#BUT. (and this is the major one) it's only about not growing trees because their strong roots could upset something

[cuteniaarts]

Here *throws random and actually much more important than I realised at first OC redesign at you after two and a half years since the OG*

Meifeng, Ming-Hua’s cousin! I just randomly remembered that she exists while putting together my OC family tree and since the only art I have of her is… nearly 3 years old and mediocre at best, and Kat and I have recently spent so much time focusing on Red Lotus siblings, I thought “Hey, why not redraw her? Just because she’s a cousin and not a sister doesn’t make her any less special than Lien-Hua, Summiya, Aiza or Haya!” (On that note… Nia give someone a brother challenge. The only one that counts is Aiza and she’s only a brother half the time)

Some headcanons about her, both new and old (the old copy-pasted over and slightly edited to save everyone the second hand embarrassment of going to look at my old art), which will go under the cut because this has gotten LONG:

Old:

Older than Ming-Hua by around 10 years

Her dad is the older half-brother of Ming-Hua's mom who’s… not the most fond of their side of the family

Has never left her home in the Foggy Swamp Water Tribe

Master healer, specialises in children. Can't have any of her own because of the high pollution levels in the swamp which is why she puts all those motherly instincts into teaching and caring for kids

Got a scar on her leg while saving Ming-Hua from some wild swamp creature when the latter was a child who was absolutely convinced she could handle everything herself and never listened to anyone. Ming-Hua still insists she had everything under control that day

She tried to understand Ming-Hua's perspective on things, she really did, but ultimately tribe mentality and fear for her cousin’s safety, believing her not to be nearly as capable as she claims to be, won over

Attempted to stop Ming-Hua from running away but was, obviously, unsuccessful

Was the one consoling Nuying after Ming-Hua left

Helped Suiren learn waterbending and held genuine affection for the girl, although she ultimately refused when Suiren begged for the chance for her and Midori to escape from Haya and live with the tribe. She thought that while Suiren would most likely adjust well, Midori was simply too Gaoling to survive in a place as dark, damp and isolated as the Swamp. She regrets that decision every day since she found out Suiren became an assassin

Mourned Ming-Hua more than anyone else in the tribe when informed of her death

New:

Was the one who babysat Ming-Hua a lot when Nuying was going through one of her depressive episodes after Cadeo left, and Ming-Hua actually enjoyed spending time with her because she was a lot less overbearing and protective than her mother. Was the first person to start calling her Ming. Sometimes Ming-Ming, but Ming-Hua had a tendency to deliver a very hard kick to the shins every time she tried that

Never left Nuying’s side when she got sick in the years following Ming-Hua’s disappearance, no matter how much everyone, including her own father, told her to stay away, there’s nothing she can do to help her. In her final moments, Nuying was delirious with fever and called out for Ming-Hua. Meifeng didn’t have the heart to remind her that her daughter left so instead let her hair down, covered her own hand in water and told Nuying that she was “right here, mom. I’m right here” and stayed like that until Nuying passed

When Ming-Hua returned, Meifeng was the one to break the news to her. Later, when Ming-Hua asked how and when it happened, she couldn’t quite stop herself from snapping at her because she should have been there, Meifeng shouldn’t have had to pretend to be her so her mother could die without worrying about where her daughter was. Their relationship never really fully recovered after that fight

Still, she had met Suiren when she was little on the rare occasions when the Red Lotus passed through the Swamp and Ming-Hua chose to take her daughter to visit the tribe. She never met Midori, but she did see Ming-Hua pregnant with her once

Didn’t know about Ming-Hua’s imprisonment until an 11-year-old Suiren told her because world news don’t reach into the heart of the Swamp. She just thought they had decided to stop visiting. The news crushed her but… a part of her couldn’t help but go “you should have fucking listened to me when I told you to stay, then this wouldn’t have happened”

Her teaching Suiren waterbending involved mostly the basics of combat (she herself doesn’t know much of it since she’s a healer), plantbending and healing. Suiren reached her level of mastery and proficiency as well as figured out icebending on her own through sheer determination and spite (she’s so much like her mama 🥹🥹🥹)

Is the only one from the tribe Suiren had ever confessed to about being an assassin. That knowledge broke her heart and she spent all those years absolutely terrified that Suiren would meet Ming-Hua’s fate. When Suiren stopped visiting at one point (when she left for her mission to kill Kuvira, got injured, recovered at ATI, reunited with her parents, broke Kuvira out and started living with her, etc etc) she had assumed that it really did happen, until Suiren randomly showed up one day with Kuvira in tow (Meifeng did not approve bc of the whole spirit vine thing 😅)

Absolutely reunited with Ming-Hua at some point and it was an extremely emotional moment

Ripped Cadeo a new one when he suddenly appeared looking for his daughter after 45+ years after it became common knowledge that the RL are all alive and no longer wanted by the law

All in all… quite an interesting character that I really should do something with at some point, bc how come Ming-Hua’s family is the only one to get 0 attention in our discussions?? #justiceformeifeng2024

[darthlenaplant]

American's idea of "freedom" is being told how and when to mow their lawn by the resident neighbourhood Karen(s), but me having socialized healthcare and being able to grow whatever the fucking fuck I want (that's not an illegal substance) in my garden is somehow not free? Like yeah I'm not allowed to claim that refugees steal everything that isn't nailed down because 1.) That's just a horrible af thing to say about any group of people, and 2.) Patently UNTRUE anyway. Or something even worse, like saying that the nazis were right. Of course you're not allowed to say that, why would you even THINK THAT in the first place?

HOAs sound awful, how do people deal with strangers telling them what color to paint their house and shit I would start throwing rocks

[headspace-hotel]

I'm trying to read about ecological succession in desert ecosystems and its incredibly annoying because most of the studies define "succession" as "how does the vegetation cover increase after we planted a forest on top of it"

this got me scampering off on a tangent about desertification, which led me to a lot of papers talking about how there is no coherent definition of what desertification even is ("What is desertification? We can't even agree and we're the authors of this paper!") and then continuing to talk about how it's important to reverse desertification despite the lack of clarity on whether this is a good idea.

It's really striking how so many papers treat deserts like they aren't even ecosystems in their own right, just land that isn't being as productive as it "should" be.

Then there's this paper which is a quintessential example of "angry scientists who are DONE with your shit" It seems to be machine translated a la Google Translate-esque automation, but it's good and the pictures speak for themselves. basically there was a large scale effort to "reverse deforestation" in the Gobi Desert by planting shrubs, and this was subsidized by policies meant to promote "greening" for broad scale environmental improvement. Here's the summary of how that backfired

According to our survey, personnel who specifically plant trees and engage in afforestation are businessmen, farmers, or others, with most of them being businessmen from abroad, and only a few being local people. All the personnel are more concerned about the subsidies than greening and planting trees itself. According to the policy, they will receive majority of the subsidy if the planted trees live for three years, irrespective of whether the trees survive after that. Therefore, to guarantee the survival of the planted trees for three years, they even use water tankers to carry water to the trees from a great distance. However, after three years, the people stop watering the trees planted in the Gobi region, thereby leading to the death of trees after a few years as they cannot survive only on natural precipitation and groundwater. In pursuit of maximum profits, these businessmen will pursue larger areas for planting trees, which will cause further damage to the ecological environment in the Gobi region

What else is there to say

furthermore, the planting disturbed the natural soil layers and disrupted the "black vegetation" (I'm guessing this is translated from a term that refers to the gravel layer in combination with the biocrusts holding it in place- I want to learn more about biocrusts they're so cool) which caused dust and sand underneath to become airborne.

I found many more papers that are disappointingly uncritical of the afforestation in deserts thing even though they try to take an ecological outlook, like this one, which acknowledges it takes extensive inputs from other places to maintain the trees (if you have to add 5% wood chips to the sand to improve it, wouldn't that necessity significantly offset the increase in tree biomass and the benefit in increase productivity on site, since the wood chips come from trees???) and that past efforts to plant forests on desert lands have gone poorly.

From multiple papers I'm starting to piece together why there has been so much data tentatively suggesting success in desert afforestation even though it seems to not do much good in the long term: the young trees can sometimes draw sufficient water from underground when they're little, but actually the region is fundamentally incapable of supporting the water requirements of a more mature tree. So the trees grow roots down into the deep soil layers, suck the deep soil layers dry, and die, leaving the land drier than it was to begin with.

I'm no expert but it seems to me like maybe we should study the desert ecosystems in depth before trying to change them...

[periprose]

May i request a Logan x angel!reader fic where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

anon I loved this ask ahhhh thank you. I'm like half considering making this a series if people want it (so send more angel requests if you're into it!) <3 I may have made it more angsty but there is fluff at the end :) also reader goes by Angel in this fic.

When Flight Comes to Fire (or, Logan Gains a Guardian Angel)

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: Best friends to lovers, mutual pining, X-Men stuff, idiots in love, angst, hurt no comfort, fluff, kissing

LGGA Masterlist

The first time your mutation made it’s appearance– sharp shoulder blades growing into thick appendages, soft, buttery white feathers extending from them in that unhuman way, your wingspan making it clear you would never be normal– your mother retched and said she would have done anything to chop them off of you. Would’ve done anything to have a normal kid.

In fact, she tried, multiple times, to do so. You were only twelve when she came at you for the first time, in your sleep, feeling falsely secure in your father’s platitudes about how she would never really do anything. You woke up to her reaching inside your blanket, grasping one of your wings as she brandished a knife in her other hand. Luckily, your wings were strong enough to shove her off, but you remember how you screamed at her.

Why, mom? It’s me! It’s me–

She didn’t listen, coming at you again, promising in delirious anger that everything would be okay soon if you would just let her fix it, and she had to be held back by your father, as he called the police. 

Because you were her kid, she got let off with a warning, and you were stuck. So you would often fly to the tallest treetops and take your rest there, trying your best to ignore your mother’s other attempts on your life. She didn’t seem to ever get it. You would never be normal.

The final attempt was probably the worst, and the one that caused you to fly away in the end to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

You were twenty years old, just old enough to legally leave home– you only stayed because your father insisted. 

She set your favourite tree on fire. You had no idea your mom had been in enough anguish to essentially murder you for daring to be different.

You awoke to the deep smell of smoke, of tree bark charring, and then you heard the cracking and sparks. The tree quickly caught fire, and you shrieked in pure terror as the heat of the flames approached you. The immense light emitting from the fire blinded you, and suddenly there was a sharp pain from your wings and back– you were getting scorched.

So you flew upwards, high enough that the fire dissipated off your back instantly in the cool night sky’s air, and you were fine. Nothing to show other than a little scar, and the sounds of mutiny coming from your mother below. 

You chose to forget her– no point in repairing a relationship with a woman who didn’t want you as you were.

But you’ve never forgotten the pain of being burned alive.

/

“Angel. You ready?” Logan is to your right in the foyer of the mansion. “Everyone else is waiting in the helicarrier.”

He’s your best friend, has been ever since you came to the X-Mansion as a runaway. It’s not an uncommon story among mutants, but Logan always felt you were like him. Rough, not the easiest to speak to, having a tendency to keep to yourself.

The major difference to him is that you’re a lot easier on the eyes. 

Seriously, it was almost like the universe was playing a joke on him. Here was a beautiful girl with literal angel wings, just missing a halo as she arrived at the door for the School for the first time, and he just happened to be the first ugly motherfucker to open the door.

Logan’s never quite sure why you keep up with him, why you stay friends with him, if he was just lucky enough to be the first person you saw and liked. It drives him nuts, the way in which you rely on him, trust him more than he thinks he deserves, you come to him at every moment just to talk over everyone else, when surely you could have anyone else’s attention.

Especially any stupid guy, like him. He’s not sure how you haven’t noticed– even now on the staircase, he can’t tear his gaze away from you. Logan feels bad to be so in love with you, too– he wonders if he’s reading into things too much, if he’s pushing for something that isn’t really there.

And he’ll never know, because you’re so damn flighty. Logan can barely keep up with your whims, and he only knows as much as you’ll tell him about yourself (he hardly knows where you came from that fateful first day), so he just lets you come and go as you please. He’ll keep his feelings deep inside, where you can’t possibly find out about it.

“Yup, I’m fine.” You have a brief smile for him, which gives him that familiar twist of the stomach. “Oh. You’re not wearing your uniform?”

“It’s better to be incognito for this one, according to Scott.” Logan says, adjusting his flannel, mildly enjoying how you check him out. 

You’re wearing the typical X-Men uniform– bright yellow, blue stripes down your sides, room for wings with a removable panel in the back. You let them loose, now, telling Logan you’ll be right back.

When you return, with quite a flourish, flapping wings in a true superhero-landing– Logan sees that you’re wearing a tank-top, and some jeans that really, really highlight your ass– but he tries not to focus on that.

“Hey. Tank’s inside out, Angel.” Logan says, waiting for you to fly off again, but you simply take off the tank top, and pull it back on the right way, exposing your bra-covered chest and lithe waist for the briefest of moments, while Logan loses whatever he was about to say. “I…”

“Don’t be a perv, Logan.” You jokingly side-eye him, never suspecting that that could actually be true as you tease him. “You’ve seen me change tons of times.”

“Yeah, but out in the open?” Logan stares at you. “You’re gonna have a shit-ton of admirers if you keep that up.”

“It’s just me, please.” You start up this whole I’m-not-pretty schtick that Logan is pretty sick of hearing, and he shakes his head. “Let’s go. They’re waiting.”

Yeah, Logan thinks, they are waiting, but he’s not sure you needed to be all quick and nonchalant about changing, just to get there faster.

That’s what he means by you being flighty– who knows what’s really in your heart, when you act so quickly?

/

“Listen up, X-Men. We’re gonna do our best to avoid damages today, right?” Scott speaks with the air of a leader who’s very fed up with his team members. 

There’s a resounding yes from everyone, including you, Logan, Jean, Storm, Bobby, Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty.

“What’s our mission?” Scott says, and you answer first.

“Find the new mutant.” You state, and Scott nods, while Logan hides a smile at how adept you’ve gotten at these missions.

“Make sure he doesn’t defect to the Brotherhood.” Jean adds, looking at you and Logan, seeing how close you two sit to each other. She’s kept it to herself– but Jean thinks if you and Logan really do have something going on, that would be nice. For the both of you.

“No damages.” Logan chimes in, and Scott visibly loses a little composure.

“I already said that.” Scott points out, and Logan shrugs. 

“Well, it’s part of the plan, isn’t it?” Logan leans back in his seat on the helicarrier, nestling his head next to your shoulder, not noticing the way your eyebrows raise at the sudden contact. “Better than me not listening at all.”

“Sure, Logan. Fine.” Scott lets it go, knowing better than to ask more from the most “chill” (read: laziest) member of the team.

You laugh a little as Logan smiles a cocky grin.

/

The new mutant is kind of old– you’re looking for a 19 year old with severe singing around his clothes, pale skin, and black hair. You suppose he’d be extremely frightened.

Most mutants don’t deal well with becoming different all so suddenly, let alone at the very late age of 19, when you could assume that you’re pretty much normal. So you and Jean are hoping to find him first– you figure you’re the two that could calm him down.

Unfortunately, you find Jubilee talking to him first. She’s okay, but she has a tendency to be a little too bombastic, as Jean says quite often.

“And there she goes.” Jean grimaces as Jubilee taps the new mutant’s shoulder, and you pick up her saying that “she’s just like him,” which you’re not sure is a delicate way to deal with the topic.

There are crowds of people walking through the streets, too, and a lot of them are glancing at this yellow-jacketed girl talking to a boy with burnt clothes.

If you had found him, you would have brought him to the side, away from people, and–

“His face turned white. He’s freaking out.” You tell Jean, and her eyes narrow.

Bobby, Rogue, and Kitty are nowhere in sight, so this is just one weird young adult speaking to another one, and you really, really wish the rest were here. You, Jean, Logan and Scott are a bit older– perhaps comforting in your age– but you feel like the boy would’ve done well with more peers.

Jubilee raises her hand as you and Jean approach her. “Guys, I got it under control. See, Kyle, these are more people like us. More mutants.”

“...” Kyle looks on in disbelief.

“Kyle?” You try, and he looks at you– there’s something in his eyes that tells you he wants to trust you, but he’s scared– it reminds you of yourself. “We’re here for you if you want us to be. Take your time. Don’t worry.”

You smile, Jean smiles, Jubilee grins, and Kyle seems okay.

It lasts for about two seconds.

Someone drops what sounds like a glass bottle in the distance, and the shattering sound is enough for Jubilee to gasp, a little spark of fireworks launching from her fingertips, towards Kyle, who watches on in trepidation, and his body starts shaking, moving of it’s own accord, clearly reacting to being so close to another form of heat– and you and Jean move, as you yell out “Wait!–”

Kyle shrieks in fear as his body becomes overtaken with flames, combusting with such intensity that the flames roar at least 100 feet over, and Jean– Phoenix that she is– is able to withstand the heat, but you find yourself being pushed back by hot gusts of wind.

It hurts, it feels as if your skin is melting with every passing second. You grit your teeth, trying to breathe as Kyle loses control of his body, and you open your wings, deciding that flying off into the cool air would be a better alternative.

That was a mistake on your part.

The moment you open your wings, Kyle’s fire pushes you backwards, and up, into the hot air, and your wings catch fire as you come too close–

You scream, but it’s unheard through the roar of the flames, and you barely have time to catch yourself as you fall towards the ground, smoking, fiery tendrils engulfing you.

The last thing you remember is your mother’s face.

/

Logan sees it happen from a distance.

Scott wanted him to be as close as possible, something about keeping watch on him– and Logan gets it, he’s not always the most responsible, but later on, in hindsight, he wishes he was, because then he wouldn’t have missed what happened to you– and they both turn as a fire overtakes a block of the city.

“Shit, that must be him!” Scott starts running, Logan not far behind.

It’s only when he sees a pair of white wings, a woman flying up, up, up, the fire approaching dangerously close to her– to you– he starts speeding up, overtaking Scott, pushing people out of the way.

Logan wonders what he could do, anyways. He’s invincible, practically, incapable of taking on much damage as his regenerative abilities heal him– perhaps he could run to the kid and knock him out, sustaining burns in the process, but better him than you.

Never you.

Any second now– Logan sees the boy, and he’s got an open fist ready to lightly tap the back of his neck.

He’s not fast enough. Scott yells out, and Logan looks up to see you engulfed in flames, as you scream, and it’s awful to hear– usually you seemed so speedy, so ready to fly at a moment’s notice, that Logan forgot you could be hurt.

He calls out your name. It’s unheard by you as you crash on the ground, still burning– Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue have caught up to you from the other side of the street, and Bobby quickly makes an icy mist that subdues the flames on you, and Kyle’s roaring fire back into him.  

You’re unconscious as the X-Men approach you. 

Logan touches your face as he kneels next to you, the only one willing to come close right now. “Hey, Angel…”

There’s that unspoken fondness between you two, yet again. Everyone knows, even when Logan has tried to act cool about it. Even now, when Logan attempts to act like he isn’t totally hanging on to your potential words, searching for a breath, a little movement of your head. 

Jean, Scott, Jubilee, and the rest look on in trepidation.

You don’t respond, and he feels his heart plummet. You’re covered in burns, mostly across your stomach and back, and he inhales sharply as he turns you over– there’s fresh, scalded skin, crispy-red to the touch.

Your back, your wings– they’re damaged so badly, with feathers singed straight off, the muscular appendages more visible and wounded, and Logan doesn’t know if you’re alive. He almost removes his hands from you, the very thought seeming to scald him from the inside, and he glares at the kid– the one who looks terribly guilty, now, as he runs away.

“Get back here!” Kitty shouts at him, anger in her eyes, and Scott pulls her aside, explaining that it was clearly an accident of sorts– something that Jean confirms for him with a nod of her head.

Right, Jean. Logan knows that if anyone could confirm if you’re alive, it would be her.  

As Scott, Kitty, Bobby, and Jubilee go hunting for the kid– Rogue stays behind because she’s always felt close to you and Logan– Logan looks up at Jean in a solemn, teary-eyed look that has her understanding immediately.

“C’mon, Angel… stay with us.” She mutters, as she presses her fingers to your head, and she smiles comfortingly at Logan.

“She’s still here. Just barely, but still here.” Jean says, and Logan sighs, an angry, long sigh that tells Jean and Rogue that he’s going to be insufferably feeling at-fault here, even though no one is.

“Let’s go.” He picks you up, feeling the burnt skin through that damn tank-top, now barely being held together as tatters– for modesty’s sake, he takes off his flannel and wraps it around you.

Rogue lets Logan and you walk forward a bit, not wanting him to hear what she’s about to say, and then looks towards Jean. “He really loves her, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Jean exhales. “Let’s hope for his sake that she’ll be okay.”

/

Stupid bitch! You’ve been nothing but a curse on this family– fuck you, I hope your future daughter is just as fucked up as you are–

You awake suddenly, with a loud gasp and yell, your mother’s last words to you flashing on your mind– you attempt to pull yourself forward restrained back by tubing in your arm. You’re stuck in a bed. In a hospital bed of sorts.

Not just any hospital bed, one in the hospital wing of the X-Mansion.

You’re calm, at first, until there’s a sudden ache echoing from your back, through your body, through your wings.

“Ah–!” You groan in pain. Trying to move suddenly has hurt you.

There’s a knock at your door. It’s Beast– or, Dr. Hank McCoy, as he’s better known around the hospital wing.

“You’re awake.” Hank says in relief. “It’s been a few days since your accident.”

“It has?” You widen your eyes in shock. “How, w-what… am I okay?”

The last thing you remember is Kyle exploding in flames, causing you to catch fire– then you blacked out, and– you’re having terrible memories of your mother.

“Hank?” You mutter, and he’s quick to come to your side, blue paw-hand holding your own.

“My mother didn’t…”

“No, she’s not here. She’s never come close to you. You’re safe.” Hank states, as Charles has told him to, remembering the few times you’ve had to come to the hospital wing for comfort before. 

So many mutants have troubled backstories, and he doesn’t quite understand why you don’t try to connect with others about it. Hank feels it could really help, but you’ve always changed the subject away from you.

You’re hurt, mentally, in a way that no one can really fix, and Hank is a big believer in letting people progress when they need to– but he’s so glad that you’ve bonded with Logan. 

“Am I going to be okay?” You tap the side of the bed, fears present in your eyes. “Last thing I remember is Kyle going crazy, and I– I got all burnt–”

“Yes, you’re going to be okay. We’ve administered lots of injections, topical ointments, everything that boosts your healing. You might have some scarring after this is all over, but no injuries. You’re very lucky, Angel.” Hank comforts you, and encourages you to lie back.  

“Lucky. Is that what you’d call a girl with a fucked up state of mind?” You murmur, and Hank shakes his head.

“We’re all fucked up.” Hank gets back up, leaving you in your room. “It’s a prerogative to being in the X-Men.”

You smile softly at that. He’s not wrong, but you wish, you really wish you could’ve just been that normal girl that your parents would’ve loved.

You look down at yourself. You’re wearing hospital scrubs, but there’s an unfamiliar fabric underneath the blanket.

Logan’s flannel is splayed across your stomach, a comforting, soft feeling that has you missing him almost instantly. Had he visited you, when you were unconscious, and decided to leave you this as a token, to help you feel at home? 

You lift it up, taking a deep smell of Logan’s signature scent– pinewood, smoke, and something kind of sweet, like… marshmallows? 

It makes you blush, but almost immediately after, you place the flannel back under the blanket. Logan doesn’t need your silly crush, your overt attachment, and you’re smart enough to keep that to yourself.

/

Logan hears from Hank that you’re awake, and although he wonders why Hank told him first, rather than Charles, or Jean, he’s glad to be the first one to see you.

“Hey.” He knocks on your door. To Logan’s surprise, he lets go of a breath he was holding– you don’t look horrific, you have some colour in your face, and there’s a soft smile on your lips when you see him.

You look just like Angel. His best friend. And he comes in real close, ruffling your hair as he often does, maybe more gentle because he doesn’t want to add any more pain.

“Hey, Logan.” You grab his hand, squeezing it with warmth, grateful to see him, before letting go suddenly and looking away bashfully, and he pauses, reminding himself not to think too highly of it.

“Angel. You’re feeling better?” He asks, and you motion for him to sit down on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel okay.” You stare at him. It’s only been a few days, but Logan looks kind of awful– he’s got some serious dark under-eye bags going on, and stubble that is slowly turning into a beard, and there��s an apparent worry on his face that makes you just want to comfort him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Logan tries to ward off your answer with a stern, one word reply, but you’re not having it.

“Really? You don’t look so great.” You say, not without tact. “I hope you weren’t all cooped up in your room, worrying about me.”

Logan makes a sound that’s half way between a sigh, and a laugh at how close you always seem to get to the truth.

“Alright, yeah. Yeah, I was worried to hell about you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He jokes, but your face falls.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m good now, I don’t…” There’s an air of seriousness coming from you, that Logan doesn’t typically see, something you usually don’t let yourself do. 

“Are you good? Let me see your back, Angel–” Before Logan can even move you to the side, you turn in defiance, letting him see that you are healing. There are still parts of your flesh, red and angry, but for the most part it seems okay, already far better than it was a couple days ago.

Logan breathes a sigh of relief, touching your wings with a tenderness that has you leaning into his touch, and he gently skims over a scar of yours, glad to see that you’re genuinely not as hurt as he thought– but you pull away quite quickly.

“See? You don’t need to care so much, I’m fine.” You sound accidentally very accusatory, but Logan is just as much of a stubborn asshole as you are sometimes, and he narrows his eyes.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He stares at you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends care about each other. Jesus, you’re the one who always– you’re always checking up on me, sneaking into my room, touching my face and arms and– how else am I supposed to take that?”

It sounds romantic, Logan realizes, after he’s spit all that out– and it does sound like he’s putting the blame of your dynamic on you. And, even worse, it’s all just out there in the open.

“Really. I’m not the only one who cares, Logan, you…” You shake your head, and instead pull his flannel out from under the blanket. “You left this for me. Why do you make it sound like it’s all just me?”

“Okay, fine, it isn’t. Leave it alone, Angel.” Logan pleads a little, his face turning red.

“You’re always acting like I’m gorgeous, you constantly hug me and lean into me, there was that time you let me sleep on top of you–” You continue, feeling more and more confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you sound like an asshole.”

Logan blinks, feeling the argument dissipate, as it often does, whenever you get close to confronting each other about feelings– you always manage to fly away.

He won’t let you, not this time.

“You didn’t. I am an asshole– I’ve never bothered to tell you how I feel.” Logan mutters, and the way your face blanches in fear, shyness, tells him to keep going, to push the boundaries. “I let my own stupid ego get in the way of actually caring about you, and I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’ve always– I really love you, Angel. And I’m sorry I never made you feel like that was true, I’m sorry that it’s taken until you got hurt for it to be real.”

You have an incredulous look on your face, one Logan wishes he could take a picture of and frame somewhere, because it’s genuinely funny, but then your lip quivers, and he feels like an asshole again.

You feel like an idiot. You think, all this time, what’s bothered you is that you’ve been avoiding the fire– the real ones, sure, but more the things your mother fostered in you. Your trust issues, the way how you hold people dearly in your heart but you can’t let them get close because you worry you’ll never be enough, it’s all been burning for years inside you, and you’ve never had to confront it until Logan decided to stoke the flames.

“It’s always been real for me, too.” You whisper, trying not to cry. “I just… I don’t always believe if people care about me, I never feel good enough to be something for anyone. It’s not you, Logan, it’s my mom, my upbringing, really.”

You give him a short, brief explanation of what your mom did– something you’ll surely expand on later, when it’s not so fresh, when you haven’t been literally burned recently, and the memories pain you more than ever– and Logan’s face turns sharp, his brows furrow, he’s clearly deeply angry by whatever you’ve just told him. 

“I’m stupid. I just assumed– it was me putting too much pressure on you. You shouldn’t have been on this mission, that’s fucking awful.” He finally says, and then scowls. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but fuck that lady.”

You snort at that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was never you– I’ve always loved you too, Logan, more than you know. I’m sorry I’m always running from you.”

“Oh, so you’re consciously doing that?” He teases, trying not to react too much to your proclamation of love for him, although his brain feels as if it’s short-circuited. He squeezes your hand, and you laugh.

“Yup. I’m almost glad I got hurt, if it makes us more serious.” You comment, but Logan turns glum at that.

“Don’t say that, Angel. I still feel bad about it.” Logan holds your face, caressing your cheeks, staring into your eyes, glad now that you’re not going to shove him away. “Next time, I’ll try to take the hits. I’ll live.”

“You don’t have to–” Before you can start rejecting Logan’s offer, he leans in really close, almost kissing you but not quite, his breath hot on your own mouth.

“I want you to live.” He murmurs, and you feel yourself turn warm at that. 

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s almost chaste, because Logan still isn’t sure how many of your walls he can break down in one day– but for once you’re quick to act in the opposite direction now, lifting tubes out of your arm (irresponsible as hell, Logan would say later on) so you can better reach his face, and you run your fingers through his hair as you kiss him, again, and again. 

It’s soft, pliant, and warm, and Logan doesn’t quite know what to say when you come back up for air, breathing deeply, body sweaty from both recovery and how intense this is– he feels around you, around your waist as he leans in again, and you giggle, pulling away for just a moment before kissing him again.

His hands are gentle, skimming over your body without trying to hurt the burns on your back– but Logan feels you clamber onto him, onto his lap, and then he feels the soft feathers of your wings as they pull themselves outward, into the open.

He opens his eyes, and grins in a wolfish manner. Maybe you’ve been changed by what happened, maybe you aren’t the same, but you’re his Angel now, and he prefers that.

He kisses you again.

[attapullman]

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

If you liked this, you may also enjoy on our syllabus Bob From Pi Kapp.

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head. 

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action. 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?" 

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester. 

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed. 

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg. 

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse. 

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily. 

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester. 

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!” 

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch. 

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house. 

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare? 

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face. 

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest. 

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe. 

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?” 

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself. 

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher. 

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder. 

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.” 

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you. 

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent. 

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good. 

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind. 

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right. 

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands. 

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses. 

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out. 

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light. 

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

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[mssalo]

safety - Part: III

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Panic episode/Paranoia, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, he sees stuff that isn't there, Mentions of war and combat-related trauma, Emotional manipulation, Power dynamics, Noncon/dubcon elements, Unstable mental state, Reader feeling conflicted. Joel needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.

10k

Enjoy!

Part I Part II Part IV Part V

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The soft afternoon sun filtered through your curtains as you did one last sweep of your small apartment, making sure everything was in place before heading out.

Your camping gear—neatly packed and checked twice—sat by the door, ready for another adventure.

This one felt different, though.

Maybe it was because you’d never gone so far out, or maybe because the spot had been suggested by Joel, the rugged, quiet man who came by at the supply store.

The thought of him made your stomach do a tiny flip, and you smiled to yourself, biting your lip.

Joel.

He was... intense, that was for sure.

Handsome in a way that took you by surprise—older, gruff, with that scruff on his jawline and those eyes that seemed to see right through you.

He’d been kind of closed off whenever you tried to talk to him, always giving short answers, but there was something about the way he looked at you.

You shook your head, grabbing your bag. Don’t get carried away.

Sure, he looked at you sometimes, his gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary, but that didn’t mean anything.

You were probably imagining it. After all, he was always so reserved, so hard to read.

And you? Well, you were... you.

He probably thinks I’m just a kid, you thought with a small sigh.

Cute, maybe, but nothing more.

You laughed at yourself, shaking your head as the trees closed in around you.

Stop it. Focus on the trip.

You weren’t here to daydream about handsome older men—you were here to camp, to prove to yourself that you could handle this on your own.

He was just... nice, in his own way. That was all.

You couldn’t help but smile as you tossed your gear into the backseat and slid behind the wheel, already feeling the excitement buzzing in your chest.

The open road stretched ahead of you, leading to the spot Joel had mentioned—someplace out past the ridge, quiet and secluded. It sounded like heaven.

The drive was peaceful, your fingers tapping the steering wheel as the scenery shifted from city to countryside.

The trees seemed to grow taller as you left the main roads behind, the air turning cooler and cleaner with every passing mile. You loved this—the sense of leaving the noise behind, of stepping into a world that was all your own. Out here, you could breathe.

The road eventually narrowed into a dirt path, and your car rumbled over the uneven ground as you followed the directions Joel had given you.

The sunlight flickered through the dense canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.

It was beautiful out here—quiet, untouched, with the kind of peace you could only find miles away from anyone else.

When you finally pulled into the small clearing, you felt your breath catch in your throat. Wow.

The space was perfect.

The trees formed a natural border around the clearing, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The ground was soft with pine needles, and the air smelled fresh and earthy, with just a hint of woodsmoke from somewhere far off.

You stepped out of the car, your boots crunching on the ground, and for a moment, you just stood there, taking it all in.

This is exactly what I needed.

You popped the trunk of your car, the warm breeze rustling through the trees as you grabbed your backpack and gear.

The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, casting a golden glow across the clearing, but you had plenty of time to set everything up before dusk settled in.

With a smile tugging at your lips, you slung the pack over your shoulder and took a deep breath of the crisp, earthy air.

It smelled like pine and moss, with just a hint of the nearby sea.

Perfect.

First things first—the tent.

You dropped your backpack onto the ground and knelt beside it, unzipping the side pocket where you’d stashed the tent poles.

Your fingers brushed over the cool metal, and you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you pulled them out.

These damn poles always give me trouble.

You spread the tent fabric over the grassy spot you’d chosen, carefully laying it flat and adjusting the corners.

The fabric crinkled under your touch, the sound almost lost in the hum of the wind and distant birdsong. The air was still, quiet, as if the forest itself was holding its breath while you worked.

With a determined sigh, you grabbed the poles and got to work.

The metal clinked softly as you tried to fit the pieces together, but as usual, they resisted you. You grumbled under your breath, fumbling with the last stubborn connection.

After a few minutes of struggling and a minor battle with the pole that just wouldn’t line up right, you finally secured the tent frame, the fabric puffing up as it took shape.

Not bad, you thought with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

The tent stood proudly in the clearing, and you wiped a bit of dirt off your hands, brushing them against your jeans.

You weren’t done yet, though.

With the tent in place, you moved on to your cooking supplies. You pulled out your small camp stove, some pots, and a few basic utensils, setting them neatly near the fire pit.

Everything had a place, and you liked knowing where everything was. Organization was important to you—it gave you a sense of control, made you feel prepared for anything.

It was comforting, like you were creating a little slice of order in the middle of the wilderness.

As you set down your cooking gear, your gaze flicked up toward the treeline, where you could just make out the glimmer of the sea through the trees.

The light reflected off the water like tiny diamonds, and you felt a pull in your chest, a desire to sink into that cool water after all your hard work.

Soon, you thought, grinning to yourself.

Just a little longer.

You double-checked your setup, making sure everything was where it needed to be.

The tent was secure, the cooking supplies organized, and the fire pit was ready for later. With everything in place, a sense of accomplishment washed over you.

The silence of the clearing felt peaceful, almost sacred, as if this place had been waiting just for you.

You took another deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs, and as you exhaled, you felt lighter, freer.

It was just you and the wilderness now, the weight of the world falling away. And with that thought, you couldn’t resist any longer.

You straightened up, glanced back at the sea shimmering in the distance, and a surge of excitement bubbled up inside you.

Without thinking, you raised your arms toward the sky and let out a loud, joyful, “Wooooohooo!”

Your voice echoed through the trees, the sound dancing on the wind.

You couldn’t help but laugh as the echoes faded, your heart pounding with exhilaration.

It was a small victory, this moment—being here, in this beautiful place, by yourself.

“Thank you, Joel!” you called out, a grin stretching across your face.

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the wind or to yourself, but it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t here, but somehow, it felt right to thank him.

After all, he had recommended this place, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the suggestion. You stood there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle in again.

Then, with a smile still tugging at your lips, you turned toward the path that led to the sea.

It was time to reward yourself with a swim, to feel the water against your skin, cool and refreshing.

This is going to be a good trip.

And who knows? you thought, maybe I’ll come back and tell Joel all about it.

· · ──────

Joel had been watching her since she arrived, hidden in the treeline, his gaze sharp and steady. His truck was parked a ways back, well out of sight.

He’d walked the rest of the way, making sure to stay quiet as he moved through the brush, his boots silent against the earth.

He was always careful—old habits from his time in the military never died, and neither did his instinct to remain unseen.

Joel watched her step out, wide-eyed and eager, like she hadn’t the faintest clue about the dangers lurking in a place like this. Even though he’d told her where to come, seeing her here alone had set him on edge.

He had to protect her. Make sure she was safe.

She started setting up her camp, fumbling with the tent poles like he expected she would.

His lips twitched in amusement as she muttered to herself, the poles giving her more trouble than they had any right to.

He watched her struggle, clumsy but determined, and despite himself, he felt his chest tighten again, that same damn feeling that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching her like this, but the more he told himself that, the more his feet stayed planted. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against a tree as he kept his eyes on her.

She was smart—he could see it in the way she double-checked everything, making sure the tent was secure, the cooking gear laid out just so.

She wasn’t careless, not exactly. Just… naive.

Still, something about her innocence, her softness, drew him in, despite his better judgment.

As she finished up, he was about to move, maybe head back to his truck and give her some space, but then she did something that made him freeze.

She raised her arms to the sky, her voice bursting out of her in a loud, joyful, “Woooohooo!”

Joel tensed, his instincts flaring, his hand instinctively hovering near his belt. The sound had startled him, snapping him into high alert.

He scanned the area, eyes narrowing, but there was nothing.

Just her. Alone. Safe.

Relief washed over him, but then he felt something else—a strange amusement creeping in.

She wasn’t screaming out of fear. No, she was celebrating, shouting into the empty wilderness like it was hers to claim.

She laughed, carefree and so full of life that it almost… unsettled him. His chest loosened, and before he could stop himself, a low chuckle rumbled deep in his throat.

She had no idea he was there, no idea how close he was.

Then, to his complete surprise, she threw her head back and shouted, “Thank you, Joel!”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up, the words hanging in the air between them, the sound of her voice almost too sweet.

His grip on his belt relaxed, his pulse slowing as he realized she was… thanking him.

For this. For bringing her here.

His amusement deepened, and he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, and Joel leaned forward slightly, his voice a low murmur as he whispered under his breath,

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

He watched her for a moment longer, her happiness infectious despite himself. She was something different, that much he knew. Something soft in a world that had long since hardened him.

And as much as he knew he should leave her alone, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Not now.

Not when she was out here, completely unaware of the dangers that could surround her at any moment. Because that’s what he was here for, wasn’t it?

To keep her safe. To make sure nothing happened to her.

Joel watched her from the shadows, still on high alert as she busied herself around the campsite. His amusement had faded, replaced by that familiar tension coiling in his chest, the constant need to keep her safe gnawing at him.

It didn't sit right with him, her being out here all alone.

She had no idea what kind of dangers lurked out in the woods, no clue just how vulnerable she was. He clenched his fists, eyes narrowing as he kept his distance.

She was endearing, sure.

Sweet, even.

But that sweetness was going to get her killed if she wasn't careful. And as much as he wanted to keep his distance, to leave her be, he couldn't. She needs to be protected, he thought, his jaw tightening.

She doesn't even realize how easy of a target she is.

He kept his eyes on her, watching every movement with a careful precision. It wasn't just about keeping her safe from wild animals or the natural dangers of the wilderness.

People-men-could show up.

She was vulnerable in more ways than one, and Joel knew just how ruthless the world could be. His mind was spiraling again, his paranoia threatening to take over, when he saw her heading toward the small lake just beyond the campsite.

His eyes followed her, every muscle in his body tensing as he realized what she was doing.

She was undressing.

Joel's breath caught in his throat as he watched her pull her shirt over her head, her soft skin catching the light of the fading sun.

His mind screamed at him to look away, to respect her privacy, but his body betrayed him, his eyes glued to her every movement.

She dropped her shorts next, standing there in nothing but her underwear, the curve of her waist and hips on full display.

Joel's chest tightened, that familiar, unwanted heat rising inside him. He swallowed hard, his grip on the tree next to him tightening.

All the blood rushing to his cock.

But then she did something that made his blood boil.

With one fluid motion, she unclasped her bra, letting it tall to the ground.

His eyes locked onto the bare skin of her back, the soft curves of her body now fully exposed. She bent down, slipping out of her underwear, her entire form now vulnerable and exposed to the world.

What the hell is she doing?

A surge of anger flared up inside him. She was defenseless, naked, out in the open with no protection.

If anything-anyone-were to show up, she wouldn't stand a chance.

His mind raced with worst-case scenarios, the kind of things he'd seen during the war, the kind of things that made his skin crawl.

She's making herself a damn target.

Joel's jaw clenched, his fists tightening as he took a step forward, every instinct screaming at him to go to her, to tell her to put her damn clothes back on, to stop being so careless.

But then he froze.

His eyes swept over her again, this time with less anger and more... something else. The tension in his chest shifted, the fire in his veins cooling to a slow burn as he watched her step into the water, her body moving with a grace he hadn't noticed before.

Her bare skin glistened in the fading light, soft and smooth, the curves of her hips and the lines of her back almost too perfect.

She moved so effortlessly, her body swaying gently as she waded into the water, unaware of the eyes on her.

Joel's breath came out in slow, uneven bursts as he watched her. His anger faded, replaced by a twisted sense of admiration.

She was beautiful-there was no denying that. Her body was soft, untouched by the harshness of the world. His eyes traced the curve of her waist, the way her plump ass shifted as she walked deeper into the water.

Joel's chest rose and fell, his breathing heavy as he watched her.

His hand twitched at his side, his mind warring between the desire to protect her and the desire to... take her.

Take her - right here, right now on the forest floor.

His gaze followed the curve of her back, the way her hair floated around her in the water.

She was so oblivious, so innocent, completely unaware of the dangers around her.

And that was what enraged him—the recklessness, the vulnerability.

She had no idea how exposed she was, not just to the world but to him. The thought gnawed at him, tearing at the edges of his resolve.

He should have been disgusted with himself for standing there, hidden in the shadows, watching her like this. But the desire twisted deep inside him, growing stronger the longer he stared.

Joel swallowed hard, his throat dry, as his eyes roamed lower, taking in every inch of her.

The tightness in his jeans was almost painful, his cock pressing hard against the denim, aching in a way that made his breath catch in his throat.

The war inside him raged on.

His mind wavered between the desperate need to protect her and the darker, more primal urge he had no right to feel. He wanted to shield her from the world, from the dangers lurking just beyond the trees.

But at the same time, he wanted to take her in all ways possible, to claim her as his. To fuck into her small body. To make her understand just how much she needed him.

No. Stop.

Joel leaned against the tree, his knuckles white as he fought to steady his breath.

His breath hitched as she resurfaced, water cascading down her bare skin like liquid silver.

The way the sunlight danced across her damp figure, catching on every curve and hollow, made her look almost unreal—like something ethereal, pulled straight from a dream.

Her skin shimmered in the fading light, her hair slicked back, clinging to her neck and shoulders in wet strands that only accentuated the softness of her features.

She didn’t belong out here.

She looked too delicate, too pure for the wildness surrounding her.

The contrast between the untamed wilderness and her serene, almost angelic form sent a shiver down his spine.

She was grace in motion, completely unaware of how vulnerable she was.

Each movement she made, each ripple in the water as she waded further in, was almost hypnotic, drawing him in deeper.

He had seen a lot in his life—too much.

The ugliness of the world had hardened him, left him numb to the softness it still had to offer.

But now, watching her, something in him cracked.

It wasn’t just the lust. It was something else.

Something about the way she seemed to glow in the dying light, so peaceful, so unburdened by the weight of the world.

She was everything he wasn't—everything he’d lost a long time ago. Ethereal, untouchable, and yet here she was, right in front of him.

Joel felt the pull again, that urge to protect her, to shield her from the darkness that had consumed so much of his life. But more than that, he wanted to keep her for himself, to have her softness against all his rough edges.

And in that moment, he realized, there was no going back.

Joel's jaw clenched as she started to wade back toward the shore, the water slipping down her body, revealing more of her as she emerged. The way the droplets glistened on her skin, made it impossible for him to tear his eyes away.

His pulse quickened, the primal urge to keep watching nearly overwhelming him.

But then, Joel forced himself to look away.

Not yet.

His fists tightened at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

He wanted to see her fully, to drink in every inch of her-but not like this.

In due time.

The thought stirred something deep inside him, the hunger gnawing at him even more fiercely.

He swallowed hard, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls.

Joel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down, forcing his gaze back to the safety of the trees.

· · ────

The sun had finally dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows across your camp.

You moved around with a sense of contentment, the cool evening air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Everything felt peaceful—the kind of peace that you didn’t often get to experience in your daily life.

You set about lighting the small lantern, but as you reached for your flashlight to help navigate the growing darkness, a frown crossed your face.

“Where is it…?” you muttered, going through your bag again.

You checked each pocket carefully, but no flashlight.

You’d been so sure you packed it.

With a sigh, you knelt to check your gear one more time, shaking your head at your forgetfulness.

But then, there it was.

Sitting right in front of the tent flap, the flashlight gleamed in the soft light of the lantern, as if it had been there all along.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes in confusion.

“I swear that wasn’t there before,” you whispered to yourself.

It didn’t make sense.

You hadn’t seen it when you set up the tent, and you definitely would’ve noticed it while sorting through your gear. But after a moment of hesitation, you shrugged and picked it up, flicking it on to make sure it worked.

The beam cut through the growing twilight, casting long, gentle shadows over the campsite.

You felt a little silly for doubting yourself.

Maybe you were just distracted—too caught up in the excitement of the trip.

“Good job, brain,” you muttered with a grin, brushing off the strangeness as you moved on.

As you dug through your pack to prepare for dinner, your hand paused mid-search. You realized something else was missing.

Your lighter.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, slumping your shoulders in frustration.

This was supposed to be the easy part.

You sat back on your heels, glancing around camp, trying to figure out where you might have left it.

But before you could even get up to start looking, something caught your eye.

A lighter.

Sitting near the fire pit.

You squinted, taking a step closer. It wasn’t just any lighter.

It had a goofy design on it—bright colors with some sort of cartoon character.

You raised your eyebrows, picking it up and turning it over in your hand. The lighter had a ridiculous picture of a grinning, cartoonish frog on it, wearing sunglasses. Beneath it, the words “Coolest Camper Ever!” were printed in bold letters.

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of it breaking through your earlier frustration.

“What the heck?” you giggled, flicking the lighter on and watching the small flame flicker to life.

“Well, guess this’ll do,” you chuckled, tucking it into your pocket.

You had no idea where this thing came from—it certainly wasn’t yours—but it was too funny to care.

Besides, a free lighter was a free lighter.

You couldn’t shake the feeling of oddness, though. Finding the flashlight and then this strange lighter? Maybe you were just a bit more scattered than usual, but still… it was weird.

You shook it off, letting the humor of the situation lighten your mood as you went back to your tasks.

· · ────

Joel moved like a shadow through the trees, his steps soundless on the forest floor. Years of survival had taught him how to blend into the background, how to become invisible when needed.

This wasn’t his first time sneaking up on someone—far from it—but something about doing it now, with her, made his chest tighten.

It wasn’t the same as before.

No enemy patrols, no immediate danger. But there was a weight to this, a tension that hadn’t been there for years. He was on edge, his senses heightened, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. Not once.

That fact gnawed at him, frustration bubbling under the surface. She was so damn easy to watch, so completely unaware of the world around her.

It bothered him how vulnerable she was, how easily someone could sneak up on her like this.

Like he was doing.

But that's different.

As he moved closer, crouched low among the trees, he caught sight of her bent over her bag, her back to him as she searched for something.

nice view.

Joel quickly dismissed the thought.

He narrowed his eyes, watching her every move, assessing the scene like he had a hundred times before in far more dangerous situations.She was clumsy, fumbling with her things, but she didn’t seem to care.

Didn’t seem to realize how exposed she was.

Joel moved closer, his heart beating steadily in his chest, the thrill of sneaking up on her stirring something dark inside him. He reached into his bag, picking up the flashlight with ease, his rough fingers brushing against the cool metal.

He considered leaving it there for her to find but decided against it. She didn’t deserve to fumble around in the dark. Not on his watch.

Instead, he stepped toward the front of her tent, staying just out of her line of sight.

He placed the flashlight down carefully, making sure it was in a spot where she’d see it right away.

Then, he stepped back, blending into the shadows, watching her from his cover.

The satisfaction he felt when she spotted the flashlight was immediate, that small spark of pleasure flaring up in his chest as she picked it up, her face lighting up with a smile.

She thought she’d just found it by chance, like it was some kind of lucky accident.

Joel’s chest tightened at the sight of her, the tension in his muscles easing for a moment as he watched her laugh softly, holding the flashlight like a prize.

Sweet, sweet girl, he thought, his lips twitching into a small, satisfied smile.

Helping her, watching her without her knowing—it stirred something in him, something deeper than just the need to protect.

He liked seeing her happy, seeing that soft, innocent smile on her face.

And maybe, just maybe, he liked knowing that he had a part in it.

But as she continued with her setup, completely oblivious to his presence, Joel’s satisfaction turned to frustration.

She was too trusting, too naive. Anyone could sneak up on her like this—hell, anyone could do worse. The thought made his stomach churn.

She was easy prey. He could see it. Anyone with the wrong intentions would see it.

That didn’t sit right with him. She should have been more aware, should have been on edge, watching her surroundings like he was.

Instead, she was just… carefree.

Smiling to herself, humming that soft tune, completely at ease.

Joel’s hand clenched around the lighter in his pocket, his thumb brushing over the ridiculous cartoon frog on the side.

He almost didn’t bring it—didn’t want to be caught with something so ridiculous—but it was the only spare lighter he had on him.

He’d groaned internally when he fished it out earlier, irritated by the childish design. But now, watching her, it felt like it fit. She was the kind of person who would laugh at something like that, who would find it cute instead of stupid.

Joel moved again, slipping the lighter out of his pocket and placing it by the fire pit while her back was still turned. He retreated quickly, his heart pounding a little faster as he watched her from the shadows.

Her reaction was immediate. She spotted the lighter, her eyes widening in surprise as she reached for it.

She held it up, inspecting the cartoon frog, and then let out a soft laugh.

Joel shifted slightly, his eyes still locked on her as she moved around the camp, still smiling to herself, still humming that soft tune.

A mix of pride and something darker twisted in his chest.

She’s doing alright, he thought, his eyes softening for just a moment.

She’s managing.

But it didn’t change the fact that she shouldn’t be out here alone. So damn easy, he thought, his grip tightening on the tree next to him.

She wouldn’t be easy prey for anyone else.

Not while he was around.

· · ────

The night had grown darker, the soft glow of her campfire flickering against the tall trees.

The shadows seemed to stretch and shift as the wind rustled through the leaves.

She was oblivious to how exposed she was—how vulnerable. Joel could see it, though, with each breath he took, his eyes fixed on her.

Then it happened.

A sudden thud and a sharp, startled yelp echoed through the still night air.

His body reacted immediately.

Joel’s heart lurched, and his mind instantly raced back to those moments he tried so hard to forget—those moments where a single sound could mean life or death.

His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. His hand reflexively reached for his knife, muscles coiled, his senses heightened. Without thinking, he moved forward, his feet silent against the earth, ready to act, ready to fight.

His breath came fast and hard as his eyes locked onto her form.

She was sitting, clutching her knee, her face twisted in a mix of pain and frustration.

“Stupid root,” she muttered to herself, clearly frustrated.

She wasn’t in any real danger—just a small cut, a scrape from tripping over one of the tree roots near her tent.But Joel couldn’t process that right away.

All he saw was blood.

And in his mind, that blood meant danger.

His fingers twitched around the handle of the knife, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as the past threatened to swallow him whole. Memories slammed into him—the screams, the gunshots, the sight of bodies crumpling to the ground.

He couldn’t lose her, too.

His mind flashed back to another time, another place, where he couldn’t protect someone. Someone who depended on him.

No. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

Not with her.

She shifted, wincing as she gingerly touched her scraped knee, bringing Joel back to the present.

His chest heaved with heavy, erratic breaths as he forced himself to focus on her—on the here and now.

She wasn’t hurt. Not really. But she was vulnerable. Alone.

And she had no idea how easily that could change.

Joel gritted his teeth, the panic still clawing at the edges of his mind, even as he crouched back into the shadows, watching her, making sure nothing else was lurking in the dark. His grip on the knife loosened, but only slightly.

Her yelp still rang in his ears, echoing in his mind like the sounds of explosions, of soldiers calling out for help, of people he couldn’t save.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe, trying to pull himself out of the spiral, but the need to protect her—to keep her safe—burned hotter than anything else. It consumed him.

Joel blinked, his eyes snapping open, refocusing on her.

She was bandaging her knee, her movements slow but steady.

She didn’t realize how close she’d come—how easy it was for something to go wrong.

She never did.

Joel swallowed hard, pushing the memories down deep where they belonged, forcing himself to stay in the present. She finally stood up, brushing herself off with a soft sigh of relief, and Joel let out a shaky breath of his own. She was okay. For now.

But that fear, that suffocating terror of losing her, lingered in his chest, gnawing at him, refusing to let go.

As Joel watched her by the fire, his mind began to drift, despite his efforts to keep it anchored in the present.

He should’ve been focused, alert, scanning for threats the way he used to on patrols. But tonight, his attention wavered, his thoughts tugging him back to a place he’d rather forget.

The darkness around him wasn’t just the night anymore.

It felt like the blackness from years ago, the same emptiness that had swallowed him whole when the world had gone to hell.

The firelight flickered against her face, soft and warm.

A shadow of something ugly crept over his chest, a weight pressing down on him as memories surfaced.

Old sounds echoed in his ears—the screams, the gunfire, the deafening silence that always followed. He blinked hard, trying to shove it all away, trying to stay here, in the now.

But the harder he fought, the more it pressed in. His jaw clenched as he inhaled deeply through his nose, his fingers digging into the ground beneath him, grounding himself.

He wasn’t back there. Not anymore. He was here, with her.

Watching her.

Focus.

But the silence around her, her obliviousness to what could be lurking in the shadows—it made him feel the same helplessness he had felt back then.

It crawled under his skin, a sickening reminder of what happened when you let your guard down, when you trusted too much.

His heart pounded in his chest as the old memories of blood and failure threatened to overwhelm him.

He couldn’t lose control. Not here. Not now.

He was responsible for her, for keeping her safe. That’s what mattered. That’s why he was out here in the dark, crouched behind trees, sneaking around like a damn ghost.

But the sight of her, so unaware, so damn vulnerable, gnawed at the edges of his mind, warping the lines between past and present.

A flash of something dark ran through his mind—her, crumpled, broken, hurt, blood on her soft skin. He blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting off the images.

No.

Not her.

It was just his mind playing tricks on him. The way it always did.

He forced his eyes open again, and there she was—still sitting by the fire, completely unaware of his presence. Alive. Unhurt. Fine.

But the fear wouldn’t leave him.

He’d seen too much, lost too much. And he couldn’t shake the thought that she was going to slip through his fingers just like everything else had. His muscles tensed, his hands shaking slightly as his breath came faster.

He had to stay calm, had to stay in control. But the firelight flickered against her skin, and the memory of another fire, another moment he couldn’t change, flickered in his mind.

He was back there, just for a moment—back in the dirt, the weight of the gun in his hands, the scent of burning wood and flesh thick in the air.

He blinked, shaking his head, trying to drag himself out of it. His fingers curled into fists, grounding himself in the rough texture of the earth beneath him.

She’s not them, he reminded himself again, his breath coming fast and ragged. She’s not them. She’s here. You can protect her.

But the fear was relentless.

His need to protect her was more than just that. It was the only thing tethering him to reality, to something other than the nightmares.

If he could keep her safe, if he could make sure nothing happened to her, then maybe he wouldn’t have to drown in the guilt and the memories that haunted him every night.

Joel wiped a hand across his face, the weight of it all pressing down on him as he forced himself to focus on her again.

His chest rose and fell with shaky breaths as he stood up, retreating back to the shadows. He would watch her, make sure nothing happened to her.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay for one more night.

· · ────

Joel’s breath hitched as he crouched in the shadows, his eyes darting toward every shift in the wind, every rustle of leaves.

Something wasn’t right.

The air felt thick, oppressive, like it was charged with danger, and his gut twisted painfully. He clenched his fists, trying to steady his breathing, but the nagging fear only grew stronger.

Something was out there. Someone was watching.

His mind flickered back to the war—how quiet the enemy could be, how they could slip through the trees, undetected until it was too late.

He was trained for this. He knew when something was lurking, waiting to strike. But this wasn’t like before. This was worse.

Joel’s jaw clenched as he scanned the treeline, eyes narrowing at the dark silhouettes of the forest.

The shadows moved, shifted in ways that didn’t make sense.

His heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat trickling down his neck.

They're out there. They want her. They couldn't take you - now they want her.

They’ll take her if you don’t move now.

The thought gripped him like a vice, and before he could stop himself, Joel was on his feet, moving toward her camp.

His hand was still wrapped tightly around his knife, his breath heavy and ragged as he stepped closer. His heart hammered against his ribs, every step bringing him closer to the firelight.

He could see her now—still by the tent, oblivious to what was out there, what was coming. He was sure of it.

The shadows… they were moving too fast. Too wrong. The enemy was here. He knew it.

His eyes widened, panic swelling in his chest. Move faster. Move before they take her.

“Joel?”

Her voice was soft, surprised, and completely unaware of the danger as she turned to face him. Her brow furrowed slightly, confusion flashing across her face as she stepped toward him.

But all he could see were the shadows.

Circling. Closing in.

Joel lunged forward, grabbing her arm with a firm, desperate grip. “We need to go,” he growled, his voice rough and frantic.

“What? Joel—”

“They’re here. Right there in the trees,” he rasped, eyes wild, scanning the darkness behind her. “We need to leave now. It’s not safe.”

She froze, her eyes wide with confusion as she looked around, trying to see what he saw. “I don’t—there’s nothing out there—”

“They’re coming for you,” Joel cut her off, his voice urgent, the raw panic clear in every word. His grip tightened on her arm, and for a moment, the fear in his eyes startled her more than his words.

“Joel, wait,” she said, her voice shaky, but she didn’t pull away. She could feel his hand trembling against her skin, his breath coming out in heavy, uneven bursts.

Her heart raced in her chest as she realized something was wrong. Really wrong.

There was no one in the trees. There were no shadows creeping toward her.

But Joel—he believed it.

She could see it in his eyes, in the way his muscles tensed, the way he scanned the darkness like a man hunted.

He wasn’t seeing what was real. He was lost in something else—something dark and terrifying.

Her stomach twisted with a mix of fear and empathy.

Joel wasn’t trying to scare her. He wasn’t trying to hurt her.

He was trying to save her.

But from what?

Joel’s eyes were wild, scanning the tree line as if any second something was going to leap out and drag her away. His grip on her arm tightened, his knuckles white, and his breathing erratic. She could feel the tension radiating off him, his whole body taut like a coiled spring ready to snap.

The way his gaze darted around, the sheer panic in his voice—she could tell he wasn’t seeing the same world she was.

“They’re here,” he repeated, his voice barely more than a growl. “Don’t you see ‘em? They’re in the trees, waitin’ for their chance. They’re comin’ for you. We gotta go, now.”

Her stomach flipped. She couldn’t see anything. The trees were still, the night was calm—nothing moved except the gentle sway of the branches in the breeze. There were no shadows, no figures lurking in the darkness.

But Joel… he was seeing something. Something awful.

For a moment, panic swelled in her chest, the weight of his fear pressing down on her like a heavy stone.

She wanted to pull away, to run, but she couldn’t leave him like this. His mind was trapped in whatever nightmare had a hold on him, and the only thing that seemed real to him was her.

He thought he was protecting her.

“Joel, listen to me,” she said softly, even as her heart raced. “There’s no one out there. It’s just us.”

But he shook his head violently, his eyes wide, unblinking. “No, no, no, you’re wrong.” His voice was strained, and for a second, she thought he might completely lose it. “They’re watchin’… waitin’. I can’t let ‘em take you. You have to come with me now.”

Her pulse thrummed in her ears, her breath quickening as she watched the battle raging behind his eyes. He was lost in something she couldn’t reach.

She glanced at the woods, her eyes scanning the same tree line, trying to see what he saw. But there was nothing. Only shadows and silence.

“Okay,” she said quietly, forcing herself to stay calm, though her fingers trembled as she gently placed her hand on his. “We’ll go. We’ll leave, alright? But you have to calm down.”

He blinked, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. His grip on her arm loosened, but only a little. His eyes flickered between her and the darkened woods, uncertainty clouding his face.

“Just breathe, Joel,” she whispered, keeping her voice steady, even though the fear still crawled beneath her skin. “We’ll go. I’m right here. Just breathe.”

For a moment, Joel seemed to hesitate, his gaze shifting between her and the unseen threat in the trees. His body was still rigid, his muscles coiled with tension, but her voice—her touch—seemed to reach him, if only just a little.

She squeezed his hand gently, her heart pounding in her chest.

“We’ll be okay, Joel. But I need you to calm down. I need you to help me. I can’t do this without you.”

“You’re the only one who can save me,” she whispered, forcing the words through her tightening throat.

He swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since this episode started. His eyes were still clouded with panic, but there was something else there now—something raw, almost vulnerable.

She was giving him what he needed: a sense of control, of purpose. If playing along helped ease his fear, she’d do it. She’d make him feel like he was saving her.

She didn’t let go of his hand. “Let’s go, okay? We’ll go to the car, and we’ll get out of here.”

Joel hesitated for another beat, his eyes darting back to the trees one last time before he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he rasped, his voice strained but quieter now. “But we need to move. Now.”

“Okay,” she agreed, giving him a small, shaky smile. “We’ll go.”

Her heart was still pounding, but she felt a wave of relief as his grip on her arm loosened.

The whole time, Joel’s eyes remained locked on the trees, his paranoia still burning beneath the surface.

She didn’t know what had triggered him, didn’t know what demons had clawed their way into his mind. But she knew one thing for certain—Joel wasn’t in control right now. His fear was.

And as they made their way toward the car, she glanced up at him, her mind racing.

He wasn’t just scared. He was terrified—terrified for her.

But she didn’t let go of his hand, squeezing it gently to pull him back, to ground him in the present. and uncertain, “ I can’t let them take you.”

“They won’t,” she promised, even though the terror in his voice made her own heart race.

“They won’t because you’re here. But I need you to focus on me, alright? Focus on keeping me safe.”

Joel’s eyes flickered again, his shoulders stiff with tension, but he nodded slowly, as if trying to pull himself out of the dark place he’d fallen into.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

She shook her head, brushing it off. “You don’t need to be sorry. Just stay with me, okay?”

They reached the car, and she gently guided him toward the passenger seat, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. He hesitated, looking back at the woods one more time, his brow furrowed in deep suspicion.

But when she opened the car door, he finally climbed inside, his breathing still uneven, but not as frantic as before.

As she slid into the driver’s seat, she glanced over at him, her mind racing.

She didn’t know what exactly had triggered him, but she knew she had to get him away from here, had to bring him back to some kind of safety.

He needs help, she thought again, her heart heavy with the weight of the realization.

And despite everything, she couldn’t help but feel the strange mix of fear and concern that tied them together in this moment.

· · ────

Joel’s fingers twitched, his hands balling into fists in his lap as he stared out the windshield, still scanning the woods. The shadows played tricks on his mind, flickering with movement that wasn’t really there.

His chest was tight, his pulse still pounding in his ears.

But when he looked over at her, sitting there, waiting for him to calm down, something inside him clicked.

He couldn’t let her drive. Not like this. Not when the road might not be safe.

“Move over,” he muttered, his voice rough, but less frantic now.

He reached for the keys in the ignition, and she blinked in surprise, her brows furrowing as she glanced at him.

“Joel—”

“I’ll drive,” he said, his tone final, leaving no room for argument.

His gaze flicked toward the dark trees again, the unease still crawling under his skin, but there was a steady determination in his voice now.

“I need to make sure we get outta here.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her eyes soft with concern as she studied his face.

But then she gave a small nod, understanding that he needed this—needed to feel like he was in control again.

Wordlessly, she slid over to the passenger seat, and Joel settled behind the wheel, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly.

He didn’t waste any time, starting the car and pulling onto the narrow dirt road.

The tires crunched over the gravel as they drove away from the campsite, the darkness closing in around them, but Joel’s focus was sharp now.

His jaw clenched as he kept his eyes on the road, his mind still racing, still half-expecting something to jump out from the shadows.

But there was something grounding about the feel of the wheel beneath his hands, the engine rumbling under his control.

“She’s safe,” he reminded himself. “I’m getting her out.”

The thought repeated in his mind like a mantra, pushing back the lingering panic that had gripped him so tightly just moments before.

He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Not now. Not ever.

He glanced over at her, just for a second, seeing the way she sat quietly beside him, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes flicking between him and the road.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t press him, but he could feel her presence calming him, bringing him back to the present.

But beneath the surface, the fear still simmered, the paranoia still gnawing at him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still out there, watching, waiting. And that made his grip on the wheel tighten even more.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear.

She glanced at him, her expression softening. “You don’t have to apologize, Joel.”

But he did. He had to apologize for putting her in danger, for not being able to protect her. He wasn’t enough, not in that moment. And that thought alone ate at him, twisting in his gut.

The road stretched out in front of them, the trees looming in the distance, and Joel’s mind remained focused, laser-sharp, as he drove them toward safety.

Toward his home.

Where he could keep an eye on her.

Where he could make sure nothing would ever hurt her.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

well…. that was intense.

(she’s better than me I would’ve ran away screaming)

Horny, people - I hope you can forgive me for not having real smut in this yet.. next chapter is going to be heated, get ready - it’s finally happening.

Again - comment if you want me to remind you when there’s a next part!

xoxo

[elliezato]

❀˙⋆Summer With You⋆˙❀

Pairing: Ellie x Reader

-Modern au!

Summary: You and your friends decide to rent out a cabin on the beach over the summer. This was your last summer before leaving for college, so you wanted to make it memorable. This summer was going to be perfect. You spent your days in the water, taking In the moments in the sun with your friends.

It didn't take long for you to realize your feelings for your best friend Ellie.

The way her wet hair drips down her shoulders as she gets out of the water. The way her fingers strum the guitar as you gather around the fire. The way the stars light her eyes during late night swims. The way her smile grows when she’s with her girlfriend… It's all too much.

Will these feelings ruin your friendship and the whole summer? What will happen when it's time to leave Ellie behind for college?

Word Count: 4.4k

⋆˚✿˖°

a/n: Im back!! I've been in the summer mood recently and I just need to be laying out by the lake rn. I recently read "SYNS" by carmellie and was inspired to make this! I've really been wanting to write a slow burn, angst fic so I hope this turns out good.

I will probably split this story into a few parts depending on how long I want this to be.

This will be my first real fic because honestly I've only written smut in the past and I'm not sure if I like writing stuff like that. I might add a little bit of it every now and then in my stories but it's not something I want to continue to write.

Anyway, I'm super exited for this story! Please give me ideas for future chapters! I love to hear feedback on how to improve or what you guys like.

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Packing your bag was the only thing you weren't looking forward to doing on this trip. You always over packed and struggled to fit everything in your bags. Clothes and shoes were thrown all over your room as you pick out what you should pack. This trip is going to be 2 months long so you need enough clothes to last through the summer but not too much that your car will be over flowing.

"Eww, do not bring that" Dina says in disgust as you hold up an old one piece bathing suit from freshmen year.

You knew she was right, but you didn't have many options when It came to bathing suits. You packed it anyway, along with some other suits from the previous summer. The sun shined through your window, lighting up the room. It was almost noon and you needed to leave soon. The drive to the cabin would take the majority of the day so there wasn't much time to waste.

Dina helped you load your car with your bags. There wasn't a lot of room in the trunk but you two made it work. You slam the truck shut, making sure it wouldn't pop open from all the clothes. Your parents hug you goodbye in your drive way as you and Dina get ready to leave.

You get into your car and put the top of your convertible down. The breeze felt nice in your hair as you drove off. Music plays as you sing your heart out. This was going to be a good trip, you could feel it. Dina pulls out her digital camera and snaps a pic of you driving as your hair blows in the wind. Your sun glasses reflect the trees lining the road.

It's been a long time since you've been on a nice trip. Let alone with all your friends. Nerves start to build as you get closer to the cabin. Ellie and Jesse were supposed to meet you there. Recently it's been awkward with Ellie. Usually you two could talk for hours and spend every second together but things have been different.

⋆˚✿˖°

You noticed this sudden shift in your friendship during one of your sleepovers a few months ago. Ellie was sitting on the floor of your bedroom while you were getting ready for bed. She starts going on a rant about this girl she's been thinking about asking out. You don't know what happened but in that moment you felt this strange rage fill in your heart.

Ellie has always been open about girls she finds attractive but she's never made any moves. The thought of your best friend dating another girl upset you for some reason. You've never felt this before and decided to just let it go.

"She so pretty y/n! Like I really think I'm going to make my move" Ellie scrolls on her phone as she talks to you.

You look into the mirror while washing the rest of the soap off your face. "Go for it Els, you could probably pull anyone"

"Yeah, I know" Ellie says sarcastically, now putting down her phone.

She walks over to you and meets your gaze in the reflection on the bathroom mirror. Your eyes revert down to the counter. For some reason you felt your body tremble as she got closer. You couldn't understand why you were acting like this. You've known Ellie your whole life and never saw her as anything other than your best friend.

She picks up her toothbrush and you leave the bathroom. You lay in bed waiting for Ellie to finish in the bathroom. She noticed the sudden change in your demeanor. After a few minutes your friend turns off the lights and lays nexts to you in bed.

"You ok?" Ellie turns to look at you. Her hand rubs up and down your arm.

"Yeah, Im just tired" You lied. You were wide awake but the thoughts of Ellie swarmed your mind.

Things have been like this ever since then. Every time you guys hung out, you two always end up in awkward situations. You hated the fact that things felt like this. You almost convinced yourself that maybe your friendship isn't as strong and it use to be. Maybe you two are drifing apart. You prayed that this wasn't the case but it was the only logical way to explain the distance between you two.

⋆˚✿˖°

"Can we pull over? I have to pee and Im starving" Dina throws her head back into the seat.

"Yeah, I need to get gas anyway" You pull into a gas station and Dina runs in as you follow shortly behind her.

The area was very unfamiliar. There wasn't many people around. You walk inside the convince store and pick out a few snacks and your friend finishes up in the bathroom. You look over to pick out what you want and see a package of watermelon sour patch kids. These were Ellie's favorite. You guys use to walk to the gas station when you were younger and eat these on the curb in the summer heat.

You pick up two bags, one for yourself and one to give Ellie when you see her later tonight. Dina grabs her snacks and you pay. You quickly fill up your tank and get back onto the road. You put the top of your conferable back up now that it's getting darker and the air is cooling down.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Dina slept as you listed to music softly. Superache by Conan filled the car as your mind thought about Ellie. She was all you could think about for the rest of the drive. You were excited to see her, hoping she felt the same.

A few hours later you pull into the driveway of the cabin. You looked at the familiar car already in front of you.

"It looks like they're already here" You nudge Dina, trying to wake her.

You text the group chat, letting your friends know you arrived. As you get out of the car to help unload all your bags you hear your name being called out from a small distance. You look up and see Ellie and Jesse walking towards you to greet you and help with the bags.

"Y/N!! You guys took long enough." Ellie pulls you into a tight hug and then turns to Dina to welcome her.

Your eyes were glued to Ellie. She was dressed in a pair of jorts that ended a few inches above her knees. Her shirt displayed the album cover of her favorite band she took you to see last semester. She wore her old converse that probably need to be replaced sometime soon.

You guys walk into the cabin with all the bags. It was beautiful. Trees surround the land and fireflies lit up every now and then around the house. You could see a glimpse of the ocean from the front. You walk into the cabin and place your bags onto the floor.

"You guys have to see the view!" Ellie grabs your wrist to bring you to the backyard.

Dina and Jesse followed as Ellie opened the backdoor for everyone. As she opened the door you were met with the view of the beach in the distance. Lanterns lit the path leading down to a fire pit. Lights were strung across the yard, lighting up every inch. You closed your eyes and listened to the waves crashing in the distance and the bugs humming from the trees.

"Holy shit. This is insane!" Your eyes light up thinking about all the memories that are about to be made here.

"Lets go down to the beach!" Jesse says as he's already sprinting down to the sand.

"I'll be there in a minute, Im going to change into a bathing suit." You begin to walk back inside until you feel a tug on your arm.

"Come onnnn!" Ellie drags you down to the beach with everyone else.

There wasn't anyone on the beach. It was more of a reserved area for residents only. You kick off your shoes as you stumble down to the water. You watch as your friends run into the waves laughing and taking in the moment. Ellie looks over at you from the water smiling, motioning you to come in. You roll your eyes and walk into the water. It was oddly warm. You cringe at the fact you're still dressed in your clothes from the drive here.

You suddenly gasp as you feel yourself getting pushed into the water. "Hey!" You sit as waves crash over you.

Ellie looks down at you and laughs but it doesn't last long before Jesse pushes her in. "What the fuck!"

You're now laughing at the sight of her drenched in the water. She grabs your hand and helps you up as you two are now dripping wet. You look up and notice how bright the stars are here. Back home you can barely see the stars. The city isn't the best place for star gazing. You can feel your body start to shiver.

The wet cloths that cling to your body get colder by each second. Ellie notices and pulls you close. "Lets go back up and change"

You take your bag of clothes and bring it it your room. Your eyes widen when you realize the room you were sharing with Ellie only has one bed. You don't understand why you're in shock. You've shared a bed with Ellie many times in your life but for some reason you felt weird about it.

"Nice right?" She says as she walks past you into the room.

The room was nice. It was open and had big windows looking out to the ocean. You place your bags down next to the bed and pull out a pair of pjs. You feel her eyes on you as you walk to the bathroom to shower and change for the night.

You take your time getting unready. Turing on the shower as you slip out of your wet clothes. The water is hot and feels nice against your shivering skin. Fingers run through your scalp as you wash out the salty water, tasting it on your lips as it washes over your face.

You dry off your body and put on fresh clothes. You throw your wet hair up into a towel as you wash your face. As you exit the bathroom you notice Ellie is no longer in the room. You walk downstairs to the kitchen to see all your friends sitting at the island laughing.

"Were ordered pizza, I hope that's fine" Dina says smiling, then returning to her conversation

"Im literally starving, I could fuck up some pizza right now" You say as you sit and join them at the island.

"I think Cat is going to join us for a week. She's supposed to be here next Saturday" Ellie looks at you waiting for a reaction.

You immediately feel a frown forming on your face. You hated Cat. You hated how she practically stole Ellie from you, and now she's coming on your trip!? Ever since Ellie made her move on Cat they've been inseparable. She never referred to Cat as her girlfriend but you knew it was coming. The way Ellie looks at her. It hurts. You figured it was just because she doesn't spend all her time with you anymore. Maybe you're just jealous that Ellie's time is being taken up by someone else.

You were looking forward to spending time with Ellie on this trip and now she's inventing Cat? You felt your heart drop at the thought of Ellie spending the next week with her.

"That's exciting" You say as you force a smile but it's clear your upset.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door. "That's probably the pizza" Jesse gets up and walks to the front door.

You make your way over to the living room with a box of pizza in your hands. You place the box down on the coffee table next to the other boxes. Ellie hands you a glass of water as she takes a seat next to you on the couch.

"What movie are we watching?" You feel Ellie's body shift next to you as she grabs the remote to scroll through the options.

"Want to rewatch Bottoms? I don't think Dina or Jesse have seen it yet."

"YES!" She searches up the movie and hits rent without any hesitation.

⋆˚✿˖°

The night was nice. You rested your head on Ellies shoulder as you watch the movie. The boxes of pizza are practically empty except for the left over crust from Ellie that she refuses to eat. The movie was almost over and you could feel your eyes getting tired. You've already seen this move a million times so you decided to go ahead and go to bed.

"Where are you going" Ellie looks up at you as you remove yourself from her arms.

"Im going to head up to bed. Im tired from driving all day. I'll see you guys in the morning" You smile and say goodnight to Jesse and Dina.

"Okay, goodnight! I'll be up there right when the movie ends." She gives you a soft smile in return.

The bed was comfortable. It was easy to get settled in as you wait for Ellie's presence. Your eyes close as you wait for her. You could feel yourself drifting off until you hear the sound of the door opening. Your body turns towards the door and you open your eyes to see Ellie walking into the room.

"Sorry, did I wake you up" She quietly closes the door.

"No, I was still up." You watch as she pulls out her toothbrush from her bag and walks to the bathroom.

She eventually joins you in bed. Her body was close. You could feel her settling into the mattress. The widow was slightly open, allowing the sound of the waves crashing to fill the room. The fan kept the room at a cool temperature as you pull the covers higher up your body.

"Do you like Cat" Ellie breaks the silence and turns to face you in the bed waiting for a response.

Her face was close. You could feel her gentle breath on your cheeks as she waited for you to answer. You knew you couldn't tell her the truth. She's your best friend. There's no reason for you dislike Cat, but you did, but you couldn't tell her that.

"Yeah. Why?" Your response was cold and blunt.

"You just always change the subject when I bring her up or you just seem to always get upset." She frowns. "I just really want you to like her because I think I'm going to make things official with her."

You almost was to cry when you hear those words come out of her mouth. Your heart aches. You knew this was coming but you prayed it wouldn't happen. You wished things would fall through between them. You hated that you felt this way. You wanted Ellie to be happy. You really did but you've been letting your emotions get in the way.

"Do whatever you want Ellie" You turn to face the opposite way. You didn't mean for your response to come out as harsh as it did, but it was too late.

"This is exactly what I was talking about. I don't understand why you're being like this" Her voice is harsh. "Ever since I told you about Cat you've been so distant. I don't know why you're being like this but clearly you need space."

You feel her get up from the bed. "Where are you going?" You sit up and look at her.

"Giving you space. You obviously are upset with me and I don't know why." She gets up and leaves the room.

You lay back down on your back as the tears that formed in your eyes begin to fall down your cheeks. Her words stung but she was right. You feel bad for being so short with Ellie, she doesn't deserve it. Your whole life you and Ellie have been so close. You told each other everything. The reason your friendship is changing was because of you.

After tossing and turning in the empty bed for a while you look over at your bag and see the candy you bought for Ellie but forgot to give her. You decide to get up and find her, still feeling bad about earlier. The room was dark and hard to navigate but you found the door. You walk downstairs to see Ellie laying on the couch. She's wrapped up in a small blanket, sleeping softly. You sit on the edge of the couch and look at her with a feeling of guilt settling in your stomach.

"y/n?" She slowly opens her eyes and looks at you.

"Im sorry Els." You look at her with damp eyes. "Im sorry I've been so distant and I'm sorry for being rude." You wipe your tears trying to gain composer.

Ellie sits up and wraps her arms around you, bringing you close to her body. She wipes your tears as she holds you. "Stop crying. Im not mad at you, Im just confused."

"I know and Im sorry" You rest your head on her chest.

You eventually lay down on the couch with her. There isn't too much room but you make it work. Your bodies press against each other as you close your eyes. Her arms are wrapped around your waist, still trying to calm you down. You quickly fall asleep, feeling that your friendship is returning to what it once was.

⋆˚✿˖°

You wake up alone on the couch, hearing chatter from the kitchen. Sitting up and looking over you see your friends making breakfast. The air smells of salt and pancakes.

"Look who's finally up" Jesse says teasingly as he flips a pancake.

"You hungry?" Ellie asks as she holds up a plate of food she had already prepared for you.

You get up from the couch and sit at the table. The kitchen had huge windows that had the perfect view on the backyard and the beach. The cabin was so pretty during the day. The sunlight lit up the whole house. You look up as you see Ellie placing a plate in front of you. She sits down and joins you for breakfast.

"Do you have any plans in mind for today" She looks up at you as she takes a bite of pineapple.

"I really want to explore this area and go to the beach." You smile at her as you spread the butter on your pancakes.

You put on your bathing suit and then some shorts over as a coverup. The weather was hot but not humid. There was nice breeze outside. There were a bunch of beach bikes on the side of the cabin for guest so you and your friends decided to explore on them.

Wind blew through your hair as you rode down the dirt paths from the cabin to the nearest sidewalk. Music played through Ellie's speakers as you rode. You eventually came across a small beach town with restaurants and shops. There were people walking through with friends and family enjoying the start of summer break.

You tied your bikes to a post and decided to walk around. "This place is so cute!" You take out you phone to take some pictures.

Dina points out a small local coffee shop and starts walking towards it. You guys enter the shop and order coffees to start your morning. Ellie wasn't a huge coffee person so she got a refresher.

"Els you need to try this!" You hand her your drink waiting for her to take a sip.

"No thanks. I really don't like coffee" She pushes your drink away.

"Seriously Ellie, its so good, you have to try it" You push your cup back into her hands.

She hands you her drink so you can try it as she takes a sip of your coffee. "This is disgusting!" She cringes as the taste of coffee lingers in her mouth.

She takes her drink back and washes out the bitter taste of coffee from her mouth. The coffee wasn't even strong, it was mostly washed out with a sugary creamer. You laugh watching Ellie's reaction to the coffee and took it back from her hands.

The town was small so it didn't take long to explore it. You guys planned on trying every restaurant here over the summer. The breeze from the ocean felt nice. The air smelt of salt and coffee.

You and your friends got back onto your bikes and rode down to the beach. The weather was starting to get warmer as noon approached. You set you bike up again the beach entrance and step onto the sand. You take off your shoes and toss them into your bag and walk down to the water. Ellie follows shortly behind and sits down on the towel that Dina places on the warm sand.

You join Ellie on the towel as Dina and Jesse head towards the water. "Im sorry about last night, I was just tired. I don't even remember why I was upset." You say looking at Ellie as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Y/n, it's really ok, I'm not mad. I just want us to go back to how we use to be" She admits as she meets your gaze.

"Me too" You smile and rest your head on her shoulder as you watch your friends splashing each other in the waves.

⋆˚✿˖°

The first week was perfect. You spent your days at the beach and cooking out in the backyard of the cabin. Jesse and Ellie set up hammocks in the back, so you guys could star gaze and talk until the sun starts to rise. Things were going better than you imagined. Your relationship with Ellie was better than ever. You two did everyone together.

"Cats going to be here in a few minutes!" Ellie impatiently checks her phone waiting for Cat's arrival text.

You sit at the island finishing your breakfast. The windows were open, allowing the fresh air to calm you down. You've been dreading this since Ellie first brought up the fact that Cat was even visiting. The thought of Ellie spending all her time with Cat made you sick. You didn't want to lash out again so you kept your feelings to yourself.

A ding from Ellie's phone interrupted your conversation followed by a loud knock at the door. "She's here!" Ellie jumped from her seat and walked over to the front door.

Cat stood at the entrance with her bag. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top with an opened button down on top. You took in the image of Ellie's face lighting up as she looked Cat up and down. You watched as she pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie leaded her into the kitchen with everyone else.

"Hi guys! Thanks for letting me stay for a few days" She smiles and then looks at you.

You return the smile but its obvious you're annoyed. Cat takes the hint and turns back too Ellie. They walk upstairs so she could put up her bags.

Dina looks over at you with a frown. "You ok y/n?"

"Yeah... why?" You look at her with a confused and saddened expression.

Dina caught on to your feelings for Ellie a long time ago. You've never admitted to them because honestly you never thought of Ellie in that way. At least not until recently. It's all been so confusing.

"She's only going to be here for five days, it'll go by fast" Dina tries to reassure you but it just makes things worse.

"I know, I think we'll have fun. And Ellie's happy" You try to convince your friends you're ok, and maybe you're trying to convince yourself too.

Ellie returns downstairs with Cats hand in hers. The sight makes you want to cry but you suck in your feelings and try to avoid them. You knew these next few days would be hard. Not only did you have to watch your best friend fall in love with someone else but you had to get rid of any feelings you have for her.

You didn't even know you liked her but it makes sense now. It's all coming together. Why did you feel this way? You've known Ellie all your life. Why are you just now realizing these feelings? The way she makes you feel when her fingers are running through your hair. The way she holds you close at night. The way she immediately drops everything when you need her.

Your thoughts shatter in your mind when you see Cats lips against Ellie's. You can't help but sit and stare. Ellie never told you they were official yet. Why didn't she tell you?

Your emotions took over and you left. You didn't know where you were going but your keys were in your hand and you were already half way to you car.

"Y/n!? Where are you going?" Ellie follows you as you walk out the door. Cat standing behind. She stands at the door frame as she watches you pull out of the drive way.

The air was much needed. You drove down the roads of the beach. tears building up in your eyes. You had hopes that this drive would distract you but the only thing on your mind was Ellie. Why did you let your feelings get the best of you again. She clearly doesn't like you. She has Cat.

You find yourself sitting in a cafe looking out at the beach. The thoughts Ellie holding you floods your mind. You hate yourself for feeling like this. What would she think if she knew about how you felt? Would this ruin everything between you two? Would your friendship be over for good?

You immediately snap out of your thoughts as you look down and notice a text from Ellie.

⋆˚✿˖°

a/n: Thank you for reading!! Im already working on the next chapter. I hope my writing gets stronger as I write more because I feel like this could be more detailed:( Please, please, pleaseeee give me feedback! I love hearing others opinions! Im excited to continue this story because honestly I have no idea where the plot is going to go yet. The next chapters should be longer as they come out. Im not expecting this to be too long but let me know what you guys want for the future chapters!<3

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Warning ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is his own warning, child gets hurt (nothing major), unruly mobs, poison, hanging tree

“Daddy!” Cassian Xanthos excitedly exclaimed, running over to Coriolanus as you followed behind him, your belly just starting to swell with your second child so you're still able to keep up with your little blonde rugrat.

“Did Mommy bring you here to help me run the country, Cass?” Your husband asked your son, who was his spitting image at 4 years old. The little boy had the same light platinum blonde curls, the same baby blue eyes, the same prominent nose, long legs, and toothy grin.

A grin that was missing something.

“I finally lost my tooth!” Cassian proudly announced, climbing up onto your husband's lap as he sat at his desk in his presidential office.

“Yeah? Let me see it.” Coriolanus beamed, giving your son a proud smile.

You couldn't help, but to melt at the interaction you were watching unfold before your very eyes. Coriolanus, despite being a cold, callous, stern, calculated, iron-fisted leader, was a very loving husband and father. Around you and your son, he was a different man. A man that let his guard down, let himself have emotions.

Coriolanus presented himself to the public as a hard man and rarely talked about his family. The only ones that knew how much his family meant to him was the presidential mansion staff. And they knew better than to cross their boss. The staff knew that if they wanted to keep breathing and assure that their families didn't wind up banished to the districts that it's best to ignore how soft the cold hearted President Snow was with his family.

“Cass, put your tooth under your pillow tonight and the tooth fairy will collect your tooth; give you a reward.” Your husband told your son, making the little boy smile and giggle in excitement.

Coriolanus made sure to incorporate all of those little traditions he grew up with. The ones Grandma’am had shared with him when he was a little orphan boy, growing up alone and afraid during a war.

“Last time I lost a tooth, the tooth fairy gived me a gold coin.” Cassian. Xandros chirped.

Coriolanus cringed at hearing his son's improper grammar. Looking down at his boy, your husband corrected him with, “It's the tooth fairy gave me a gold coin, not gived.”

“Okay.” Cassian simply smiled.

Looking away from the little boy in his lap and over to you, Coriolanus asked, “Have the maids finished packing our bags for our trip to 12?”

Your husband, being the President, had to take trips to the districts to deal with things. It was mostly meetings with PK commanders and mayors, sometimes a few other things such as productivity at a factory or a mine. But he never went into full details with you about it. You usually just had to deal with him bitching about the incompetent people he had to meet with.

You also got stuck attending dinners with the PK commanders, mayors, and their families. Coryo always brought his family along on his business trips for that very reason. So that his family could smooze with the family of whoever he was stuck meeting with. Your husband was all about networking.

“Yes.” You nodded, leaning against the edge of his desk and resting your hand on your barely there baby bump. “Paloma, placed the bags in the foyer of the living quarters; I think the chauffeur's loading them into the car soon.

“As soon as I'm done with my paperwork we'll head out.” Coriolanus informed you, picking up his pen and resuming his paperwork while letting his son sit on his lap.

“Okay, but why do we have to go to 12? We both hate it there, can't you just send one of your staff to handle whatever mine dispute is going on?”

“Darling, I can't send an assistant. I need to handle this myself because, apparently, the last time I sent an assistant nothing got done.”

“Daddy, why you and Mommy hate 12?” Your son innocently asked your husband.

You narrowed your eyes at Coryo, silently warning him that the story of you two’s past in 12 wasn't fitting for the ears of a 4 year old little boy.

Yea… Telling your son that Coriolanus and you met each other when he was a Peacekeeper (and that he was supposed to be Lucy Gray’s beau), that he paid for an apartment you shared (he was supposed to live in the barracks, but he always seemed to sneak in and out before wakeup call), and brought you back to the Capitol with him wasn't a good idea. He was too young; wouldn't understand.

Hell, you're hoping that Cassian never learns the truth about how you and Coryo got together. It's just too complicated. Maybe even somewhat embarrassing in a way.

Your husband gave your son his old puppy plushie from his childhood. It was a plushie that your son slept with. He had to take it with him during trips, or else he'd be up all night crying without it. Cassian Xandros couldn't sleep without his plushie, Puppers.

And Puppers couldn't be packed in the suitcase. No, your son has to carry that plushie with him when going somewhere. Sticking it in the luggage gives him panic attacks.

And dealing with a 4 year old having a panic attack’s no easy feat. Especially when that child's the carbon copy of Coriolanus Snow. Oh boy…the panic attacks that Cassian would have over thinking his Puppers was lost were on a whole different level.

Like the end of the world, the 2nd apocalypse, and WW4 type of level. The little boy was unconsolable while having one. You would always hold your son and assure him that everything was fine. You'd whisper reassuring words to him and comfort him while your husband would find the puppy plushie and shove it into your son's hands.

Safe to say, it was easier to just let Cassian carry Puppers the puppy plushie onto the train with him then to pack it up.

“Daddy, did you bring Puppers on trips when you was little?” Cassian Xandros asked his father while sitting on his lap, looking out the window of the Presidential train car your family had just boarded half an hour earlier.

“It's when you were little, Cass.” Coriolanus corrected your son’s grammar, like he always did.

You just smiled from your spot on the sofa, eating some fruit while watching your favorite boys. They're two peas in a pod. You know that Cassian Xandros is most likely going to follow in his father's political footsteps when he's older. You can see it already.

“No.” Coryo shook his head. A faraway look appeared in your husband's icy blue eyes as he looked out the window over your son's head of platinum curls. Looking down at the little boy in his lap, a thin line of a smile appeared on his face as he explained, “I didn't go on trips as a little boy because things were scary back then. Panem wasn't safe like it is now.”

Looking at his dad, who was his hero, Cassian asked, “And you make it safe, right daddy? Cause you's President?”

“Yes, your daddy makes the country very safe because he's the president.” You answered Cassian before Coriolanus had the chance to correct his grammar.

And it's true, your husband had put many laws, rules, and regulations in effect when it came to the law and order of the country; to keep Panem safe. To keep the country running smoothly. Your husband had seen many horrors in his short life, more than you and that's something considering that you grew up in the districts. Your husband had an obsessive need for control and order; it showed in his political policies.

You never got into it. As First Lady your job was to just smile, go to charity events, host tea parties, etc. Oh, you also collected gossip for your husband, that he used to make decisions about who he should and shouldn't eliminate. But, as First Lady, your role wasn't as a ruler- that was your husband's job. Coriolanus was the President, he oversaw the country and you’re just his sidekick.

“You're mommy’s right.” Coryo smiled, only to ruffle his son's light blonde curls and correct his grammar, once again, with, “And it's because you're President, not cause you’s President, Cass.”

The trip from Capitol City, Panem to District 12, Panem was a very long and boring journey. Traveling from the Rockies to Appalachia was always a soul sucking experience. You and your husband avoid traveling to District 12 like the plague, but unfortunately it couldn't be avoided. It seems that the route was long and full of nothing to look at, but a few old crumbling ruins of ancient Pre-Panem cities.

Cassian Xandros, being a little boy, was excited when the train passed by the remnants of the ancient places. “Mommy, Daddy, what District that?”

Never looking up from his reports, Coriolanus told your son, “It's not a district son, it's the ancient city of Pittsburgh.”

“What happened?” The little boy, who inherited both his father's looks and thirst for knowledge, asked.

“Don't worry about it, buddy. You'll learn about it when you're older in school.”

“But daddy-” Cassian Xandros began, only for the president to sternly cut him off with, “I told you not to worry about it, Cassian.”

Seeing the dejected look on your son's face paired with his low lip quivering made you decide that your husband needed a talking to. That you're going to straighten him out. So, giving your son a soft smile, you suggested in a sweet and motherly tone, “Why don't you go to the dining car and ask an Avox for some ice cream? Hmm?”

‘Okay, mommy.” Cassian nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips, before taking off to go get his ice cream. A treat that you knew would make him feel better; would also get him out of the suite long enough for you to tell off your husband.

As soon as the door to the train car closed, you gave your husband a disgruntled look and told him, ‘Coriolanus, I understand that you're tense because we're almost at 12, but that doesn't give you the right to snap at Cassian. He's just curious about why there's ancient ruins outside of the Districts along the train tracks.”

“I need to prepare for my upcoming meetings, darling. I don't have time to conduct history lessons with a 4 year old right now.” Coryo said dismissively, as if everything you just told him wasn't important. As if his goddamn paperwork was more important.

Well it wasn't and you're going to let him know that.

“You're not the only one that's on edge about this visit to 12, Coryo.” Your said, causing your husband to look at you. Shaking your head, you admitted, “I haven't seen my brother Rein since he disowned me; called me a sellout and a whore when I became your girl. Going back there, not knowing how my family's going to react seeing me as your pregnant First Lady; the mother of your son, terrifies me.”

And your estranged family's opinion of you, after all of these years, did have you worried. You didn't part with Rein and his girlfriend, Ashlie, on the best of terms. They made you choose between them and a Capitol born and bred peacekeeper, Private Snow. You, in the end, picked Coryo. The man that took care of you while you lived in 12, who took you with him when he got discharged and sent back to the Capitol. The man who married you despite the way his Grandma’am turned her nose down at you.

The last time you saw your brother it was when you were on stage with your husband while he was giving a speech during a presidential campaign tour. Although district citizens can't vote, Capitol citizens and those serving the Capitol in the Peacekeepers can. So, Coryo decided to do a district tour to boost morale and votes of the Peacekeepers. He even made sure to use his background as one along with the fact that his father was General Crassus Snow during the election too.

But that was around the time you discovered you were pregnant, so…

“But I'm not taking it out on Cass; I won't sit back and watch you do that, Coryo.” You told your husband, needing him to know that your son couldn't be an emotional punching bag.

Setting his paperwork aside, Coryo stood up and sighed, “You're brother, Rein, and that ratty whore of his are idiots.” Going over to the sofa and taking a seat next to you, your husband snaked an arm around you, bringing you to lean your head against his chest. “I'm sorry that being with me caused such a rift between you and your family; you should've told me you've been feeling apprehensive about this trip.”

“Coryo, you know that I get over emotional from pregnancy hormones. I didn't want to bother you with my feelings about this trip.” You told Coriolanus, feeling like you're ready to burst into tears at any second.

At that very moment, your son walked back into the train car with an ice cream cone in his hand. Seeing you so sad and his daddy trying to make you feel better, Cassian Xandros went over to Coriolanus, only to hold his ice cream out and say, “Daddy, mommy’s sad. Give her my ice cream; then she'll be happy.”

“No, you eat it, sweetie.” You told your son while holding your husband's hand; preventing him from taking the ice cream.

You knew that Coryo would take the ice cream under the guise of giving it to you, but would eat it himself once you turned the treat down. Your husband has an odd relationship with free food…

“Do you want Puppers instead? He always makes me feel better.” Cassian asked, licking his chocolate ice cream cone that had every single once covered by chocolate sprinkles. That was definitely something your son got from his Snow genes. The love of chocolate.

“Oh, I'm fine, Cassian. Your baby sister's just making me a little dramatic.”

“But I thought Auntie Tigris said that daddy the drama queen in the family.”

“Looks like visits with Auntie Tigris are coming to an end.” Coriolanus coldly muttered under his breath.

“President Snow, Sir, we’ve arrived.” A Peacekeeper announced, walking into the presidential train car once the train has stopped.

“Thank you.” Your husband nodded, only to stand up and look towards you and your son. “It's time to go meet the mayor.”

“Is it still Mayor Lipp?” You wondered, standing up with your son and going over to Coriolanus.

You haven't set foot in 12 since Coriolanus did a presidential campaign tour years ago, before you had Cassian, so you had no idea what was going on politically in the district. Honestly, you didn't care either. But, you did need to know who the mayor was since that's who was housing your family for your visit.

“Yes, that wretched fool’s still the mayor.”

“Mister President, Sir.” The Peacekeeper acknowledged your husband, only to turn to you and say, “First Lady, Ma’am.”, before stating, “A Peacekeeper, says his name's Smiley, is here to escort you to the barracks.”

A puzzled look appeared on your face. “The barracks? But we're staying with the mayor.”

“According to this Smiley, Ma’am, the Commander here in 12 has made new arrangements for the Presidential family.”

“Smiley’ll tell us what's going on, darling. Don't worry, we'll be fine.” Coriolanus assured you, since he didn't want you to get yourself in a tizzy while in your delicate condition. He was always so protective of you when you're carrying his child.

But there was a need to worry. Unknown to Coriolanus and you, the miners were striking and protesting. And not just a few of them, but all of them. Apparently they were tired of working long hours underground in dangerous circumstances without being properly compensated.

The protests started at the mines, but by the time your train arrived at the depot, the station was swarming with District 12 miners demanding to be treated like human beings instead of slave labor. Peacekeepers were lined up, keeping them at bay with rifles drawn and threats to shoot. It was so bad that the Commander was afraid for the safety of Coriolanus and his family. Honestly, none of you should be there, but it was too late to cancel the meeting between the President, the mining bosses, the mayor, and the Commander of District 12.

So, the Commander sent Smiley to greet President Coriolanus Snow and to inform him of what's going on. To act as a makeshift bodyguard because the two men are friends.

Well, your husband only used his old bunkmate as a contact to keep tabs on District 12, but friend sounded much better.

“Coryo…” You trailed off, looking up at your husband. You were tucked into his side as he had an arm protectively wrapped around you, hand on your round belly. His other arm was holding your son against his chest in a vice tighter than that of a boa constrictor.

Cassian Xandros had his head buried in his father's chest, clutching tightly to his puppy plushie. The loud noise of the crowd of miners and protesters was clearly frightening him. To be honest, it frightened you too.

These people crowding around you were out for blood. You could sense that if the Peacekeepers weren't keeping them at bay, then the crowd would rush you and your family; tear you apart limb by limb- because they're angry at how they're living compared to how your family's living.

“We'll be at the van soon; then we'll go to the base and won't have to deal with the protestors anymore.” Coryo assured you, keeping a stern look on his face as he led the way towards the van as angry miners and their families shouted profanities. Smiley was up ahead, clearing the way, while the personal guards (peacekeepers) that came on the trip from the Presidential Palace flanked you.

It felt so unsettling, this short walk from the depot to the van that'll take your family to the base. To safety.

It should've been easy to get to the van, considering all the presence of the peacekeepers, but it wasn't. Because nothing in your life, in Coriolanus' life, can be easy.

No….

Because right before you reached the Peacekeepers’ van, the unthinkable happened.

“Should’ve stayed in the Capitol, sellout whore!” You heard your older brother's voice yell before feeling spit land on your cheek.

President Coriolanus Snow should've keep walking, guiding his family thru the crowd to the nearby van, but hearing his brother-in-law call his First Lady a sellout whore made him see red. Made him furious.

Motioning to one of the presidential Peacekeeper guards, Coriolanus ordered, “Arrest that man for assaulting my wife, First Lady Y/N Snow.”

The peacekeeper nodded, only to grab your brother (who put up a good struggle) and cuff him. Your brother was cussing up a storm while the crowd was screaming to let him go, that Rein didn't do anything. The protesters screamed that Rein was innocent; was being falsely arrested by the cruel, dictator President Snow.

But you know what Rein did to cause his arrest. He insulted you and spit in your face. In Coryo's eyes was that assault; something unforgivable.

But the crowd of miners and protesters (some of which were rebels and their sympathizers) didn't see it that way. All they saw was an ‘innocent’ man being carted away.

You don't know how it started, but suddenly people broke thru the lines and tried to swarm you, your husband, and your son. Smiley and your Capitol Peacekeeper guards were beating back the crowd so that your husband could whisk his family to the Peacekeepers van.

And you would've made it to the van unscathed to, if it wasn't for the moltov cocktail that somebody threw at your husband as he ushered you towards the van.

You heard the crash of the bottle and smelted the chemicals before your son's cries of pain sounded out. Turning around, as one of the Peacekeepers by the van shoved you into it, you saw flames licking at your son's back and at your husband's arm. A piece of glass from the broken moltov bottle was embedded in your husband's jaw as blood flowed freely from it.

A pair of Peacekeepers rushed over to your husband, patting the flames out of both his arm and your son's back.

“Daddy, it hurts.” Your son cried, referring to his boiled flesh.

‘Radio the hospital on base, I want the best treatment for my son.” President Snow ordered the peacekeeper that was pushing him towards the van, where you were sitting anxiously.

“Mister President, Sir, we'll get him to the hospital on base right away.” The peacekeeper assured your husband as he joined you in the van.

Coriolanus just nodded at the peacekeeper, causing the man to hop into the back of the van. You and Coriolanus tried your best to soothe your son as the peacekeeper sitting next to your husband barked for the driver to get to base; to radio the on base hospital to let them know that President Snow's son is suffering a burn on his back from the mob’s attack.

Of course, the peacekeeper driving to the base did as he was told. So, when your family arrived at PK Base D12 a stretcher with a medic and a doctor was waiting for your son.

Coryo was holding Cassian’s puppy plushie so hard, you thought the thing’s head was going to pop off and the stuffing would fly out, as the two of you were escorted into your son's hospital room by his attending nurse. His burns weren't bad enough for surgery, but they were bad enough that they needed cleaned, treated with ointment, and bandaged. The nurse explained that Cassian Xandros was asleep due to a dose of morphling he was given for the pain.

Despite him being asleep and on pain meds, you and Coryo just had to see him. Had to sit with him. Your baby boy was hurt, you both needed to be by his side.

Coriolanus might've been a lot of things, but he was a very loving and devoted husband; father. Seeing his son hurt because people didn't like him made him furious. He didn't care if somebody went after him, but going after his family was an entirely different thing.

And those District dogs that wanted prime rib instead of the scraps they got for mining coal all damn day are going to pay. They were going to pay dearly for hurting his son.

Because nobody hurts what's his and gets away with it.

Coriolanus canceled his meetings concerning the mine production, only to have the mine bosses rounded up in the middle of the night and thrown into jail. The reason? Well, they allowed their workers to turn into a violent mob; they didn't keep them in line. 

The President ordered the mine bosses to be executed at the hanging tree for being an accessory to the crimes of their mining employees.

Talk about executions…

President Snow had 100 miners rounded up and sent to the gallows as punishment for what happened to your son. It didn't matter that those people weren't the ones that threw the moltov cocktail. They were disgruntled district 12 citizens. They protested and pushed back; causing a rebellion. 

They're rebels.

Rebels! 

So they had to hang to serve as an example; a lesson on what happens when one goes against the Capitol. Dares to bite the hand that feeds it.

And your older brother, Rein. 

Well…

Your husband's currently having a meeting with him in his jail cell. 

“Heard you hung 100 innocent people.” Rein told Coriolanus as the imposing platinum blonde devil took set a thermos down on the table your brother was chained too.

“Those scum were not innocent. Their little rebellious outburst hurt my son and scared my pregnant wife.” Coriolanus told his brother-in-law, who he hasn't seen in a good 5 years, while taking a seat across from him. “I don't play around when it comes to the safety of my family, Mr. Halvir.” The president told the dark haired man, who had broad shoulders due to years of work in the coal mines, while reaching for the thermos. 

Rein narrowed his Seam grey eyes at President Snow. A man he hates for turning you against your kind, against the district that you were born and raised in. Oh, how your brother hates your husband for being your keeper, for turning you into a Capitol puppet.

Unscrewing the thermos’ lid, Coriolanus made the condescending remark of, “You should know that first hand, considering how I moved Y/N out of your shithole hovel in the Seam once she became mine.” 

“You made her choose between you and us when she was too young to even understand the damning consequences of that choice. I hope your kid brings home somebody you hate; somebody that drives a wedge in your perfectly fucked up Presidential First Family.”  Rein snarled at Coriolanus while the platinum blonde man poured some of the hot tea from the thermos into a plastic cup- that also served as a topper for the thermos.

“Mmm…” Your husband hummed, tasting the tea. “Still hot.” He remarked, setting the tea down in front of your older brother. Gesturing to the plastic cup, Coriolanus simply said, “For you.”

Rein looked between the cup and Coriolanus, only to nod and take it. His chains were long enough to make it possible for him to pick up the cup and bring it to his lips, but short enough to ensure that he couldn't lunge across the table to do the president any harm.

“How's your boy?” Rein asked, sipping on the tea. 

“Why do you care? He's just the product of a Capitol snake and a sellout whore, isn't he?” Coriolanus seethed, hate dripping from every word like venom. Leaning forward, eyes watching the miner intently as he sipped on the tea, he asked, “Do you have any little bastards running around?”

“No.” Rein shook his head. Setting down his cup, he said, “Me and Ashlie decided not to have kids. That it's not worth it, with the risk of reapings and all.”

Coriolanus’ lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Then the Halvir name dies with you.”

Rein's Seam grey eyes flashed with confusion, only for realization to shine in them as he began to feel his throat close up. Clawing at his neck, in a desperate, but useless attempt for air, your brother realized that your husband had poisoned him. He began to feel his blood boil on his body, feel it bubble up from his stomach and travel up his throat. Shaking, he used the last bit of his strength to muster out the word, “Why?”

Coriolanus pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, only to use it to stifle a small, bloody cough. A small side effect of drinking poison, but at least he had taken the antidote prior. He smiled wickedly, a thin layer of crimson staining his teeth, as he told Rein, “Your little stunt caused that crowd to attack me; to hurt my son. Anyone that hurts my family will pay with their lives.” 

Watching the light dim in your brother's eyes as blood pooled uncontrollably from his mouth and nose, your husband leaned over him and whispered, “Snow lands on top.”

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[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 109

Geralt is a witcher. Cats tend to distance themselves from witchers. Sometimes Geralt wonders what cats are like. So one day he asks. "Cats are lovely. Beautiful little sweethearts." The old woman who owns the inn says to him. "Cats are annoying varmints, always yowling in the middle of the night when they're in heat, they SCREAM their little heads off, can't catch a wink of sleep with them around!" A man passing by him in the market complains, with the anger of someone who has clearly thought about this a lot. "My cat isn't the biggest fan of being touched, but she's a good girl. Catches the mice." "They're evil little hellions, nothing compared to dogs. Don't even like their owners." "I'd like 'em a whole lot more if my way of living wasn't being a fisherman. They climb in at night and steal my best catches." "They're adorable!" "My cat is the cuddliest sweetest snuggliest little kitty to ever live, I think. Nobody will ever love me as much as he loves me." "My friend has a kitten! She already knows to chase the feathers we wave in front of her! I hope she still plays when she grows up." Opinions are varied in the town, but the majority seem to love them. He wants to know what they're like, not if they are liked. He sits down with a friendlier townie one afternoon and asks in detail what cats are like. What's great about them, what's bad about them, what do they like, what do they hate, what can they do, what have they done? The more she describes cats, however, the more Geralt can't help but be reminded of Jaskier. "They're playful. They love making noise and chasing things."

"Geralt, please, can't I play my lute? It's been fourteen whole minutes of SILENCE! Let me play a song!" "Why do you stay?" "Maybe I just like following you, Geralt. It's nice only having to pay for half of everything, after all."

"They're moody little things. Cats will want to cuddle you one second, and be left alone the next, and if you can't read their mind, they'll give you an annoyed little pouty face, as if you were meant to know better!"

"Geralt, do you mind if I...?" "If you what?" "Sit here?" "...My lap?" "That is where I'm sitting, yes. May I?" "...Mm." "Great thanks!~" "Geralt, you pissing idiot! I can't believe you! Don't touch me! Don't even look at me! How could you do something so so so SO stupid!?" "This is my job, Jaskier." "And apparently sewing up your arm is mine!" "I can take care of it." "Oh, I'm meant to just trust the man who went off and got mauled by a werewolf, then?"

"They enjoy a good sleep. Cats nap more than my old man, if you can believe it. They love comfort and luxury."

"Geralt, can't we stay at an inn? It's been so long." "Can we rest? Just for a bit? Pleaaaase? I want a nap. Don't I deserve it?" "Geralt, not to be ungrateful, but I think sleeping on the dirt would be better than this inn. Don't tell me you're making us sleep here. There's probably snakes nesting in the pillows."

"But at the same time, they love the grittiest bits of the outdoors. Chasing rabbits through tunnels, climbing trees after a songbird- My childhood cat used to dive in the swamp to catch frogs."

"Geralt, taking a shortcut through the bog is the easiest way to get to the competition in time! Now hurry along! Either I cross the bog alone, or you come with me!" "Geralt, I went looking for potion ingredients while you were skinning the deer!" "Geralt, are you going to cut the damn thing's head off or what? Wait, darling, are you alright? Are you hurt? Let me do it-"

"They sometimes bring you dead critters because they want to feed you. It's oddly very endearing."

"Geralt, I bought you some honey buns!" "I found some lovely cakes, do you want one, Geralt? You haven't eaten at all today." "I- I killed it. It was coming straight for you and I panicked. Am I bleeding? I can't quite tell because of the adrenaline, so am I bleeding or not, Gerelt? Can you tell me? Are YOU bleeding? Did I get it in time?" "I got so many tips last time I played, Geralt, you can get a bigger meal."

"They get themselves into trouble a lot, though. Places they shouldn't be, things they shouldn't touch, things they shouldn't eat."

"Geralt, I didn't mean to cause all of this. I'm sorry." "It's nothing, Jaskier. I'm just glad you're unharmed." "...Um... Geralt? Can you let go of my wrists now?" "Don't. Touch. Anything. The plant's spines are poisonous." "Jaskier, spit it out! SPIT IT OUT! I told you to stop fucking eating things in Yennefer's place" "Then why was it colored like a nice candy?"

"When they're scared or angry, they can make a right mess out of you. Don't let their cuteness fool you, they can do some damage."

"What else was I supposed to do, Geralt?" "Not punch him!" "He said you were a monster!" "I am!" "Do you want me to punch YOU?" "Geralt, I lost my dagger. It was in one of the bandits we chased away." "Geralt, will you teach me how to use a sword? Nothing fancy, just how to kill something."

"But above all, they're loyal, and loving. Ever so lovely. They'd die for you, if you treated them nice enough." "Thank you for telling me. I.. Have to go." Geralt stammers out, racing away to the inn he left Jaskier in. "Oh, hello, Geralt. Did you find a contact?" And Geralt yanks him close, and hugs him. He should try kissing him one of these days. Either way, Geralt won't mourn for the cat he can never have, for he has a Jaskier, and it's close enough.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter IV : The Fervour.

Summary: You decide to apologize to Aemond.

WARNINGS: nothing nsfw, I left it for the next chapter 🤭, canon typical incest, anxiety etc. + not proofread

A/N: divider credits @cafekitsune, this is a short chapter but the next one is gonna be long and intense 🤭🤭

<- prev // masterlist // next ->

Your heart drummed loudly against your rib cage, each beat accompanied by a gasp of air as you stared into the emptiness of your chamber.

A dream— no, a memory.

Was this the original body's memory?

Is this body not yours?

It doesn't seem likely because this body has exactly all your features, each and every detail pasted right into itself, from your head to your feet; nothing was amiss.

A blanket of dullness washes over your body and you plop back down onto the mattress, hugging your cotton blanket and you laid sideways, pondering with curiosity as you thought about everything.

You have to apologise to Aemond.

Suddenly his hostility, hatred, sly remarks all made sense.

You mentally face palmed yourself.

How were you gonna save the plot or prevent war when knowing that you were the cause of major events?

Had it not been Viserys’ command, you would've been stuck deeper in the mess, his decision of marrying you and Aemond gave you a heads up.

Can you perhaps talk the greens out of it once you're Aemond's wife? Then again, if talking truly worked then there wouldn't be a show at all. You sigh heavily, closing your eyes before reopening them.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling before your eyes averted towards the window, noticing how it's still the heartbeat of the night. Going to Aemond's room would seem very scandalous at this hour; regardless of whether you're soon to be married.

And to make matters even more complicated; Alicent and Rhaenyra had caught you guys kissing. You wondered why Aemond kissed you in the first place so suddenly, was he containing his urge to kill through it? Most likely.

The sound of footsteps awoke you from your sleep, looking around to see none but the maids who were bringing in a bath and water for you to freshen up and get ready for the day.

You decide that you'd think of everything on the morrow, choosing sleep over restlessness, closing your eyes and waiting for the slumber to grab you down to its depths.

You zone out the process; having been used to it. Instead your mind now travelled to the matter at hand, which was also your main objective. You planned to go directly to Aemond and apologise, as stupid as it may sound you really had no other option before the situation got worse. At least by apologising you'll make him realise how sorry you are, which might console his inner conflict.

The maids finish touching you up. You waste no moment and immediately get off the stool, heading straight to the door and leaving your chambers.

You check the library where you first encountered him; to your surprise, he wasn't there. You then move onto the training grounds only for him to not be there either. You start wandering around the red keep in the search for him yet he seems nowhere to be found. The guards outside his room have also said that he had left his room in the morning.

You go to the garden, to the weirwood tree, hoping to find him there, yet he is nowhere.

Frustrated, you sit underneath the tree, huffing in annoyance and catching your breath. You grunt irritated; patience growing thin as time only passed with no signs of Aemond. You had searched practically everywhere. The sympathy you were feeling is slowly being replaced by exasperation.

You lean back against the tree, staring at the leaves.

It's moments like this that make you truly question your sanity and reconsider your situation. As much as you were a big fan of the show; being trapped in it isn't really ideal without any known way out. You sometimes miss your life before this.

How plain and simple it was, with no worries of a blooming war, you would work and just rest at home, cook your favourite meals by yourself, watch your favourite shows and then sleep. It's the simplicity you miss.

“I want to go back…” You say out loud, praying that the world would hear you and miraculously send you back home, however it doesn't happen; because if it did, why would you be here in the first place?

Your words were heard just not by the universe.

“You want to go back?” The voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you sit up straight, looking up at the figure who was now standing in front of you.

Aemond stood tall, with his hands behind his back, foot jutting out. Oh yes, his typical standing pose.

“Uhm, I- no? I don't—” You stutter not knowing what to say, you get up off the ground and stand straight, his gaze follows you, taking in your dress. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

You were wearing green.

“Your gown; it is quite beautiful.” He comments and you look down, not finding anything special about the plain material, “—especially, the colour.” He points it out, and that is when you realised that you were wearing green.

“The maids dressed me.” You imply slightly, indicating that you had no intention of wearing the colour of his family. He smiles mockingly, raising his eyebrows.

“You were looking for me?” He questions and you nod and take a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would calm your brain by magic but your nerves were still rampant.

You step closer to him, which he is taken aback by but doesn't move an inch. You look into his eye, your body now fueled up with the newfound determination of completing your goal.

“I apologise.” You choke out and Aemond frowns in confusion, “For the eye- the night, driftmark.” You stumble over your words unable to form coherent sentences as the previously felt anxiety blooms in your gut again.

Seriously, what is wrong with this body?

The atmosphere falls silent only being interrupted by the whispers of the wind blowing past both of you. Aemond opens his mouth to speak but he closes it immediately after; trying to find words that do not sound harsh as a response.

“Aemond.” His name left your mouth involuntarily and he snapped his gaze to you, he watched your form waiting for you to say something but you just stood there unable to speak, your tongue all tied up in your mouth, having no idea how to continue this conversation anymore.

“Aemond, I am sorry, I really am, I regret it; I didn't mean to hurt you, I was protecting jace- my brother; I never meant for any of this to happen— please.” Your voice croaks, breaking as your mouth begins to move on its own, the noise coming out of your throat— yet it wasn't you speaking, it wasn't you forming these words, they came from somewhere innate.

You grab his arm, eyes tearing up as you stare at him, searching for an ounce of forgiveness on his face, an expression of reassurance that can calm the brewing storm inside you. Your gut wrenched and turned as the silence only prolonged with every passing second the pit inside you became deep and deeper.

You didn't know what was going on, it was as if your body had a mind of its own; but it didn't feel that way. Although you felt like you were in the backseat watching it all happen; it also felt like you were the one that was operating as well.

“It was a cruel mistake, a mistake that ruined everything. Perhaps it is why the Gods have punished me, they put me in a state of death for years but never truly killed me. It was my punishment for that crime I have committed against an innocent boy. But was I not innocent too?” You stammered, your body shuddering out of control.

Aemond grabs your shoulders; a poor attempt at consoling you while you shivered, tears dripped down your face like streams of river, Aemond wiped them off, pulling you into him, engulfing in his embrace, holding your head as you sobbed into him.

He did not know how to react.

He did not expect any of this.

Yet he knew one thing, which he hated himself for, which he came to terms with just last night.

The fact that he had already forgiven you.

You both stand there like that for a moment, your cries dissipated from sobs to sniffs and that's when you pull away from the hug, staring at him back again.

Aemond tucked a stray hair strand behind your ear before resting his hand on your cheek, he didn't want to admit this to you but he had to; for his own sake— watching you cry felt like a thousand swords being pierced into his heart, he didn't want to see you like this anymore.

“You're forgiven.” Those two words left his mouth as he held you close and you did not know how much of an impact they'd have on you until you felt the pit in your stomach vanish completely as if it ceased to exist.

You felt calm.

Euphoric.

You felt lightheaded, the world spinning as you stared at him. You gave him a small smile in return, caressing his scar as your vision grew weary.

The last thing you remember seeing was Aemond's panicked expression before you completely blacked out.

@gabriella-aesthetic @delaynew @idonotknowenglish @dixie-elocin @intheheartoftheking @dracaryxzs @ladyoffandoms @zoleea-exultant @saturnssrings @uniquecutie-puffs @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelita85 @feelingfaye @sylvievil @cypherpt5fttaehyung @ttysmfwna @void21 @technicallystrangereview @feyresqueen @evergreen9083 @mirandasidefics @org12 @blorbo-brainrot @thisishwrworld @shadowqueen09 @watermel0nsugarhigh @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @madislayyy @the-hufflebird-girl @hiatuswhore

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 18

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mention of injuries; sexual themes; illness

A/N: I know I say this almost every time but this chapter is very lackluster and not my best. I had some major writers block and I struggled to get this done to the point where I was ready to give up altogether. I knew where I wanted to go, but words just weren’t happening. Hopefully, now that I’m past this part, it will be easier. Thank you for reading. I’m so sorry for the subpar work. 😢

You were actually a good patient, following Hershel’s recommendations by staying in bed, drinking more water, and not skipping or sharing meals. Daryl, to your surprise, returned to the room just a while later with a plastic bowl of some tasteless stew Carol had made. You didn’t complain, the woman always did the best she could. They had run out of any seasonings or herbs and with the cold weather, it was unlikely you’d find anything growing. 

“Ya need anything?” Daryl asked. You regarded him as he stood at the foot of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck while avoiding looking at you. 

“No, I’m okay.” You took another bite, eyes following him. He retrieved his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the door. “Where’re you going?”

“Gonna try an’ hunt. S’cold as fuck out there but maybe I can manage some rabbit.” He shrugged halfheartedly. You hummed and stirred your stew until you heard the sound of the doorknob turning. 

“Daryl?” You blurted out. 

“Yeah?” He still wasn’t looking at you. You could feel the difference in the atmosphere. It wasn’t hostile, just uncomfortable. 

“Please don’t disappear.” You meant it in more ways than one, though you weren’t sure if he would pick up on the entirety of the request. Please don’t leave us. Please don’t hide away. Please just come back. 

“I won’t.” And then he was gone. He left the door slightly ajar, in case you needed something. 

Daryl didn’t lie aside from his constant use of ‘I’m fine’ when he was always so clearly not. So, you knew he’d be back. He wasn’t just going hunting. He was going to clear his head. You knew that because it’s what you would do, were you able to seek refuge in the woods safely. You missed hunting, the safety and comfort of the trees surrounding you. The stillness and quiet sounds that provided much needed calm in times of overwhelming chaos. You wanted to believe that you would feel it again, but you would have a newborn in a few weeks. A little person that would rely on your constant presence. Maybe those days were over for you. 

Daryl wanted more. He had made that clear. He wasn’t going to run away from the newness of what you had both expressed you were seeking. He needed time. It was fresh and formidable. You weren’t sure of his past experiences with relationships or perhaps even lack thereof, but it was clearly overwhelming for him. 

Especially since you had proclaimed to love him. 

That had shaken him. You could have kicked yourself for burdening him with that information. It wasn’t the right time. He had only just accepted that you meant more to him than you could have ever hoped and you just had to go and complicate it. You could only hope that it wasn’t so much that he’d change his mind. 

Rick had taken Glenn and Maggie to rummage through some nearby homes and a small town, returning with a bottle of meds for you that was about a third full. They had managed several cans of vegetables, two bags of rice, and a box of angel hair pasta. It wasn’t much but it would keep the group from starvation. 

You managed most of the stew, getting out of bed to join everyone else downstairs. Hershel had been apprehensive until you immediately stretched out on the couch and wrapped up in a blanket to continue resting without being trapped in isolation. The silence upstairs had been too much, the voices of fear and doubt in your head speaking too loudly. 

“How are you feeling, young lady?” The old man asked. He checked your stitches, used a stethoscope to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and felt around on your belly, chuckling when he was continuously kicked at each disturbance. “Someone’s lively this evening.”

“Yeah, they’re tap dancing on my bladder but I don’t—” you trailed off and looked out the window. You had needed to pee since coming downstairs but didn’t feel safe going without Daryl anymore. It almost made you nauseous how dependent you’d become. Always the damsel in distress, the wimpy princess who couldn’t do anything for herself. 

“Things change when you find yourself in your condition.” You slowly brought your attention back to Hershel. The veterinarian was wise, had proven to be so back at the farm. Not always reasonable—as a barn full of walkers had shown—but wise, nonetheless. “You’re accustomed to living a certain way, taking care of yourself. And then there’s suddenly this little person depending on you to keep them safe. It’s not always easy to make that transition.” He gently rolled down your shirt and pulled the blanket up over you. “I could sense from the day I met you that you were a free spirit. You didn’t always want to listen. I’ve watched you shift from a woman who took care of herself by any means necessary to a woman who would do anything to protect her child. There’s no shame in that and the rewards will be sweeter than anything you’ve ever known before.” Hershel stood, knees cracking. With a gentle smile, he patted your shoulder. “You’ll see.”

You returned the smile, rubbing a hand over the swell of your belly as the old man took his leave. “He’s right, Thumper. You’re worth it.” Glancing back out the window, Daryl was trudging tiredly toward the house with two rabbits. You smiled, resting your head on the back of the couch to watch him interact with Rick. “You’re both worth it.”

“Whatcha doin’ outta bed?” Daryl was pulling off his crossbow, watching you warily. You wiggled until you were sitting up against the couch arm. 

“Don’t worry. I asked Hershel. As long as I rest, I’m okay.” He watched you for a moment longer before giving a nod, disappearing to prep the rabbits for cooking the next day. Carol smiled at him in passing. You couldn’t see his face but heard him grunt in acknowledgment. Maybe one day you’d be fluent in the complicated language of Daryl. 

“How’re you feeling?” A bottle of water was handed to you. You hadn’t even realized you were thirsty until you were removing the cap and tilting it to your lips. 

After several generous gulps, you lowered the water and sighed contentedly. “I didn’t know I needed that.” 

“Well, you’ve been—” she turned her head toward where Daryl had walked away, looking back to you with an arched brow, “preoccupied.”

Your face warmed and you ducked your head. “Is it obvious?”

“Well, I’m not deaf.” She chuckled, patting your knee. 

“You heard?” You blanched, knowing you had grown impossibly redder. 

“I think everyone did.” 

“Oh god.” Mortified was an understatement. You were suddenly trying to recall the moments they could have heard but only succeeded in encouraging a sudden wave of arousal between your thighs. Well, that’s not helping. “Don’t say anything to—they can’t tease him. He’ll never—”

Carol reached out to rub your upper arm, shaking her head. “No one is saying anything. We’re all just glad some of the tension around here has eased.” She meant Rick and Lori, that wasn’t hard to figure out. 

You had barely opened your mouth to reply when Rick came in, moving quickly but quietly. 

“The fire.” He whispered harshly. You sat up straight, ignoring the pull of the stitches, and looked out the window, the scene becoming clear once the reflected light from the flames was doused. 

You managed to duck your head just as a walker passed by the the glass, its arm dragging across the surface with an eerie scraping. A myriad of shadows danced across the wall, your wide eyes following them until Daryl was crouched in front of you with a finger to his lips. His crossbow was by his foot while his hands held your boots and jacket. 

“Be quick.” He whispered so quietly that he may have only mouthed the words. You nodded and took the items, pulling on your boots without tying them and shrugging on your jacket. “Stay low.” It was hard not to smile, even with danger lurking so closely, when he wrapped his hand around yours. You let him guide you, walking as low as you could manage. 

Carol was coming down the stairs, your bag on one shoulder and her own on the other. Daryl let go of your hand to grab his bag on the way to the back door. Everyone had already gathered, Rick falling in behind Carol. The archer held up a hand to have you wait further back while he checked outside. 

“Here.” Carol whispered from your right. You glanced at her only to find her looking down, your knife held out to you. “I’ve got your gun and holsters in your bag.” Nodding your thanks, your hand wrapped around the handle and you brought the weapon in close, meeting Daryl’s eyes for a fleeting moment before he cracked open the door and peered outside. 

“S’clear. Go ‘round the right. Straight to the cars.” He began to wave everyone through, catching your hand as you passed. “Stay close to Carol. Be right behind ya.”

“Okay.” You agreed quickly and followed the other woman out. Only the pale moonlight illuminated the snowy ground as the lot of you bobbed and weaved your way around the herd. You couldn’t hear steps behind you but that wasn’t uncommon with Daryl. Even with the extra weight you carried, your own footfalls were light. 

It was close to impossible to see the dead and with the symphony of moans and snarls echoing from all around, you barely had time to stop and take a step back before the walker crossed into your path. Knife ready, you took down the woman with ease, lowering with the body to keep the noise to a minimum. 

She looked to have been a pretty lady, maybe in her thirties. Her blonde hair was missing in patches and her skin was torn and gaping in places. She was sporting a t-shirt that read No. 1 Mom.

You let that simmer after Daryl pulled you to your feet, urging you to resume the trek to the van. It was within view now, with only three walkers circling. Glenn, Maggie, and T-Dog dispatched them quickly enough, creating an open path straight to the vehicle. 

Twenty minutes on the road was long enough to lose yourself in consideration of the woman you’d put down. It wasn’t hard to imagine yourself meeting a similar fate, maybe forced to bear witness to the grizzly death of your child or dying without knowing what became of them. What if she had been the one to kill her kid? What if it was an infant, a toddler? Unable to understand why this person who was meant to protect them was causing them pain?

You cried for her. You cried for the child. Silent tears that you didn’t attempt to hinder while you sought out the comforting rumble of Daryl’s bike just ahead. Even if you did fall victim to the dead, he’d never allow your baby to be hurt. You could take comfort in that. As long as one of you was breathing, your child would never know harm. 

The weather only grew more unforgiving as the days wore on, chipping away at any shreds of hope that were managing to survive in your little group. Another home found and lost. Freezing nights huddled against Daryl in the backseat of the van. A great deal of the blankets had been sacrificed when fleeing the dead. Of course, you, Lori, and Carl were given the heaviest ones that remained. Daryl would wrap you snugly and then hold you tight, claiming that alone would keep him warm enough. Apparently he still thought you were stupid. 

Food was dwindling. Once again, you were arguing with the archer about eating meager portions so that you could have more. If each bite wasn’t worth more than gold had been valued in the old world, you would have surely thrown many a bowl at him. 

His hunting trips grew longer and longer, now gone for no less than two days at a time. Measures were in place to ensure he knew how to find the group should the need to flee become necessary in his absence. Still, you worried. He manged to bring back more, usually rabbits but had lucked out with a small doe on the last excursion. With an extra few runs, enough salt was procured for the majority of the meat to be dried into jerky. It was sorted into each of your bags so it was sure to not be left behind if you had to leave quickly. The rest of the meat was prepared into a stew that could be reheated for a couple of days. 

It was nice to eat well for once, surrounded by full bellies and sleepy faces. The one face you wanted to see was absent, however. Daryl was on first watch at the small ranch style home. There were no fences but the land was open for a good distance before the treeline. Walkers would be spotted and the group could move on before the dead even made it halfway to the house. 

You bundled up, pulling up your hood, meaning to sit outside with him for a while. You grabbed one of the smaller blankets on your way out. Whether he admitted it or not, the long sleeve flannel under his vest was not enough to keep the frigid temperatures at bay. He was coughing into his elbow as you passed over the threshold, noticing his stew, long cold, was hardly touched. Pointing it out would only lead to another argument and at 28 weeks pregnant in an apocalypse, you just didn’t have the energy to spare. 

He was scrubbing a hand roughly over his face when you draped the fabric over his shoulders. For once, he didn’t argue, simply nodding while watching you move his bowl aside to sit down. 

He cleared his throat, his voice quiet and raspy. “Weren’t that hungry.” 

“I can heat it for you later if you change your mind.” Shoving your hands into your pockets, you leaned onto his shoulder and watched the gentle flurries pepper down from above.

“Ain’t gonna nag me?” 

“Nope.” You smiled fondly to yourself. “You’re stubborn as ten mules and this baby has been kicking me non stop for two days. I don’t have the energy to attempt and force feed their father.” He nudged his shoulder upward, jarring a giggle out of you. “We do need to find you a coat. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

“Your tits ain’t never cold.”

Rolling your head on his shoulder, you feigned offense. “Why, Daryl Dixon. Did you just call me a witch?”

“If the broomstick fits.” 

That coaxed a startled laugh out of you. “Huh.” You stared at him a moment longer and then settled back into watching the snow. 

“What?” He leaned a little to angle his head in order to see your face.

“Thought you’d misplaced your sense of humor, that’s all. Maybe you found it while your head was so far up your ass.”

“Think you're funny?” He huffed, clearly not annoyed. It was refreshing to just talk like two people in a relationship on a cold, snowy night. Maybe you could pretend the world hadn’t ended for at least a moment. 

“Oh, I know I am. It’s part of my irresistible charm.” You retorted cheerily. Daryl made a pfft sound and joined you in watching the snow. It was almost hypnotic; the peace of the moment drawing you in until you were sure you’d fall asleep. 

When Daryl coughed again, you startled and sat up straight. He had turned away and buried his face in the crook of his elbow, muffling the sound to the best of his ability. 

“Are you okay?” It was hard to keep the concern out of your tone, terrified he’d withdraw from you. He had been trying, the evidence of his efforts displayed in his own ways. 

Over the last month, you’d never felt closer to him. He had found a truck, loading the bike in the back so that you would be with him anytime moving was necessary. There wasn’t much time for intimacy, not sexually, though he’d made you cum on his fingers a few times while the others laid behind him, sound asleep and none the wiser. He seemed to enjoy your company, especially while on watch. He didn’t speak much but when he did, he was soft and attentive. He would watch you in silence, tinkering with his crossbow or prepping a kill to be cooked. He still agitated easily, but he was trying. You couldn’t ask for more than that. 

“M’fine. Just a cold.”

It made sense. He was out in the elements more than anyone. He wasn’t eating or sleeping nearly enough. His body could only take so much abuse. 

“We have the venison, Daryl. Why don’t you stay in for a few days?” Pulling your hands from your pockets, you dragged the sleeves down to cover them. How did the man stand it without proper clothing?

“Could always use more. That jerky ain’t gonna last forever an’ the stew will keep a day or two.” The flickering glow from the lighter’s flame cast a soft hue across his face, gone too quickly for you to truly admire. Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he turned his head to blow the smoke away from you. Such a small gesture, but it made your heart flutter. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that, I guess.” In truth, you couldn’t. Food was food and it was necessary. “Maybe I could go with you. You know I can hunt and—”

“Nah. No way.” He barely got the words out before coughing again. “You’re stayin’ here with ev’ryone else.”

“I can help and you know it.” You weren’t angry, but still found it difficult to keep the bitterness out of your words.

“Know ya can. Don’t mean ya should.” He took another draw from his smoke, exhaling while rubbing at his throat. Was he even aware he was doing that? “Best way ya can help me is stayin’ here an’ keepin’ the two’a ya safe.” It was dark but you could still see the pink beginning to cover his cheeks. “Get inside ‘fore ya get sick.”

You smiled slyly, crossing your arms. “I’ll go inside if you go too.” He turned his head toward you, brow drawn inward. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, angry, or amused. Either way, you tipped up your chin defiantly. “Someone else can take watch. You’re leaving to hunt tomorrow and need to sleep.”

Those blue eyes narrowed, the flare of the cigarette giving them the illusion of burning like the hottest flame. He never looked away, exhaling from the corner of his mouth to keep the smoke away from you. “You’re a brat.” 

“Yep.” You grinned. 

“Fine. Jesus, go inside. Be there in a minute.” He grumbled something under his breath and continued his smoke, shaking his head after looking away from you. With a triumphant HA, you grabbed the dilapidated railing by the steps and pulled yourself to your feet, cradling your belly to bend enough for your lips to press against his cheek. “Pain in my ass.”

He made you cum twice that night but not before denying you for an agonizing amount of time. 

“This baby is definitely a Dixon. Doesn’t ever stop moving.” 

Carol chuckled, stirring the stew she had just removed from the fire in the other room. “You’re gonna miss it once they’re born, I promise.” Her smile faded, a morose air encasing her. As your baby moved under your hand once again, a pang of guilt came with it. 

“Oh, Carol, I’m sorry.”

The silver-haired woman rarely spoke of her daughter anymore, but that wasn’t to say that the pain ever left her eyes. There was a permanent sadness etched there. Now two women she traveled with, survived alongside, were pregnant. It was a slap in the face from the universe. 

But Carol? She handled it with a grace you weren’t sure you would ever possess. 

“Nothing to apologize for, silly.” She reached for the hand that lay across your rounded middle and squeezed it. You smiled solemnly as she went back to stirring the day’s meal. “Daryl should be back today. He never stays out more than two days.” She chuckled quietly. “I think he only does that much out of necessity. He’d likely stay right here with you if he had a choice.”

“I think he leaves for two days cause he needs a break from me.” You mused, plucking a piece of venison right from the pot. Carol shot you a sarcastic look of disapproval but refrained from scolding you. “I’m not easy to get along with at the best of times. Forget being in a relationship with me while I’m 92 weeks pregnant.”

“So you did take that step.” When you blinked at her with wide eyes, she shrugged. “He’s not exactly forthcoming with details regarding his personal life but sightings have been noted of cheek kissing and even a little hand holding.”

“Glenn never could keep his mouth shut.” 

“Don’t worry. He’s been informed that if Daryl ever hears him, he’s likely to lose a limb. He’s aware of the dangers.” While the two of you laughed, Maggie stuck her head in the door. 

“Daryl’s back.” She waggled her eyebrows at you, prompting a one-fingered gesture in return. “Real classy, Y/N.”

“Hey, I am the perfect representation of a lady.” You winked at Carol and squeezed her upper arm before meeting Maggie in the doorway, bumping her with your hip. You quietly released a tense breath once out of sight. It was getting late. Try as you might, you couldn’t help but worry when it took him a little longer to get back. 

Grabbing your coat, you quickly pulled it on and zipped it. There was still plenty of room for your growing belly. It should last you the remainder of the pregnancy. The snow was at least four inches deep, quite the difference from when the archer had left two days prior. Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were out scavenging for the usual food and medicine, but you had cornered them before they left and made them promise to find a warm coat for Daryl. 

The wind was frigid in the evening hours, the temperature steadily dropping. Your face stung from only seconds of exposure when you walked down the steps to meet him. At first glance, everything seemed fine. It wasn’t until he was closer that you noticed his unsteady gait, the way he was dragging the string of rabbits through the white powder behind him. 

“Hey.” You called over the gusts, smiling at him when he slowly looked up. He didn’t return the expression but he wasn’t a teeth and gums smiler anyway. That much you could brush aside without concern. It was the wet, barking cough into the crook of his elbow that shifted your concern to something just short of panic. “Daryl?”

“Got some rabbits.” He croaked, walking right past you and into the house. You followed on his heels, leaning forward to relieve him of the four animals before he could object. He fixed you with a sharp glare but you only smiled and backed toward the kitchen. 

“Just gonna put these in there. We can clean them together in just a bit.” There was no time for either of the other women to question your hurry. You deposited the rabbits on the counter by the old sink and exited just as quickly as you had entered. 

Daryl was coughing again when you returned, a painful sounding hack that jarred his entire body. His chest seemed to rattle with each breath, his movements sluggish while he removed his crossbow from his back. 

“Hey, are you okay?” You moved closer but still gave him several feet of distance. 

“M’fine.” He gestured vaguely around his upper torso. “S’just this fuckin’ cold.”

“Right.” You answered, watching him remove his poncho and vest. He must have sensed your eyes on him, an irritated glance thrown your way. 

“What?” He snapped. 

“You look like shit and sound even worse.” Your feet were propelling you toward him but he somehow managed to sidestep around you. “Daryl, hang on.”

“Ain’t in the mood for your shit, Y/N.” There was a sharp retort on the tip of your tongue that you swallowed when he began to cough again and staggered to catch himself against the wall. 

“Daryl?” You were at his side in an instant, your arm winding around this back to help support him. You couldn’t miss the heat you felt beneath his shirt. “Fuck, you’re hotter than a jalapeño’s ass!”

“Told ya, m’fine.” He hissed, probably attempting menacing but only managing a weak rasp. 

“You’re not fine, Daryl.” You held on tighter when he tried to shrug you off, a good thing since his legs buckled a moment later and took you both down. You managed to control the fall, ending with the two of you on your knees. Daryl coughed harshly, only managing to stay upright with your support. “Maggie! Maggie, get Hershel!”

“What’s wrong?” The eldest Greene ran into the room, followed by Carol. “Shit.”  One look and she disappeared, yelling for her father while Carol came around to Daryl’s other side. 

“Ain’t—no reason—for all this fussin’.”

“Shut up, Daryl. Daryl?” Your eyes met his briefly, fear and panic flashing through them before they rolled up and he slumped forward against you. “Daryl!”

[loveliest-venus]

bittersweet - straw hats crew x reader

includes: Straw Hats crew x f!reader warnings: major character death summary: In your last moments, your crewmates reflect on their time with you before saying goodbye. content: angst, slight fluff, can be read as romantic or platonic, no spoilers, 1.5k words.

Dying was never part of the plan.

Then again, none of this was ever part of the plan, from getting experimented on to meeting a rowdy pirate crew that called themselves the Straw Hats to end up joining them, thus starting what would be the biggest adventure of your whole life. Of course, you regretted it from time to time, it was a wonder how this wasn’t one of those times.

Well, maybe a little bit. You didn’t like seeing tears further dirtying Luffy’s face. It didn’t suit him, you weren’t used to seeing him with anything but a huge smile on his face, the smile that gave you hope despite everything. Your ears were still ringing but you thought you could vaguely hear Nami’s cries, or were they Chopper’s? It was hard to say, the poison had spread fast and you were certain that the blurriness in your vision wasn’t because of tears, as your eyes were dry and bloodshot, most likely from the toxins pumping through your veins, making each breath just a little more painful and… Was it just you or was Zoro screaming? You honestly couldn’t tell anymore. Your eyes closed as your body fell forward, stopping as Luffy’s arms wrapped around your torso to hold you up, making your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Hang on!” Your captain called your name hoarsely, snapping his head to the side, desperate yells piercing through the air as Chopper clumsily dashed over to where you were, slumped over Luffy’s shaking form. “Chopper!”

“D-Don’t worry, I will save her!” Chopper’s fur was wet, snot and salty water mixing as he cried, his voice cracking at the vowels of your name while his arms reached out to help stabilize you. It hurt your heart to see them so distraught and you hated that there was nothing you could do to comfort them.

“Chopper… Stop.” Both of them froze, Luffy’s body growing stiff against your clammy skin. “It’s okay… I’m not scared,” the words tasted bitter in your mouth, in contrast to the serene look on your worn-out features. Blood was trickling down your forehead, hanging on your eyelashes and joining the tiny trail spilling from the corners of your lips. “I’m happy to die… for my crew.” You meant it, your heart had never felt lighter.

“Oi! What the fuck are you going on about?! You can’t just–!” Zoro’s voice was unmistakable, rough like the numerous knives on your body. From the looks of it, your peaceful declaration hadn’t settled well with him. You wished you could meet his gaze one last time, blissfully unaware of the milky sheen on yours. It was then that Chopper realized, with a heartbroken sob, that it was truly too late. “Chopper, do something! Hurry up!”

“Moss-head…” Zoro’s earrings jingled when he turned to look at Sanji, ready to cuss him out until he saw the look on his face, somber and pleading. It dawned on him that the cook had already begrudgingly accepted that this was it. But the swordsman wasn’t known for admitting defeat that easily, if ever.

“Save it, you damn– ,” he was cut off when a pale, delicate hand landed on his broad shoulder, Robin’s lips set in a thin line, the only thing betraying her true feelings was the tight grip she had on him.

“Zoro.” Her eyes were fixated on your battered form, her brow furrowing at your labored breathing. “This isn’t the time. She’s too far gone.” It was Franky’s turn to lose composure, aggressively kicking away the remnants of what had once been a beautiful tree. Taking away the destroyed flora, the unconscious enemies around you and your own blood splattering the ground, this could’ve been called a scenic place to die.

“B-B-But Chopper can fix her up! He always can! R-Right, Chopper?! Tell Robin that she’s wrong!” Usopp’s arms were tightly wound around Nami, both of their eyes growing misty, holding each other up in a fruitless attempt to hold it together. At the archeologist’s soft murmur of your name, their hopes were shattered, Nami’s knees buckling under the weight of her grief, almost taking Usopp with her, forcing him to stand up straighter than before, for once staring at death right in the eye. If only it wasn’t your bloodied face staring back…

Brook remained silent, for once devoid of all joy. It was happening again, someone he held dear was being taken away from him all too soon, your life cut short at the capricious hands of fate. Jinbei had a similar expression on his face, choosing to honor your wishes as you clearly didn’t want to leave them without a proper goodbye.

“Why…?” Luffy, who hadn’t stopped crying, tried shaking you as if that would rip you out of your dazed state, your hair tickling his cheek as you didn’t have enough strength to lift your head up to look at him properly. “Why did you do it?!” He kept yelling your name, now crushing you against his scarred chest, refusing to let you go. “You can’t leave us!” A choked sob rocked his body, a shiver running down your spine at the sheer pain lacing his youthful voice.

Chopper was clinging to your leg, burying his face in your calf to hide his swollen eyes. “I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry! Please…” The mink was talking to himself at this point, stuck between begging whatever deity was listening and apologizing to you for not getting to you in time, for not being smart enough to find a cure. Zoro’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, loathing the helplessness wrapping around their group viciously, refusing to look away from you, still being held up by the devil fruit user’s embrace. His heart was fighting tooth and nail to keep itself from breaking, minuscule cracks growing the heavier your eyes got. Unbeknownst to him, there was already a scar in the shape of you.

Sanji gritted his teeth, taking a few steps in your direction, blinking away the moisture building up in his lash line, he didn’t want to miss any detail in your face, knowing it was the last time he’d ever get to admire it. In his eyes, you were as beautiful as ever, not even death could take your beauty away from you. Nothing would convince him otherwise.

Their allies could only watch, growing restless as the silence continued, were you gone already? None of them were close enough to see your face clearly, your crewmates had formed a circle around you, protecting you from unwanted eyes. Each of them had different opinions on your rambunctious group, however, none of them could deny that you were fiercely loyal to each other and seeing such a tight-knit crew lose a member was disheartening, a few of them inching closer to their own. It was an unspoken agreement, to pay their respects to the person who had given it her all to win this battle, saving them from a similar fate.

“Because… you called me your friend.”

Your soft voice cut through their thoughts seamlessly, a few gasps escaping from Nami, Usopp and Chopper. Zoro’s eye widened, almost losing his grip when the meaning behind that phrase registered in his brain; whereas Sanji chose to let his feelings take over, slowly sinking to his knees. Brook hung his head, and if he had eyes, he would’ve closed them, not wanting to witness the inevitable. Franky, on the other hand, kept his steely gaze on you, his fists growing tighter with each droplet of your blood that had touched the ground, none of this made any sense to the cyborg whose robotic body shook with the strength of his pained weeping. Your sweet words were like a knife to Jinbei’s kind heart, all of his memories with you as part of the crew playing like a cinematic sequence in his mind, you were one of the first to approach him when he had finally accepted Luffy’s invite. Robin could only smile, finally allowing her tears to drip down her face, wishing she could hold you for one last time. Life without you was unfathomable to them at this point, could this truly be reality? Wasn’t there any way to rewind time to save you?

None of them could see Luffy’s face, his reaction to you admitting that you were willingly exchanging your life for theirs in the name of your friendship. But it wasn’t hard to guess, seeing as he’d pressed his face into your neck, inhaling your scent to soothe his racing heart, torn to pieces by you and his inability to help you. He knew from the moment that he saw you that you would become an important part of his crew, however, he never imagined that it would end like this. He wasn’t ready to continue his journey without you. How could he become the King of the Pirates if you weren’t by his side?

“You truly are the best crew I could’ve asked for. I’m thankful for you… From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” Your eyes were fully closed, the corners of your lips curling up ever so slightly in a loving smile. It was a breathtaking image that would be branded into their hearts forever, sealed with your very last words to them.

“I love you.”

© 2020-2023 loveliest-venus — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Please do NOT repost, translate, modify, use for AI or claim my content as yours.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Witchy Shit!

An ask from @footninja that I posted as a post accidentally. 🫣

The ask is here

HAPPY ALMOST SAMHAIN MY WITCHES!!! I may have gone a little deeper than "hippie hillbilly witch"... I've been practicing for a WHILE, and magic is one of my autistic special interests, soooo.....

All the boys are FOR SURE Pagan even if that isn't what they call it (Splinter raised them Shinto), and *very* eclectic, but definitely have their own flavors that they gravitate to...

Leo

Did you say MEDITATING? When? Where? How long? He is ready to sit with you peacefully for hours.

Want to start mixing your own incense/tea? He'll help you research and grow the herbs you need.

BONSAI ZEN GARDEN

Night time dates to ALL the secret/private botanical gardens in the city.

The first time he sees you in a garden in the daylight, surrounded by butterflies, he looses the power of speech.

When you're having a tough time at work, expect tea and a full body massage with all natural oils in a candlelit room when you get home. If you are feeling up to it, that massage can and will escalate to the most transcendent, mild blowing tantric sex imaginable, leaving you fully relaxed mind, body, and spirit.

NOTE: Depending on exactly how "crunchy granola" you are, you may find yourself in conflict with his OCD, so be EXTRA respectful of his space.

Craft: Green Witch

Element: Earth

Archetype: The Hero

Major Arcana: Temperance

Raph

Need help with Ritual? My guy is a WORKHORSE. Where did you want that solid stone altar, again?

Bardic circle like a BOSS. My guy is always down for drinks, songs, and good stories, and the reverb of his voice from his shell means you can feel his singing in your feet like thunder.

Speaking of his voice: guided meditations.

Speaking of guided meditations: guided meditations that take a filthy turn halfway through. 😏

Firetender extraordinare. Want it to burn forever? This guy can drop in literal trees that'll keep the balefire lit until next Solstice.

By FAR the most in touch with his animal side.

He's a beast who not only has NO PROBLEM chasing you, naked, through the woods, but will 1000% instigate. LOVES sex outside (I may have a story about an amethyst cavern, but you didn't hear that because it's not written yet).

Craft: Primal Witch

Element: Fire

Archetype: The Knight

Major Arcana: Strength

Donnie

Oddly accepting of the witchy shit for a techy guy. He's smart enough to know that he doesn't know everything.

Writes a program that will help you track EVERYTHING. Moon, planets, planting, hurricane season, you name it.

Builds you a whole ass Orrery, because despite his program you *still* missed a celestial event and you were sad.

Expect after hours dates to the Hayden Planetarium during eclipses, meteor showers, comets, or any other excuse he can come up with to look at the stars with you.

SIGILS ON POINT. Fractals and sacred geometry, this guy is PRECISE. Made a Mercury Square once that you're pretty sure caused a blackout. He disagrees, but he doesn't make planetary squares anymore.

A night outside of the city looking at the stars? Expect my guy to be drawing star charts on your skin, before "exploring the heavens."

Craft: Celestial Witch

Element: Air

Archetype: The Magician

Tarot Card: The Magician

Mikey

Is straight up pagan.

Beaded bracelets? Hell yes. Macrame? On lock. Candle making? Crystal Wrapping? This boy is DOWN with the Witchy Crafts.

Vibes with his semiaquatic nature on a grand scale. The first time you caught him meditating underwater you nearly had a heart attack until you remembered.

If you introduce him to your people, he will fully write and lead rituals for literally anything. Leo may be master of the Dojo, but *no one* directs people's energy like Mike.

If you even suggest it *vaguely*, he is fully ON BOARD to start a coven/grove/whatever with you as your consort.

Oddly good at High Magic, but only practices VERY rarely. Won't Oracle for evocations because the idea of having someone else in his head weirds him out, but has a 100% success rate negotiating with Otherworldly Entities.

Sex magic in the ocean under a full moon? Uh, why aren't you in the water already?

Calls himself "Magic Mike."

Element: Water

Craft: Water Witch

Archetype: The Lover

Tarot Card: Wheel of Fortune

....

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @footninja @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo

(if you want to be tagged lmk)

[mydarlingclaudia]

taste no evil

note : divider is from @/adornedwithlight. this fic does have dark content in it I totally get it if you don’t wanna read <3 this was inspired by the vvitch, it’s not totally like it but it made me wanna write something witch-y (????? I know nothing about witches this is just idk) I rewrote this a couple of times this is the version I ended up liking the most even though the last couple thousand words suck ass :P

wc : 6.9k

tags : @withonly-sweetheart @clitorphosis

desc : it's just you and your husband out in the woods. oh, and whatever is living among the trees. you think it's some beastly animal, Leon knows it's witches. but he can't tell you that, you'd freak out, insist on moving closer to town or even further away from where you already lived. Leon can keep you safe, he knows he can, why must you be so paranoid all the time? it doesn't help his case when your animals start being picked off and you start seeing things more clearly. it only ends badly for the both of you. established relationship, tiny bit of fluff, gore, animal death, I make shit up about witches, cannibalism, major character death, au, fem!reader, re4r!Leon

back to the party <3

You’re hearing things in the woods at night. Not your usual deer or coyote or flock of birds, it’s something different, you don’t know what. Your husband hears it, too. It doesn’t sound like the wind, even though that’s what he says it is every time you sit up in bed in the dead of night and squeeze his arm, digging your fingernails into his skin until he wakes up.

Leon begs that you never leave your bed to go and see what scrapes against the windowpanes, that you stay with him and let him be the one to deal with it if anything were to get in. It couldn’t be the dog, his bark sounded much different than whatever this noise was. It couldn’t be neighbors, the closest house was two miles west, town was six miles further. It couldn’t be children, you were yet to have any.

When you go out in the morning to check on your animals, they’re all still there. All ten chickens, all four sheep, both your horses, the three goats, the four pigs, and one cat all remain. The cat hadn’t been yours originally, just showed up one night, Leon let it stay because it controlled the mouse population even though it fights with the dog. Nothing seems to be getting into your garden, either. That doesn’t settle your unease, though.

It’s even worse when Leon has to leave. Since town is so far, whenever he has to leave to go get medicine or supplies or something else, he was usually gone for the day. Sometimes, he’d get stuck in town or it got too dark to see the dirt road back to your home, on those days when he wouldn’t come back, you could hardly sleep, curled up on his side of the bed, your knees tucked into your chest, breathing quietly to hear every creak in the house.

But Leon always returns to you, and he kisses the top of your head and holds you tight while you scold him for taking so long to get back.

Your crops aren’t growing anymore, you know it’s because fall is nearing its end and the morning dew that coats the ground in the morning is beginning to freeze, but the thought that this isn’t because of some force of nature still looms in the back of your mind. It’s okay, though, because Leon will run out to town and get whatever vegetables you may need if they haven’t already been stockpiled in your pantry. You try to refrain from asking him to go out and get things for you, you try to keep him home whenever you’re able to, partly because of you missing him, the other part because of fear. 

Leon takes things well, he always does, that’s why it’s his job to calm you down. You’ve already spent three winters in these woods, you really shouldn’t be so worried about the things that naturally change with the seasons. Leon still goes out to chop wood and bring it back in, he still assures you that the animals aren’t out there freezing, and if there is a problem, he’s quick to fix it. You should try to take things as lightly as he does. 

It’s warm inside your home, though. You’re happy for that. You spend more and more of your days inside, tending to the fire and cooking over it, even if you’re still cold, Leon wastes no time in wrapping you up in his arms. 

Leon’s home again, finally. He spent the day in town yesterday, apparently it takes a while to buy ammunition and fabrics, but you don’t fight with him about it. Leon comes back inside with another armful of freshly chopped wood, stacking them next to the fireplace where you had already lit a fire. Your back is to him, you’re too focused on chopping up the deer meat Leon had brought home last week. The sounds of your knife hitting the cutting board again and again drown out Leon’s steps as he comes up behind you, you only know he’s there when he wraps his arms around your middle and presses his chest to your back.

The kisses he presses to your neck are soft, his body warm against your own. You stop your chopping and rest your head atop of his, this happens most nights, Leon holding you while you cook for him and yourself. 

“I’ll hunt more tomorrow,” He murmurs against your skin, “Another deer, maybe a turkey.”

“Whatever you want,” 

“You can come along if you want.” 

“You know I don’t wanna go in the woods.” 

“It’s not that bad during the day, I wouldn’t let anything get you, you know that.” 

“If I go with you then who will watch the house?”

“The dog,” He scoffs lightly, pulling away from your neck and squeezing you closer. “I won’t make you join me, I just wish you weren’t so afraid.” You sigh and continue chopping, Leon knew you wouldn’t go, anyway. But he’s certain nothing would be after you in the day, hiding behind the trees, breathing down the back of your neck, making you flinch away. It’s probably better this way, he knows that nothing with the women in the woods is certain, but if he can keep you safe and keep you happy, then maybe you’ll forget about those things outside the house. 

You can’t know about them, not the way that he knows them. If you see them, those women, those witches, he hopes you think nothing more of them than someone lost in the dark, looking for town, but Leon knows about them all too well. Leon knows they aren’t a frightened young woman knocking on your door at night, asking you to spare her some food and a place to rest until morning. He knows they aren’t coming from the city, marveling at the quaint home you’ve made for yourself on her way to town. He knows they aren’t a new neighbor from a mile or two away, bringing you a fresh apple pie to introduce themself and get to know the delightful young couple a bit better. 

Leon found them not long after the noises at night started. He had been coming back in from the outhouse and found a woman in just a torn up, bloody nightgown stalking around your house. He hadn’t known what to do, simply just stared and tried to quiet his breathing. Well, she noticed him, Leon was sure he was about to die, but the girl just smiled, showing off her bloody teeth before running past the animal pens and into the woods. Leon went back inside, wishing that it had been nothing more of a dream, but you noticed how something had frightened him and he knew nothing he told you would ease you. But you called him brave for going out there. 

He saw the witch again a few days later when he was coming back home from town. She didn’t threaten him, didn’t make any move to hurt him, hardly even tried to intimidate him. Just watched him from the side of the dirt road and followed him for a few yards until he stopped his horse and confronted her. Again, she presented those bloody teeth to him in a smile he knew he’d see more times than he’d like. 

She instantly began to speak of you, that’s when the subtle threats found their way into the conversation; “Pretty wife that you have, I was like her.” “I hope she isn’t too scared, but you take good care of her, don’t you?” “My friends like her, too. Shame that she doesn’t come out to see us.”. Leon could hardly stand it, he tried to dismiss the woman, told her that you weren’t the kind for rituals and sacrifices, but she wouldn’t let up about it.

“I’m sure you’d keep her safe, that’s what a good husband does.” The witch had giggled, circling his horse like she was sizing up a plate of food. 

“Please, just leave us be.” She hadn’t even looked at him, keeping her eyes on the horse beneath him who was starting to shift in its place. “What do you want so badly, huh? Why my wife? What would make you back away from her?” When he said it, it wasn’t an offering of any kind. But the witch took it that way, gave him a grin that would continue to make him sick, and he knew that was it. 

Leon would make a deal with the witch, then she told her little friends and they all joined in. He became the errand boy, a pet for the witches, a man desperate for his wife not to become what they were. He did as they asked, stomaching down whatever disgusting they would have him do every few nights. “Bring me a young man.” “Bring me a virgin girl.” “The head of a goat, I need it.” “Butcher us a lamb, bones, organs, flesh. Tonight.” Leon did it all. In return, your safety would go on for longer, these errands would become what most of his trips into town were actually about, but he’d bring something back for you so his story would be believable. 

You could never find out. 

The worry never leaves you no matter how badly Leon wishes it would. Soothing you gets less and less easy with each night that you’re up, trying to decide if it’s one of your animals making that noise or your imagination. So you keep yourself busy, Leon does the same, desperate to be by you during the day in case those women finally decide it’s time and that he’s no longer needed. 

“I will stay,” You look over your shoulder and smile at him, stopping again to gather the slabs of meat into your hands. “You’re a better shot than I am, anyway.”

–

You can see your breath in the air, the cold wind nips at whatever skin is exposed as you drag the knife down the deer's front, the fur pulling back and exposing the white flesh hidden beneath. 

Leon had gone hunting, as he said he would. He brought you home a deer, this one is to make jerky of and keep stored, it’s always best to keep extra meat around in the winter. Odd thing was that as soon as he had dropped the deer off in the yard, he came inside for a quick kiss as a goodbye, saying he needed to run into town, you didn’t question him even though you really should have. 

Nonetheless, the warmth of the deers bare skin warmed your cold fingers, you almost found yourself leaning into it. You’ll make something of its coat, be it a rug or something to heat the inside of a jacket, so long as it serves some use. Blood trickles down out of the gash in its throat and the bullet in its eye into the metal pail beneath the deer’s head while you continue to skin it, the deer sways slightly from where it’s strung up because of the force of your cuts. 

You learned how to butcher things because of Leon, it was before you were married, but it proved to be a useful skill to have when you had a rabbit infestation in your yard back when you lived in town. 

Once it's fully skinned, you slice down the middle, crack the ribs and push them apart, and you’re met with the hot, red insides of a dead deer. The steam from its body comes up to warm your hands, and you let it be that way for a few minutes. Some of the organs fall to the dirt floor of the barn after a minute, you cut out whatever hadn’t slipped away already. You cut down its groin until you hit the first rib, then follow along that until you pull the meat away and set it on the butcher's table a few feet to your right. Repeat on the other side, cut out the tenderloins, get behind the deer and cut horizontally where its back meets its legs, then slowly start to cut along the spine and- 

The cat rubbing up against your boots and licking at the deers spilled organs stops you, you never did find a fitting name for the cat, but you loved her nonetheless. You give her a soft kick and she stops to stare up at you, licking at the blood that coats the fur around her mouth. “Stop that,” You scold quietly, she doesn’t understand you, she never does. You give her another soft kick, pushing her away from where you’re working, “Go, kitty. Shoo.” She finally leaves you, rubbing up against wooden beams on her way out of the barn, you’re about to begin your cutting again, but the dog barking tears you from your focus.

You wait a few seconds, hope that he stops barking, but an angered yell is only accompanied with the awful noise. You stab your knife into the wooden table with a huff, leave the barn, go around to the front of the house and look around, but you find no one at your door or in the yard or even by the animal pens. You look around for a few minutes, wondering if you have missed someone, but all that you can see is your animals. 

The dog comes to you, panting with his tongue out, he has that smiley look that all dogs have. You kneel to pat his head, but he barks and turns from you before scampering off past the pens, you follow after him. Nothing is unusual, nothing is out of place. You count all the animals that you see, make sure no fences are broken and that there’s nothing hiding around the corner.

You almost trip over the dog when you stop, he sits there, looking out at the treeline, barking softly. A chill runs through you, but when you look down and see the trail of footprints in the mud that leads from the sheep pen and out into the woods, it feels like your whole body has gone numb. 

How could you have missed this? How did you not hear someone wandering around your property? Surely the animals would’ve started squealing and cawing if they had been disturbed, right? If they let this fly by, then what did they let pass through at night? Is this what the dog deals with most nights?

Leon’s getting an earful when he gets home.

–

Leon’s met with you pacing around the home when he finally returns late at night. You should have been in bed by now, awake and waiting. The deer had been butchered and stored away so you could finish cooking it tomorrow, but the yelling, he hadn’t been ready for the yelling. 

You repeat yourself over and over about how someone had come to the house today, and how that someone had wandered through the yard and had gotten chased away by the dog. You keep telling Leon about how you hadn’t heard them when you should’ve, how the animals didn’t even make the faintest noise when they passed through without a sound. Leon knows who it is, of course he does, why wouldn’t he? He really should know better than to trust those women, but he can either ignore them and let them take you, or he can do as they say and leave you here by yourself knowing they may not honor the safety deal that had been agreed upon. Lose-lose situation. 

Leon hates leaving you, he really does. This does nothing to ease him. He doesn’t know what would’ve happened to you or the animals if the witch hadn’t been chased away, he doesn’t know if it’s happened before, but he knows that it will probably happen again and that he’ll get scolded by the witches for letting his dog scare one of them like that.

You’re still talking his ear off, Leon simply sits at the edge of the bed and stares at you as you pace around your house in your nightgown. You look so worried, it pains Leon.

“Next time- Next time I’m coming to town with you.” You don’t even look at him when you talk, you’re really just talking to yourself, but he listens. “I wish that you had been here, you could’ve- I-I dunno! You could’ve done something!”

“Done what?” Leon muses from his seat on the bed, resting his chin on his hand. You finally turn to face him, your worried look replaced with a glare.

“I don’t know. Kept watch? I don’t mind strangers, but this is scary, Leon. I don’t want someone snooping around our house, and if that’s what I’m hearing outside in the night then- Then I want them out of here!” You walk closer to him, your hands are all over the place as you confess your worries to him for the umpteenth time. 

“I know, I know. I don’t like this anymore than you do, and I promise to you that I’ll take care of it.” Take care of it means beg the women in the woods to not come to your house when he’s sent away on an errand. That’s why he left in a rush yesterday. One of those girls found him in the woods and demanded he bring her some of an old man's livestock. He can’t say no. All Leon can do now is listen to you talk and think of a way to fix this. 

“Leon, please. I- I’m scared. You know that.” You finally stop in front of him, the tears that well up in your eyes make his heart ache. He reaches out, holding your hand in his, pulling you closer. 

“I hate seeing you worry like this, you’ll go gray by the end of the year.” He tries to joke, it does get a small giggle from you, that’s good. “I’m never going to let anything hurt you, you have my word. Things are gonna get better, I’ll be here, I’ll watch the house, make you feel better.” He gives your hands a squeeze, you nod your head and sit down next to him on the bed, he takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulder and rest his head on top of yours. “We’ll be okay.”

You nod your head beneath his, sucking back the snot in your nose and wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“I’m sorry things are like this, I hope you know I’m trying to make things as easy as possible for you.”

“I know that, but you being gone so much doesn’t make me feel as safe as you think it does.” Leon sighs through his nose and brings a hand up to stroke your hair. Oh, how he wishes things were as simple as they once were. 

“I love you.” Is all he can think to say.

“I love you, too.” 

Leon holds you like that for a few moments, listening to your breathing soften as you burrow into the side of his neck. Tomorrow will be different, he hopes. He hopes he can cook up that deer meat with you, sit with you and watch you sew while he reads to you, maybe tomorrow night will be special. But that’s always how he hopes things turn out to be until he has to head back to town again. 

The moment is interrupted by a pained yelp from outside, it’s made by an animal, you bolt upright, already thinking about what could be happening outside the four walls of your home. Leon doesn’t do anything just yet, he sits for another few seconds, but he’s met with growling and more yelps.

“Stay here, please.” Leon says softly, he kisses your forehead as he grabs the lantern from the nightstand, stands from the bed and walks to the door, grabbing his shotgun before stepping out into the cool night air. You do as he says, good wife that you are. That rush of fear finds its way back into your body, you hear Leon yell. The shotgun is fired once, then a second time, a more human scream following after the second shot, you hold back a sob. 

After maybe five minutes pass, you can’t take it. 

You pluck Leon's coat off of a chair and throw it on over your nightgown, you don’t bother with shoes when you get to the front door and open it. You’re scared to find Leon dead on the ground even though he’s the one with the gun, you shuffle slowly around the corner of the house. There’s snow under your feet, it’s barely any, really. But you can feel the softness of it that melts when you step on it, only for it to melt and soak into your skin.

“Leon?” You call out. And you find him, by the far end of the house, kneeling over something. The shotgun is on the ground, so is the lantern, you still can’t see very well even as you make your way closer. “Leon, you-” You cut yourself when you finally reach him. You stare at your dead dog from over his shoulder, Leon knows you’re there because he’s gone completely still. Words die in your throat as you take in the sight of the canine's organs that’ve been torn from its body, they stain the snow a dark red. Poor thing, it curled itself into a ball trying to chew out its own guts, its jaw is still open, sharp, bloody teeth out on display. The sight is awful, the smell is even worse, you know you won’t forget it. 

Leon can hear your breathing quicken behind him, he turns to look at you. Your eyes are blown wide, mouth agape, chest heaving, you look like you’re about to puke. He quickly stands when you finally turn away from the bloody sight and lean over, one hand holding your stomach while the other covers your mouth. You’ve seen plenty of disgusting things, you’ve helped birth animals, you’ve butchered more game than you can even remember, but this is wrong. 

Leon wraps his arms around your hunched over form, whispering quick “I know,”’s and “It’s alright,”’s. You pant for a few more seconds before the feeling of acid in your stomach finally starts to fade, Leon continues to hold you and rub your arm, trying to reassure you. 

The animals made no noise, you can feel them watching you, though. They didn’t make any noise when the stranger came by earlier, they didn’t make any noise when your dog was attacked, they didn’t make any noise when Leon shot at something you didn’t get the chance to see. 

Instead of puking, you start sobbing, leaning into Leon’s touch as he brings you to sit on the cold ground so he can try and hold you tighter. The kisses he places on your face do little to help ease your shaken state, tears well up in his eyes as well, but his tears are for a different reason.

–

What was Leon thinking, shooting at a witch? 

He had hit her, he’s always been a good shot, but it had only been in the arm, she wouldn’t die. Though, he knows that this is only going to get him into trouble and put you at more risk. 

He assumes that she had attacked the dog because of how it had chased her away earlier that day, who knows what would happen now. Seeing you cry didn’t make him feel better about anything, and now he knows you’re going to need him now more than ever. He does your chores for you, he doesn’t even try to pry you off of him when you don’t let him get up from your bed in the morning. As much as he enjoys being close to you, he knows that this is partly his fault. 

You hardly sleep now, neither does he. The two of you cling to each other at night, you both listen to the noises that come from outside your home, trying to tell when they get too close.

You don’t ask him about what happened, you don’t want to know, but you know that there’s something he hasn’t told you. Maybe it’s better that way, maybe you haven’t just been hearing things this whole time and there’s something Leon knows that you don’t. But your ignorance has kept you safe thus far, right? Sure, you’re scared, but nothing’s hurt you. As much as you want to ask Leon about what he may or may not know, you stop yourself. Now probably isn’t a good time, you don’t want to get into a fight with him, especially when you feel like you’ll die if he has to leave again. 

You know he didn’t kill your dog, you know he tried to save it, but the person he shot– you heard it, you know you did. 

You try thinking about who it could’ve been, why they’d come to your house at such a late hour, why Leon didn’t go after them, but you come up with nothing in the end. You don’t like thinking about it, it drives you crazy, but you really can’t help it. Even though you have your doubts and your fears, you never pull away from Leon’s touch, you can’t risk losing it.

–

Leon hasn’t left in nearly three weeks, which you don’t mind in the slightest. 

You have enough vegetables, you don’t need any tools, anything that you need, you have. The roads are probably too packed with snow to even get anywhere and not get lost or freeze, anyway. 

The only problem you’re really starting to run into is with the animals. They keep fighting with each other, three of the chickens have already been killed by the others, their eyes pecked out, feathers torn off, chest ripped open. Your billy goat had killed one of the other goats, ramming its horns into her side until he ended up impaling her, Leon separated the billy goat from the other goat quickly after that. The sheep and horses don’t seem as bad as the others, well, they’re not violent, but they are sick. The pigs are fighting with each other more than normal, they keep biting one another and fighting over food even though there’s plenty for all of them. You make Leon deal with those things. 

You still had that deer meat from the one Leon had brought home a few weeks ago, you’ve mostly been eating that. There’s something wrong with the chicken eggs, when you crack them, instead of a white yolk and clear, slimy insides coming out, all you get is an already popped yolk that’s turning green and chunky egg whites. The smell is awful, you can’t imagine how bad it would taste. It’s with all the eggs, neither you or Leon know what to do about it. 

Even if there were good eggs, the chickens would have eaten them before you would get the chance to collect them. They do it now with these disgusting eggs they lay, they don’t seem to mind, they keep fighting them, the inside of the coop is a mess. 

You’ve tried cooking up the chicken and goat meat, but the meat is already rotting. It doesn’t make sense. Winter has begun, the earth is frozen over, your animals have been dead for barely two days and there’s already bugs living inside the graying flesh. It disgusts you. Leon apologizes for it all, you aren’t sure why, it’s not his fault the animals are being this way. You feed whatever untouched bits you can find to the cat. 

Leon’s gone out hunting since the dog has died, you went with him this time. Even with Leon, you find nothing to eat. No deer pass through, not a rabbit burrowing in the snow, nothing. Just a few birds that are so small they’d be blown apart by the force of a bullet. It’s fine, the deer meat should last you for a bit longer, and if you really need to, you can just kill one of the pigs. Anything you eat tastes rotten, you’re not sure why, it should be perfectly fine. Maybe it’s something in your head.

It’s colder now, though. It won’t stop snowing and you’re trying to save as much firewood as you can so Leon doesn’t have to keep going out into the deep snow to get more wood everyday. 

You don’t like seeing Leon so worried. He’s too stiff when he holds you, he’s been so on edge for the past few weeks, more than you’d thought he’d be. 

Time moves on, it waits for no one. 

You and Leon eat whatever you have, burn the wood you’re able to, try to sleep as much as you can. He doesn’t bring up the dog, or the fact that your animals are either dying or killing each other. You can’t bring yourself to go outside and see what’s become of your poor animals, Leon understands, it’s another thing he tries to take care of and hide just to keep you happy. 

–

The snow is cold under your feet, as is the air around you that continues to bite at your skin. No jacket, no shoes, what are you thinking? You’re gonna get sick, Leon will just have to keep taking care of you. But you couldn’t stay inside anymore, you heard the keening cries of your poor sheep early in the morning, you ran outside before Leon could stop you. 

The scene in front of you is almost the same as that of your dog’s death : blood in the snow, torn open chests and stomachs, warm, heavy organs that melt the snow around them and let steam rise up into the air. You say nothing, you do nothing besides stare down at the pen that once held your sheep in them, their wool is turning the same color as the snow. There’s footprints in the snow, not yours, not Leon’s, some are bloody, some aren’t. 

The pigs are dead, the goats are dead, the chickens and horses are on death's doorstep, and now your sheep have gone too. You’ve been feeding the animals, was it just a change in the weather that made them all sick? To be fair, the pigs fed themselves, you didn’t know they ate their own. The goats got violent, the sheep were as weak as ever, but you’ve never heard of an animal's organs falling out on their own. It’s not a rarity for farm animals to be wiped out in one winter, but they’ve survived winters like these before, what’s so different about this one? 

You finally decide that it’s not an animal who’s done this, that the things you’ve seen and heard in the night weren’t animals, either. 

Whenever you do get to sleep now, there’s these women in your dreams, you don’t know them, but they seem to know you. And in these dreams, you’re eating with them, their faces blur together and you feel warm, full. They laugh and talk, serve you plate after plate of something raw. There’s blood in their mouths as well as yours, it’s like you’re under some kind of spell. Leon isn’t there, and as much as these dreams leave you feeling a bit more content than the day before, there’s something about them that terrifies you. You don’t tell Leon this, though. 

Maybe in your dreams you’re eating your animals, you still don’t know who the women are supposed to be. But the sounds of their laughter have poured out of your dreams and into the sounds you hear outside your house at night. 

Leon follows you outside after a couple of minutes, holding a jacket and blanket meant for you while he doesn’t have one for himself. 

You let him come up behind you and put the jacket over your shoulders, then the blanket on top of it. “You’ll catch a cold,” He mumbles. 

“I’m tired of this.” You breathe. Leon doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but you hear him gulp, then feel him run his hand up and down your back.

“Tired of what?”

“Of this-” You look at him and gesture to the pen of dead sheep in front of you, Leon doesn’t look. “I- Is it wolves, or something? Leon, this has never been a problem, I don’t understand what’s changed but we can’t just… We can’t just act like this isn’t a problem.”

“I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, we won’t be able to stay here next year. You know, I’ll go anywhere with you, right?”

“Of course, but we can’t just leave our home.”

“Well we can’t stay here if there’s something in the woods that’s treating our land like its feeding ground!” You scoff, you move from your spot in the snow and step closer to Leon, rubbing your hands over your face. “I- I’ve told you about how scared I am, you keep doing nothing.”

Leon wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him, “You don’t know how sorry I am.” You stay quiet, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours as you try to ignore the chill creeping up your legs and the smell of blood in your nose. “I wish things were different,”

“Maybe we should wish harder,” The chuckle he lets out is humorless. “We can’t stay here anymore, you know that.”

“... I do.”

“Let’s head back into town as soon as there’s a break in the weather.” Leon goes quiet again, he’s thinking, you can practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

“I like that plan.” He hums after a few seconds, giving you a squeeze before letting his grip on you loosen. His hands slide down to yours, he still hasn’t looked at the dead sheep when he starts to pull you back to the house. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

“So make me feel better.” 

– 

The night is colder than the day, it’s always been this way. 

Leon’s asleep in your bed, but you’re wide awake. You had another one of those dreams about the women for the brief amount of time that you got to sleep. It felt different this time, probably because you had been in your barn, eating away at a rotted deer carcass, it tasted sweet on your tongue. You could hear Leon talking to you in your dream, but when you looked around you he was never there and you were left with those odd women again. 

Your fingers trace over his face gently, careful not to wake him. You’ve always thought he looked peaceful in his sleep, you hope his dreams are better than yours. It’s too quiet tonight, there’s no tapping on the window, no shouts from outside, nothing. Something tells you that you should go check, though. 

You press a soft kiss to Leon’s cheek and stand from your bed, managing to pull on a coat and shoes this time around before you step out into the cold night. 

You’re met with silence, the moon shines brightly in the sky, lighting up the snowy land and the woods that surrounds it. You lean back against the wooden door, wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for that something that drew you out here. 

You wait for a few moments, then for a few more seconds before you decide that this is futile. You turn around and reach for the door handle, but a sharp whistle to your right stops you, it’s already too late to go back inside. 

“You look so tired.” Says the voice, you turn to look and see who it is, only to find a stranger. She can’t be any older than you are, she watches you, waiting for you to answer as a smile creeps onto her face and she takes a step closer. “What’s got you so worried?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m worried about you,” She speaks quickly, alive and energetic. “You can trust me, what’s got you up so late?” You shudder, you’ve seen her face before, but you can’t remember where. In your dreams, maybe? The way she stares into your soul makes you feel like she already knows the answer to her question, she just wants to hear you admit it. 

“... My husband. And the animals.” You mumble, her smile grows. 

“Really?” It’s almost a giggle when she asks, she sways slightly, stepping closer to you once again. “You’re a good wife, then.” You don’t say anything, only watch her. “I bet there’s something I could do to take away that worry.” Again, you give her no answer. “Can we sit and talk?”

It’s stupid, you know it is. The closer she gets, the more clearly you can see the crusted blood on her lips. You grip the door handle, but you can’t move under her gaze. 

“I just want to help.”

“Th-Thank you, but I- Uhm, I’m f-fine.” You stammer out, “I just- I’d like to go back to sleep now.”

“Don’t you want to know how I can help?”

“You’re too kind,” You chuckle shakily. “I’m fine, really.” 

“Please.” Her voice is firm, she’s not asking you this time. “That husband of yours shot me, you know. Helping you would make me feel better.” 

“You-” She reaches out and grabs your wrist, her icy skin makes her grip on you even more uncomfortable. 

“Say yes to me.” You both stop, her eyes bore into yours. “You’ll freeze or you’ll starve, do you want to see your husband freeze?”

“It’s just one winter.” She smiles again, like she knows something you don’t. 

“Do you want to see your husband freeze?” She repeats. “Do you want to watch him starve?”

“Of course not!”

“I can help you, you won’t have to worry about him anymore if you just say yes.” 

“I don’t know you.”

“You don’t have to know me,” She snaps, “You just have to trust me. Your life can be easy again. You love your husband, don’t you?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

“Then let me help you.” 

“… How?” 

“You’ll just have to see. But you’ll be okay, I promise. We’ll feed you food sweeter than anything you’ve tasted, don’t you want that?”

“… Yes.” 

— 

Those women from your dreams surround you, their laughter is the same, but you can see their faces more clearly now. The fire is warm, even in your nakedness you don’t feel the chill of the snow and crisp air. 

You almost laugh with them, but Leon’s here with you this time, that’s what makes you stop. His body lays on top of the snow and you lean over him, holding his hand against the side of your face, his skin is cold, but you still cling to his touch. Leon’s breathing is slow, he can hardly keep his eyes open, you can’t really blame him, not when he’s got chunks bitten out of him, the other women said he had tasted good, offered up the rest of him to you. 

You were easy to convince, you wouldn’t call yourself desperate, maybe dumb, in a sense. Easily tricked. How could you know it would lead to this? 

Your eyes are watery, tears of your own drip down onto Leon’s face and mix with his. You can’t fully hate this, he’s here with you, there’s something either wrong with your mind or body telling you that this is the right thing. Before you can really stop yourself, you lap at the gash on his wrist, his blood is sweeter than anything you’ve made up in your dreams. The way he looks now isn’t far off from any of your animals' deaths, the only thing is that he’s no animal and there’s still air in his lungs. 

He winces when you suck on the wound, the sound is weak and breathy, but it still makes something in you ache. 

“Sorry,” You mumble against his wrist, coaxing more blood out with more gentler sucks and nips at the torn skin. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” Leon lifts his head only for it to fall back against the snow, you pull away from his wrist, a small string of saliva connecting your bloody mouth to the ugly gash before breaking. You push the hair from his face, still holding his wrist in your other hand.

“I-” You start, stopping when you see how glossy his eyes become. “Were you protecting me?” A weak nod comes from Leon, you smile. “You’re everything to me. I love you, you know that?” Another weak nod, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the way he stops breathing as you hold him. You smear blood across his lips when you pull away, his eyes have gone cold and you can’t seem to find a pulse in his throat. You let out a shaky breath as you kiss your way down from his jaw and back to his wrist, focusing solely on the feeling of his limp arm in your grasp. 

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper against him, no longer sucking and nibbling, instead sinking your teeth into him, working your way into the skin to pull it away from him and back into your mouth. You take the first bit, chomp down on the chewy bits of meat, tonight is the beginning of your new life.

[fatehbaz]

Tallying every single tree in the kingdom. Endangered South Asian sandalwood. British war to control the forests. European companies claim the ecosystem. Failure of the plantation. Until the twentieth century, the Empire couldn't figure out how to cultivate sandalwood because they didn't understand that the plant is actually a partial root parasite, so their monoculture approach of eliminating companion species was self-defeating. French perfumes and the creation of "Sandalwood City".

---

Selling at about $147,000 per metric ton, the aromatic heartwood of Indian sandalwood (S. album) is arguably [among] the most expensive wood in the world. Globally, 90 per cent of the world’s S. album comes from India [...]. And within India, around 70 per cent of S. album comes from the state of Karnataka [...] [and] the erstwhile Kingdom of Mysore. [...] [T]he species came to the brink of extinction. [...] [O]verexploitation led to the sandal tree's critical endangerment in 1974. [...]

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Francis Buchanan’s 1807 A Journey from Madras through the Countries of Mysore, Canara and Malabar is one of the few European sources to offer insight into pre-colonial forest utilisation in the region. [...] Buchanan records [...] [the] tradition of only harvesting sandalwood once every dozen years may have been an effective local pre-colonial conservation measure. [...] Starting in 1786, Tipu Sultan [ruler of Mysore] stopped trading pepper, sandalwood and cardamom with the British. As a result, trade prospects for the company [East India Company] were looking so bleak that by November 1788, Lord Cornwallis suggested abandoning Tellicherry on the Malabar Coast and reducing Bombay’s status from a presidency to a factory. [...] One way to understand these wars is [...] [that] [t]hey were about economic conquest as much as any other kind of expansion, and sandalwood was one of Mysore’s most prized commodities. In 1799, at the Battle of Srirangapatna, Tipu Sultan was defeated. The kingdom of Mysore became a princely state within British India [...]. [T]he East India Company also immediately started paying the [new rulers] for the right to trade sandalwood.

British control over South Asia’s natural resources was reaching its peak and a sophisticated new imperial forest administration was being developed that sought to solidify state control of the sandalwood trade. In 1864, the extraction and disposal of sandalwood came under the jurisdiction of the Forest Department. [...] Colonial anxiety to maximise profits from sandalwood meant that a government agency was established specifically to oversee the sandalwood trade [...] and so began the government sandalwood depot or koti system. [...]

From the 1860s the [British] government briefly experimented with a survey tallying every sandal tree standing in Mysore [...].

Instead, an intricate system of classification was developed in an effort to maximise profits. By 1898, an 18-tiered sandalwood classification system was instituted, up from a 10-tier system a decade earlier; it seems this led to much confusion and was eventually reduced back to 12 tiers [...].

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Meanwhile, private European companies also made significant inroads into Mysore territory at this time. By convincing the government to classify forests as ‘wastelands’, and arguing that Europeans would improves these tracts from their ‘semi-savage state’, starting in the 1860s vast areas were taken from local inhabitants and converted into private plantations for the ‘production of cardamom, pepper, coffee and sandalwood’.

---

Yet attempts to cultivate sandalwood on both forest department and privately owned plantations proved to be a dismal failure. There were [...] major problems facing sandalwood supply in the period before the twentieth century besides overexploitation and European monopoly. [...] Before the first quarter of the twentieth century European foresters simply could not figure out how to grow sandalwood trees effectively.

The main reason for this is that sandal is what is now known as a semi-parasite or root parasite; besides a main taproot that absorbs nutrients from the earth, the sandal tree grows parasitical roots (or haustoria) that derive sustenance from neighbouring brush and trees. [...] Dietrich Brandis, the man often regaled as the father of Indian forestry, reported being unaware of the [sole significant English-language scientific paper on sandalwood root parasitism] when he worked at Kew Gardens in London on South Asian ‘forest flora’ in 1872–73. Thus it was not until 1902 that the issue started to receive attention in the scientific community, when C.A. Barber, a government botanist in Madras [...] himself pointed out, 'no one seems to be at all sure whether the sandalwood is or is not a true parasite'.

Well into the early decades of twentieth century, silviculture of sandal proved a complete failure. The problem was the typical monoculture approach of tree farming in which all other species were removed and so the tree could not survive. [...]

The long wait time until maturity of the tree must also be considered. Only sandal heartwood and roots develop fragrance, and trees only begin developing fragrance in significant quantities after about thirty years. Not only did traders, who were typically just sailing through, not have the botanical know-how to replant the tree, but they almost certainly would not be there to see a return on their investments if they did. [...]

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The main problem facing the sustainable harvest and continued survival of sandalwood in India [...] came from the advent of the sandalwood oil industry at the beginning of the twentieth century. During World War I, vast amounts of sandal were stockpiled in Mysore because perfumeries in France had stopped production and it had become illegal to export to German perfumeries. In 1915, a Government Sandalwood Oil Factory was built in Mysore. In 1917, it began distilling. [...] [S]andalwood production now ramped up immensely. It was at this time that Mysore came to be known as ‘the Sandalwood City’.

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Text above by: Ezra Rashkow. "Perfumed the axe that laid it low: The endangerment of sandalwood in southern India." The Indian Economic and Social History Review, Volume 51 (2014), Issue 1, pages 41-70. First published online 10 March 2014. DOI: 10.1177/0019464613515533 [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Italicized first paragraph/heading in this post added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]