around the glade.

A bloodcurdling shriek pierced through the air just then, instantaneously cutting off as soon as it sounded. You exchanged a look of horror with your blue-eyed partner, a pool of dread forming in your stomach.

A human life lost...

Heart aching, you sent a quick silent prayer to the gods above.

So many of those screams you have heard, so many lives lost to those demons. Those demons who are forced to live such a cruel, hatred-filled life.

Steeling yourself, you and Giyuu stealthily wove through trees and branches, nearing closer and closer to the demon ahead of you.

Their terror must end here.

The grotesque creature was no more than twelve feet away from you, snarling vilely as it searched the area for any humans. Laying in a bloody heap near its feet was the tiny body of a girl who couldn't have been older than six or seven years old. Stinging tears threatened to spill from your sorrowful eyes as you realized that could have been you many years ago had your siblings not rescued you from that demon.

Demons-- humans, just like you and Giyuu, who were forced to suffer the consequences of heir own unlucky fate. You became a pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps in order to help free these misunderstood creatures from their agony, and reunite them with their lost past. But their sins as demons could not go overlooked.

"Tomioka-san," you whispered to your best friend who was eyeing the drooling monster in front of you, hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sheathed sword. "You take care of the demon, I'll retrieve the girl and see if her life can be salvaged. Understood?"

He only nodded curtly in response, swiftly unsheathing his hefty blade with no more than a minute clink before teleporting to a lofty nearby branch. You remained hidden behind the thick tree trunk, watching Giyuu's fingers closely for a sign to commence the operation.

Giyuu tended to strike from behind with the advantage of the element of surprise, so you watched and waited for the demon's back to turn to him, flipping through your various concoctions stored in the tiny bag on your hip.

You waited, and waited, and waited...

Giyuu's thumb straightened out.

Immediately you were on top of the girl, analyzing all of her vitals and arriving at a diagnosis in a split second: she was still alive.

Injecting serum after serum and stitching up open wounds as the metallic clinks and crashes of battle surrounded you, you snuck glances at how your best friend was faring in combat. The demon appeared to be a formidable opponent, as it wasn't decaying into ashes just yet.

You felt trembling movement from underneath your steady hands.

"Gh..." A bubble of blood spurted from the tiny girl's crusted lips. Retrieving a vial of hydration from your pouch, you quickly wiped off her mouth and held it open as you poured in the refreshing liquid.

"Hello there, thank you for being strong." You hovered over your wounded patient, smiling softly. "I am the wind hashira, and we're here to exterminate the demon that hurt you. You're going to recover in no time, alright?"

The child squinted painfully at you, attempting to reorient herself in her unfamiliar surroundings. "Wh... where am I? Where’s my older brother?”

"The forest in the South." The sun was beginning to rise, but it was too dangerous to leave the injured victim out in the open clearing. “Your brother is…”

A wounded cry rung through the air just then, snapping your attention to the fight a few feet away from you. Your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach as you saw Giyuu's haori stained in fresh blood, pooling from his chest. He was staggering about, body heaving from the effort to control his breathing as he stared down the demon with venomous eyes. The creature only responded with a warbled cackle as he lunged for your best friend once again.

And you were on top of it in an instant, slicing the wisteria-injected needle-like tip this way and that, targeting the weak points of the demon’s body that Shinobu taught you of which would allow for quicker absorption of the venom. You darted around in such a frenzied blur that the creature could barely even blink before you appeared in front of Giyuu, shielding him from his tormentor.

“(Y/N), I— I was fine…” He clutched a hand to his crimson-stained chest.

“Tomioka-san, you’re bleeding very badly. I couldn’t leave you to get hurt.” You spotted the girl in the middle of the clearing, sitting up and looking around the area with curiosity. Glancing briefly over your shoulder, you assessed what would be the best move for both of them. “Are you able to move?”

“I’ll go help the girl. You— hck… you take care of this.”

A smile formed on your lips as he dashed away at the synchronization the two of you always shared. It was like you could read each other’s thoughts.

A pained howl snapped you back to reality as the demon in front of you seized and whined in pain as the poison began to kick in. One of the only differences between you and your older sister was that you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy at the elongated suffering your fighting technique brought upon your target in their final moments before death.

What did they think of? What were they feeling? Who did they want to cry out for?

The demon thrashed once before every single muscle in their body froze, and their mutated body dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. You stepped closer to them, locking your apologetic eyes with their four frightened ones as they trembled in fear.

Lightly tracing their gnarled neck with the edge of your sword, you whispered, “I’m sorry. Please cross over safely, where your loved ones will await you.” You pressed the blade into their neck, various crimson fluids spilling out—

“Si… ster…”

You stopped.

Flakes of gray skin began to crumble away.

“Where… little sister…”

Your thumping heart froze in your chest.

The body in front of you continued to disintegrate.

“I’m… so sorry…”

It burned and burned and burned, until smell of ash and death was all that remained of the little girl’s older brother.

The glade was enveloped in the warm, glittering glow of dawn as the shimmering rays of sun trickled in through the thinning treetops.

A pair of kakushi had escorted the little girl away, who had been blubbering with tears as she was dragged away from the remnants of her demonized brother.

You knelt before your best friend now, applying an abundance of salves and bandages to his battered chest with a numb buzzing rushing through your veins.

“… Okay?”

You snapped back into reality.

“(Y/N), you’re out of it… are you okay?”

Your eyes latched on to Giyuu’s, who was gazing up at you from your lap with a concerned look.

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Family.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to keep your tears at bay, nodding softly.

A weight lifted off of your thighs as you wiped at your cheeks, when you suddenly felt arms wrapped tightly around your trembling body.

Eyes snapping open, you realized that Giyuu was hugging you.

“Giyuu—”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt.”

The labored, uneven breathing near your ear disputed that statement.

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

“Giyuu… let me take care of you. Please.”

“No. You need it more than I do.”

Arguing with him was useless, and you were so exhausted.

So you let him hold you.

And then he kissed your cheek.

It was only a soft, featherlight peck.

But it was your new motivation to fight.

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

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ardenssolis · 3 years ago

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@dunscaiith said (inbox):

"DO find it in your interest to use your Noble Phantasm at any point, King of Kings," growled Scathach, holding her spears defensively for good reason from nearby. The Crone was proud, but she could admit when her combat skills were not tailored to an adversary. Her presence on this mission was a mistake. "I cannot defeat this monstrosity without you. Rider!"

OZYMANDIAS HAD BEEN OBSERVING the battle more than participating; staff in hand as his gaze slid along the battlefield. There was little reason for him to get involved, and thus, he did not bother to call forth that brilliant light that could pierce even the darkest of clouds. ❝Is there nothing worthy of me here?❞ he mumbled, words lost to the wind as none save for himself could hear them. Tch, how many times had he told his summoner to only bring him along if there was a foe that would make his blood boil with excitement? Clicking his tongue, he only glanced back at Scathach because she called out to him. ❝Are you asking for my assistance? You?❞ Had he heard that right? Surely the proud Scathach would never call out to another to assist her – or so he believed. It was peculiar to see her in a position where those spears did not automatically kill whatever stood in her light of sight.

After all, there were only a few Servants in the building he considered worth his time and she certainly fell into that category. So...if she was having a hard time...then surely then... ❝Mm, very well! Who am I to ignore your plea for the sun’s graces?❞ Staff tapping against the ground, from the clouds rays of light pierced through, raining down upon the beast in question with full intent to distract it and allow Scathach that moment to claim its heart with that fearsome crimson spear. It seared flesh, earning a howl of both rage and pain as claws dug into dirt and tail swung wildly behind its enormous form, yet even if the full blunt of his attack had fallen upon them, no doubt they still would have stood tall – enraged, and ten times more ferocious than it was now. ❝Now, Queen of Shadows! The opportunity is there!❞

#dunscaiith #;v: chaldea days #;;f.go #answered #;;inbox

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lostcybertronian · 5 years ago

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“I’m not losing you again.” With Damien and Actor Mark

Combined with another in my inbox! Also, what if Mark came close to snatching Damien while in Celine’s time loop, but he just doesn’t remember it?

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @bing-iplier @darkiplurrr @demon-dark-666 @moonysmayhem @xpouii @projectwkm @sororia04s

Prompt: “[Name]! Open the door!” / “I’m not losing you again.”

The wind blew, shoving with ice-cold force at Damien’s back, swirling blinding snow into his eyes. Frost bit at his fingertips with teeth that felt sharper than knives.

He had never been so happy to see the cabin and its faint light as he trudged through the knee-deep snow, hauling a sled piled high with logs. Maybe he’d even be able to muster up a smile for his brooding sister when he finished splitting wood.

Only after a substantial time spent by the fire, he figured.

But as he neared the run-down, old cabin, a shiver of cold crawling down his spine, he came to see that there was something very wrong; the cabin’s single, dusty window was broken, shards of glass glittering under the firelight spilling across the snow, through the doorway left bare by its rickety door, which sagged open, clinging to one hinge like it’d been forced.

Abandoning the sled, Damien made for the cabin, slogging through snow drifts as fast as his exhausted body could manage.

“Celine?” He cried, voice carried away by the howling wind. He reached the cabin after what felt like hours had passed, stumbling in to a snow-covered floor and an empty room. “Celine?”

But there was no answer. She was gone. Any footprint she might’ve left had long been covered, yet despite the fact she’d obviously been missing for hours, the fire still crackled in the fireplace, warm and alive.

It was only because of this that Damien saw the shadow.

He whirled, but it was gone, disappeared out of the firelit threshold, into the snow.

“Celine?” He asked, though he knew it wasn’t Celine there. He reached for his axe, fingers closing around nothing before he realized that he’d left it on his sled, strapped to the top of the pile of logs he’d cut earlier that day.

“Shit.” He went for the door instead, spotting the shadow-- no, a figure. It wasn’t just a black smudge against the white but a solid being, something real-- again as he fought to close the door against the snow piled over the floor and the wind, sliding the heavy plank into place just before the shadow reached his doorstep.

“Damien?” Celine’s voice called through the door, followed by the frantic pounding of fists against ancient, weathered wood. “Damien! Open the door!”

Damien stepped back, panting heavily. He wiped sweat off his brow. “N-No!” He stammered out. “I’m not letting you in. You’re not Celine.”

The pounding continued, even as, through the shattered window, a pair of red eyes glared at him.

“You’re not Celine!” Damien scrambled back as far as he was able, until his legs hit the metal edge of the bed and he collapsed onto it, pressing his back against the wall, unable to tear his gaze away from the glowing eyes. They were so angry. So full of hate.

The fire flickered as he stared, extinguished with a wet whoosh, plunging the cabin into darkness and black. A gun went off somewhere nearby, its deafening crack the only thing to pierce the wind.

The eyes remained. “I’m not losing you again!” A different voice snarled, this one not Celine’s, and not familiar to him. It howled, desperate, “Open this door, Damien!”

Damien shook his head. Buried it in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard another gunshot. Then another. The pounding stopped, and all was silent. Even the wind, too, died down.

But still, he didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t raise his head. He did not want to see those eyes again. Not again. Not ever.

He must have fallen asleep sometime during the night, because he woke up in the bed, the thin, threadbare blanket drawn up to his chin.

The fire snapped and popped as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes, feeling exhausted.

“You’re finally up,” Celine said from the table, where she often sat when Damien slept. The corner of her mouth pulled up into a smile, the most he could ever get out of her these days. “You slept so long I thought you were dead. I was about to cut you up and eat you.”

“Very funny.” Damien tossed the cover aside and got up, eyes roaming to the window as if on instinct; it was whole, frosted over from last night’s storm. Nothing stared at him from behind the white glass.

A shudder ran through him, then. Why had he been expecting eyes?

“Are you alright?” Celine asked sharply, when he continued to stare at the window, his eyebrows furrowed.

“What? Oh, I’m okay.” Damien flashed his best “I’m fine” smile and reached for his axe, which lay propped against the bedpost, as it always did. “I better get going. We need firewood.” He started for the door, then paused, fixing his sister with a glance. “Are you alright?” He asked carefully, studying her dark-ringed eyes and the firm set of her mouth. “You look . . . tired.”

“I’m fine,” Celine snapped, standing up. “Go get firewood, so I can sleep without your yammering.”

“Alright, alright,” Damien said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He left then, trudging out into the blinding white snow. It smelled cold. Like frost and ice. But there was something else there, too. Something sharp and powdery.

He glanced down to see a set of footprints, leading from the door to the window, and then away from the cabin entirely.

Cocking his head, Damien examined them for a moment. Then shrugged and continued on his way, retrieving his sled before heading out into the woods. It had to have been Celine. There couldn’t be anyone else out there with them. Not in weather this cold.

#marmien #actor!mark #the actor #mayor damien #celine the seer #markiplier egos #writersofmark #fanfiction #lostandwandering #my writing #lost writing tag #writing prompts #horror #hurt/comfort #asks #the-pan-anon

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langsty-langst-lance · 6 years ago

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Swords and Sand

I literally haven’t written anything in months, I have countless amounts of asks in my inbox. Did I write any of those? No. I wrote this instead. At 2 AM when I was slightly out of my writing slump so idk how good this is lmao. Hope it’s not too bad oof.

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He warily stood up, dust and sand swirling around him as he attempted to keep his balance. He gripped his sword tightly and brought it up ready to attack at a moments notice. The sand swirled in graceful gusts that he would have found beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that Keith was trying to kill him.

He didn’t know what happened or why, they were in the middle of fighting Haggars army in their lions when Keith suddenly lashed his lion out at Lance’s causing them both to fall into the middle of a rocky desert terrain. Lance wanted to laugh at that; after all this time he was finally back on Earth and the first land he touched down on wasn’t the ocean or his home by the beach, no, it was orange and brown dirt and sand for as far as the eye could see.

Unfortunately there wasn’t much time to laugh at the irony of the situation because once he managed to crawl out of Red he was immediately defending his own life. Originally his thoughts went straight to Keith and he quickly got up to see if Keith was alright but he didn’t even have the chance to stand up for Keith was towering above him, full Galra ears, marks, and eyes on display.

“Whoah!” Lance said majorly taken aback. The last time he had seen Keith he looked normal, just his Galra mark on his cheek as usual. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary so why was he suddenly like this?

“You good there, buddy? What happened?” Lance questioned as he stood up and shook the sand off him.

Keith stared back at Lance with his piercing yellow eyes and bared his teeth which now held impressive sized fangs.

“Uhh, Keith?” Lance questioned worriedly. Keith made a low growl back and before Lance could say anything Keith lurched at him mouth open, fangs on full display.

“Whoah!” Lance yelled as he quickly jumped to the side, barely missing Keith.

Keith pulled his Galra sword out and swung it at Lance. With out missing a beat Lance pulled his bayard out, still in sniper form from his last use, and parried Keiths sword.

“Keith, what are you doing?” he yelled in bewilderment as he pushed Keiths sword back away from him. Keith only growled and swung again. Lance was quick to parry it yet again. “Keith, stop!”

Lance pushed back and swung his bayard down to knock Keith out from under his feet causing him to fall crashing into the sand. Lance pointed his gun at Keiths chest, finger on the trigger. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Lance said, his voice shaking slightly, “So don’t make me,” he warned.

Lance didn’t have time to react to Keiths movement and before he knew what was happening Keith had grabbed the end of his bayard and pushed up on Lance, causing him to lose balance. Keith threw the bayard to the side with Lance still holding onto it.

Lance landed hard on the ground, bayard still in hand. He spit out the sand in his mouth and quickly stood up to find Keith but the wind had started to pick up and sent the sand swirling in the air, making it hard for Lance to see far. It didn’t make sense, why was Keith suddenly all Galra-ed out? And why was he attacking Lance? Lance’s thoughts rang through his head as he desperately tried to figure out what was going on.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a figure flash. Lance turned and shot down towards the figures bottom half. He didn’t want to hurt or kill Keith. He wasn’t sure what was going on but killing him would be counterproductive. There had to be a way to stop this without seriously injuring him.

His shots hit the ground causing more dust to take to the air but he didn’t seem to make any contact with Keith. Lance felt something behind him wrap their arms around his body as it sent both of them flying forward and ultimately tumbling to the floor.

The two wrestled on the ground fighting for dominance and control of the situation. Lance knew he didn’t have the upper hand in this fight. He was mainly trained in shooting a gun from a distance away while Keith was hand-to-hand combat trained so well that he could take on Shiro. Not to mention Keith seemed to have heightened strength and senses while in Galra form because he was quicker than Lance had ever seen him before.

Through their desperate punches and rolls through the sand Lance managed to switch his bayard over to his new Altean Broadsword. He wasn’t very well trained in using it and had only got a bit of practice in but he knew that using his gun was never going to work. He was going to fight Keith head-on, sword to sword, even if he was obviously the worst of the two.

Keith managed to bite on to Lance’s arm causing him to yelp and throw Keith back off of him. Lance stood up warily and winced. His left arm was bloody and Keiths fangs had not only cut through his armor but also some of his skin. The sand and wind stung the wound like hell but Lance didn’t have time to worry about it, he had to deal with Keith first.

Keith came running back at Lance, sword lifted, and swung down on him. Lance struck back and the two parried back and forth, swinging and blocking, swinging and blocking. Lance mostly played defense as he was scared to hurt Keith too badly. Sand danced around them as the wind pushed their hair into their faces. They were a flurry of swords and attacks, as they both struggled to keep their footing in the loose sand beneath them.

Out alone in the middle of the desert Lance couldn’t help but wonder what was happening with the rest of the team. They had been fighting Haggars henchmen when Keith had knocked them both out of the sky. Did the others see it happen? Where they checking on them or still fighting in the sky? Lance’s helmet had been knocked off in the crash so he didn’t have a way of communicating with them. He wondered if he could stall just long enough until the team came and was able to help get Keith under control. He wasn’t sure he could do it himself.

The two continued fighting and dodging but Lance was growing tired and weary and Keith didn’t seem to be breaking a sweat.

“Keith... please!” Lance grunted through attacks. Keith didn’t seem to hear him or care. “Keith... stop... please! This isn’t you!” Lance yelled. Keith only gnashed his teeth at him.

Lance quickly took a couple steps back, sword pointed at Keith. “I don't know whats happening but we can figure this out! You just need to control it!” he yelled over the howling of the wind.

Keith slashed at him and Lance dodged. “Keith, please,” he begged desperately. “I know this isn’t you!”

Keith turned his blade and managed to slap Lance back with the side of his sword. Lance grunted and stumbled backwards. “Keith...” he muttered out of breath. Keith pushed forward and kept swinging. Lance desperately blocked his swings and kept moving backwards as Keith gained more and more ground. “Stop...” he pleaded but he knew it was probably useless. His body was ready to give out at any second and Keith was still going strong. There was no way he was going to get out of this alive or at least unharmed.

Lance kept quickly stepped backwards, shifting through the sand as his legs wobbled and struggled to keep him moving. His feet were sinking into the sand and he could barely see. Lance felt something cold and metal on his back. He realized they had managed to find their way back towards the lions and now Keith had Lance caught against it.

Keith brought his sword down on top of Lance. Lance barely managed to bring his own sword up and catch the falling blow. Lances arms shook as he struggled to keep Keiths sword back away from him.

“Keith!” he yelped, “Stop!”

Keith only snarled and pushed his sword down harder. Lance grimaced as he put all his effort into keeping Keiths blade away from him. Even with all of his strength put into it, Keiths sharp sword kept making its way closer and closer to his face.

Lance’s back was against the wall as he realized he didn’t have many options here. He was going to have to try to talk Keith down. Or at least distract him.

“Keith, I know this isn't you,” he pleaded through gritted teeth. “You know me, Keith. We’re not enemies!” Keith’s eyes glanced up to look into Lances. “We’re teammates! Friends! Haggar is the enemy! Not me!” Lance was getting more and more desperate, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on for.

“C’mon, Keith, snap out of it! You would never hurt me! You’ve saved me before! You’ve put your life on the line for me! This isn’t you!” Lance pleaded even more desperately. Anything to try and get to Keith.

This time seemed to work a bit because Keith faltered and stopped pushing down as hard. Lance took this as his chance to get himself out of this situation. Lance tried to side step to the right to avoid Keiths sword but when he stepped his foot sunk into the sand and his ankle twisted ever so slightly. The unplanned movement caused Lance to lose his strength on his sword for a moment. It was enough time for Keith to snap out of whatever trance he had been and go back into full-kill-mode.

When Lance faltered and allowed his sword to give out for a second before catching it, it was just long enough for Keith to bring his down on Lance. Lance watched the sharp jagged blade come straight for his left eye. Before he could regain his momentum and strength to fight back, Keiths blade managed to cut through the skin just enough to make Lance bleed.

Lance yelled out in pain as his eye burned from the cut. The agony gave him just enough will power to push back against Keith and kick him off of him. Lance quickly ran out away from the lion, hand over his eye as he yelled through gritted teeth. The pain was unbearable. It felt like someone had decided to do surgery on him while he was awake and then quit halfway through. Agony tore through him, his whole body on fire.

He was tired and bleeding in so many places and Keith seemed to barely have a scratch.

The sand storm died down enough for Lance to see Keith standing and staring at him from a couple of feet away. Lance slowly took his hand away from his eye and brought it to the hilt of his sword.

“Keith, please... I don't want to hurt you,” he pleaded one last time in hope that maybe it would work this time.

It didn’t.

Keith ran at Lance, sword out once again but Lance was able to stop it. He pushed back against him and dodged his next swing by stepping to the side. Even with his extra Galra abilities Lance was still fast enough to dodge Keith.

This time when Keith swung full force at him Lance jumped out to the side rather than parrying. Lance kicked his foot out at Keiths legs and swiped him to the ground. Keith landed hard against Reds leg and hissed. Without hesitation Lance swung the hilt of his sword down onto Keiths head before Keith was able to do anything. Lance knew he couldn’t kill Keith but he also knew he wasn’t going to make it out alive without hurting Keith in some way. He figured the best thing to do would be to knock him out. Lance grunted as he hit Keiths head full strength.

Keith fell to the ground with a sickening thud and Lance cringed. He quickly bent down to make sure he had only knocked Keith out. He felt his chest rising and falling and Lance sighed in relief. This whole thing was finally over.

Lance dropped his sword on the ground and screamed in pain as his hand flew up to his eye again. He had been able to slightly ignore it thanks to the adrenaline but now that everything had died down he was feeling the pain full force again.

Lance groaned and gritted his teeth as he leaned against Red and sunk down onto the floor. His whole body was in pain, from his possibly twisted ankle to the gnash on his arm from Keiths fangs. Lance prayed that the team had managed to fight off Haggars armies and where coming down to get them. He wasn’t sure how long Keith would stay knocked out for and he was sure he himself was going to pass out from pain any second now.

Lance moaned and winced in pain as he looked up at the sky. He could blearily see the other three Lions soaring through the sky towards them with his good eye. He hoped this war was over soon, it was starting to take a toll on him.

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irlaimsaaralath · 7 years ago

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Kissy Prompt

The original ask disappeared from my inbox, so here’s this. Prompted by @solverne (thank you!). It was #16 on the kissy list (a kiss that should not have been).

*THIS* would be what the IT guy caught me writing. I mean, all things considered, at least it wasn’t the last Solas prompt, ammirite?

Pairing is my human Inquisitor, Caitlin, and our dear Commander Cullen.

It had begun innocently enough. After the incident with the guard, when Caitlin’d been unconscious in the cell, Cullen had tried to keep an eye on her when she was among the soldiers. He would not tolerate a repeat of that near-travesty. Between issuing instruction to soldiers during sparring matches, his eyes would seek her out. He’d find her talking with Cassandra or trying out a new piece of armor Harritt had forged for her. Other times, she’d be walking with Varric, which inevitably led to blushing or laughter on her part. It seemed to please the dwarf immensely when she smiled at his stories. Cullen could understand why; the simple gesture lit up her entire face. Most frequently, though, he found Caitlin at the training dummies, bow in hand, burying arrow after arrow into the burlap-clad figures with an accuracy that was enviable. When he admired her skill, it was impossible to not also notice that the years she’d spent honing it had made her body lithely muscled. The long lines of her arms were shapely, shoulders always rolled back in practiced habit that made her stand that much straighter, and he could only imagine the taut strength in her back.

And, he did imagine it, however much he tried to resist the temptation. He’d shake his head and attempt to return his focus to the task at hand. It wasn’t proper, and they could afford no indiscretions in an organization that existed outside the sheltering grace of the Chantry’s approval. She also had more important things on her mind; she was still mourning. While the rest of them spent evenings in the tavern, Caitlin typically chose to be alone, at least at first. From Leliana, he'd been made aware that two of her elder brothers had been at the Conclave, and he had had the unfortunate duty of passing on the confirmation they were both recorded as in attendance. He'd not had to deliver the news personally, but he'd heard her reaction had been...tremendous. Cullen was still trying to confirm the location of her remaining brother, who was a templar in training. It wasn't yet clear if he'd been at the Conclave, and the Commander prayed that would not the the case.

As their time in Haven pressed on, he continued his protective vigil, though as her legend as the Herald of Andraste solidified and spread, he doubted it was truly necessary. And yet, he maintained watch, and her influence, even if it were unconscious on her part, was insidious. He found his thoughts turning to her in his scant hours of repose, late in the night and hours before daybreak, when he should have been sleeping. When she teasingly flirted with him in the training yard, he somehow managed to return in kind, despite his apprehension and his tendency to stumble over such encounters. He always chastised himself for it afterward. Indulging even in play that could never be anything more would likely only lead to heartbreak for one or the both of them. He imagined it was more likely to be him, however. He was a wasted shadow of a man, plagued by ghosts of the lyrium that his blood summoned and memories that his mind couldn’t stop replaying. He had nothing to offer her.

Then it came to light that she had been at the Conclave as part of the Ostwick Chantry’s envoy -- as a lay sister that had been affirmed! He was certain he paled at the revelation, and he thanked the Maker that it was either too subtle to notice or that Leliana and Josephine had been too graceful to mention it. He knew that it was unlikely that she had yet taken vows, but even so, she was a sister in the Chantry. She was not available for his attentions nor those of anyone else. This on top of being the Herald of Andraste. He had been surprised by how gravely he’d taken the news. Yes, he’d been admiring her from afar almost since she’d stumbled out of the Fade. Yes, he had participated in a bit of back and forth flirting with her. But, he hadn’t realized he’d become so invested in the idea of her, that he would be so affected by losing something that was never his. With an effort he’d never expended before, he forcibly disengaged from her, shunning all untoward thoughts of her.

When shuffling his feelings aside proved not to be a strong enough deterrent, he locked himself down entirely. It wasn’t a pleasant thing, to turn off, but it was a skill he’d made use of from time to time as Templar. It made his demeanor as cold as the fist he felt clench in his stomach every time he saw her. The change in him didn’t escape her notice when her coquettish prods ceased to elicit a response in him. He had to give it to her, however; she was quite stubborn and only relented after several failed attempts, and even then only gradually. The confusion she first displayed faded into disappointment that she was miserable at hiding then into resignation. When she stopped visiting him in the training yard, failed to seek his council after meetings, and gave him no notice after hours in the tavern, he knew his efforts had succeeded. And, the knowledge gave him the distinct desire to hit something. The closest he could get to that was sparring with the soldiers, and they unquestionably suffered with him.

All that effort fell apart when Corypheus brought his forces to Haven. The fight had brought them fleetingly together in the face of the attack, battling side by side off and on throughout. But then the dragon arrived. Forced to retreat, the mission became to save as many lives as possible, and that meant running. But even then, their chances were slim. When Chancellor Roderick shared his knowledge of the hidden trail, a measure of Cullen’s hope was renewed...and then dashed again when it was decided that she would have to stay behind to secure their escape. It was she that insisted that he lead the survivors out. He had protested, but only momentarily. There was no time. No time to tell her he was sorry for how distant he’d been. How he seemed to off-handedly discard her. To explain. The two halves of himself warred even as he turned to leave: the half that wanted to stay, to bear this burden for her, and the half that had spent a lifetime as a dutiful soldier, compelled to follow a direct order. He hadn’t looked back a single time until they were well out of harm’s way, until he heard an echoing thunder fill the cloudless night. He turned in time to see the whole mountainside come down, burying Haven in a deluge of snow and rock.

His mouth suddenly went dry, and his heartbeat slowed to a dull thud that seemed to reverberate in the cavernous cavity of his ribcage. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d taken several steps back the way they’d come. It was only Cassandra’s hand on his shoulder that stopped him. While the Seeker had a sometimes uneasy grip on her faith, she did believe, and the wordless glance they shared seemed to reflect his own hopes for another miracle. The thin, pressed line of her mouth that nearly made her lips disappear, on the other hand, confessed that the realist in her was doubtful. Cullen took in a breath of the frigid air and used the chill to draw the steel from his marrow, giving him the willpower to tear his eyes away from what had once been Haven and follow Cassandra. --- Once they’d made camp for the night, he allowed himself to look back across the plains of snow, their footsteps already blanketed in fresh powder to hide their tracks. He should have stayed. He should have sent her ahead and remained behind. The Inquisition would survive without him. It would not survive without her.

His arms were bundled tight against his chest, the feathered mane of his mantle ruffled by the wind against his jaw. He couldn’t bring himself to leave his vigil, and so he waited and watched. The wind howled through the mountain pass, all other sounds muffled to the thick silence that comes with deep snowfall. It somehow seemed unnatural. Wind and temperature had pinked his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and both felt cold enough to crack, but he’d declined all invitations and suggestions and demands that he come closer to the fire. He intended to hold his post until either he was physically unable or Caitlin walked out of the whiteout storm raging through the mountains. As if the gusts of niveous wind weren’t enough to obscure his vision, his breaths painted opaque plumes on the air. Beneath his sabatons, he could no longer feel his toes, and logically, he knew that he was straying into territory where frostbite was a valid concern. He scrubbed a gloved hand over his face, then threaded his fingers back into his hair and turned toward the camp.

He’d taken only a few steps when the piercing howl of a wolf rose over the wind, and he paused. It wasn’t unusual, but something about it tugged at him, so much so that he slid his gaze across the pass once more. There was nothing, only the white of the snow swept up in the wind, his breath clouding his vision. Flakes of ice clung to his eyelashes as he stepped further into the drifts and squinted narrowly into the darkness. The last notes of the wolf’s song had faded, replaced again by only the wind, and his eyes could find nothing had hadn’t been there before. Then, he saw movement. A dark figure against a darker horizon. He trudged a few steps further into the snow, and his heart stopped for a moment when a flicker of green erupted from the shadow. “It’s her!” he yelled back toward the camp as he took off, eyes never straying from her as she stumbled, then sank to her knees. Maker’s breath, he whispered to himself before he called again, “It’s the Herald!”

When he plucked her out of the snow, she was shivering uncontrollably and on the verge of unconsciousness. By the time the others caught up to him, his mantle was wrapped around her, and she lay across his arms as he waded through the snowdrifts. Once back at camp, he’d no sooner ducked into one of the tents and laid her out on a cot before a flurry of healers and Chantry clerics shuffled him out. He was left standing dumbly just beyond the tent flaps as they swung shut to bar his view of her. Afterward, he proceeded to wait. And, when he could no longer wait in stillness, he paced in long, marching strides that carried him down the line of the tents and back again. He failed to notice, but Cassandra observed him in a careful silence, while Leliana covertly scrutinized him from beneath her shadowed hood as she murmured hushed prayers. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when Cassandra uttered a hopeful “Sister?” as one of the clerics exited the tent, he knew it only took him the space of a few breaths to be standing at her side.

“She’s alive,” the woman said, and though she continued talking, Cullen couldn’t recall what was said after that. The torrent of relief that rushed through him made his head light, and he parted the tent’s flaps with a pair of fingers to peek in. Caitlin was stretched out on the cot, hands folded over her stomach, eyes closed, and hair disheveled. She was pale, her normally tanned skin sallow, and a bandage stretched across her forehead. He was able to see nothing else before one of the healers complained that he was letting the cold in and shoo’d him away. -- Once it was established that there was an Inquisition left to save, decisions had to be made. What had begun as a discussion between the advisors soon became impassioned voices raised in disagreement. Then the whole of it dissolved into something more like the shouting one might encounter in a barroom, where everyone is talking without saying anything and no one is really listening. At the ruckus, Mother Giselle strode from the Inquisitor’s tent, and in her presence, fighting ceased almost immediately.

Sometime after, when tempers had cooled, the fire burned a little lower, and most were settled for the night, he caught a glimpse of Caitlin as she slipped from her tent. It was dark, and though she hugged the shadows like lost friends, he could tell she was unaware she was being watched and was still wearing his mantle as she disappeared into the darkness. He was helpless but to follow, and when he found her, she was standing a short distance from the tents, gazing toward the buried remains of Haven. The snow beneath his feet made a compacted crunch as he approached her, and she didn’t turn when she spoke, “I should be dead.” It was said in an even tone, touched by neither grief nor marvel; it was a simple statement of fact. “It seems the Maker would disagree,” he offered, infusing only a hint of mirth into his words as he came to stand behind her at her elbow. The sigh she exhaled was tinged with weariness, irritation, and impatience, and a sickly green light reflected off the snow when she raised her marked hand.

“I don’t see the Maker’s in this,” she confessed as she turned away from the endless drifts of white and snow to face him instead. “I do,” he answered in return, and the words came out softer than he’d intended, laden with emotion he wasn’t free to express. Nearly a head shorter than he, Caitlin’s violet eyes flitted back and forth over his, and a dull ache suffused his chest at the recognition of burden in her eyes. Just as quickly as it had risen, however, it was gone again, and she shrugged out of his mantle. The act struck him only as a conversation-changer, as he’d neither asked for it back nor needed it, and so he said nothing further on the topic. “Thank you. It was you that pulled me from the snow, was it not?” was her perfunctory question as she offered the garment out to him. He realized then that the look in her eyes was at least partially because she was still braced for his rejection. It was her answer to the cold facade he’d been wearing in her presence. Mutely, he nodded once and took a step closer, reaching out to take his mantle. His fingers accidentally brushed her knuckles but for a moment, and their eyes met.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him, as he distinctly remembered his own voice in his head warning him from the action, but he found his hand slipping past hers to lightly encircle her wrist. Like a sliver of sun slicing momentarily through the clouds on an overcast day, alarm flashed across her eyes as he took another step closer and tugged her forward. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating to his when his palm swept against her jawline, lifting her face as he brought his lips down to hers. He was still locked eye-to-eye with her when she stiffened beneath his hand, but as the tension drained away, an arm found its way about her waist, pulling her flush against him. It was then that her eyes fell closed, and the kiss began in earnest. At first, her response was wooden, immalleable and inert, as if she was unsure of herself and of him. But by increments, she acclimated, and the curve of her mouth became soft and yielding, moving over his with a timidness that was endearing. A small, meek hum was startled from her throat when his tongue traced her lower lip, but it was consumed when she parted to him. His touch was cautious, a shallow darting that slowly sought and found, drawing deeper as she tilted her face up and rose onto her toes. A streak of heat sank through him from head to toe when her hand grazed his stomach, and his reserved mein grew shaky.

He felt more than heard the sound that her touch elicited; it rumbled into his chest before being lost between them. It provoked a forceful but pleasing response in her, and the weight of her mouth on his grew heavier, deeper. His head was spinning, stirring thoughts that whirled in his mind. But, the voice was a dim whisper, easily ignored. His voice was soon joined by hers, a faltering sound that at first he didn’t recognize, but grew to understand when she planted her palms against his chest and pushed herself away. Her sudden departure left him cold and stupefied. It was only when they stood staring at each other, misty breaths mingling in the frigid air that the gravity of what he’d done settled fully and abruptly on him. Violet eyes wide and unblinking, she raised a hand, fingers coming to rest lightly on her lips. “Maker...Caitlin, I’m sorry,” he pushed out in a rush, taking a small step forward. Without a word, she shoved his mantle into his open hands and darted past him. He could only watch her go, slipping out of sight between the tents.

An audible groan left him as his head fell back, and he stared into the cloud-darkened sky. “Why? Why would you do that?” he asked of himself, and when only the deep silence of the night answered him, he swore and threw his mantle into the snow in frustration.

#kissy prompt #cullen #trevelyan

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