#Imaginary Foes

[wickedzeevyln]

Friends with Fear

Welcome friend.The deeper the mind digs the more watery the knees under our weight. He stood there with chest puffed out, lips pursed, eyes like the sun at noon in a desert sky, head cocking and knuckles cracking followed by a loud hiss. Fear is here.The earth trembled under his heavy thuds. He shot up creepy things through our pores and let them slither up the spine. My mind conjured a…

[wearysparrows]

of the Innocence of Beasts

ao3/masterlist

Summary: At your request, your dragon takes you to fish, and indulge in the hot springs of the nearby volcano. You enjoy each other.

cw: dragon Sylus, fluff, cuddling and snuggling, fishing (minor animal death mention), hot springs, oil massage, everything is very touchy feely, implied AFAB reader but no pronoun usage, some mature and suggestive themes, not beta read. 5K

Life with your dragon brought both new complexities and new simplicities. 

Gone were the days of languishing in the insipid whiteness of the Inner Sanctum, being fed tales upon tales of the nature of beasts. Each lie you had been fed was dashed and replaced with the firm grip of reality, burnished by dragon’s fire. You wanted for nothing material – even the barest mention of it caused it to appear before you. You lacked not in your quest to slake your thirst for vengeance, as this too was facilitated by the claws of your dragon. Foes were felled, loot was plundered. Yet, still you desired for something more. An experience beyond taking or receiving. The draw of things you had yet to see with your own eyes outside of the pages of books. 

“Sylus,” you called to your dragon. 

His answer was a questioning hum, which rattled out of his chest like it was crawling from his ribs as it did so. The reply came from directly above your head, as you were nestled in between his legs, lounging together amongst the glittering riches you had mutually accumulated. The low lights of the candles bounced off of the cave walls, and the piles of gold cast imaginary creatures as their shadows. They writhed slowly. Sylus was playing with your forearm in his palms – pressing down on the point on your inner wrist that made your fingers reflexively curl inward. Pressing and releasing. This had been occupying him for some time. You steeled yourself a bit, preparing to present him with your request. It was different from any of the things you had asked of him before, and your heart fluttered with trepidation in your chest.

“I heard talk in the city of a place to catch fish at the base of the volcano. Hot springs further up, too.”

Sylus paused his amusements with your hands, and tucked his face a little closer into the crook of your shoulder. His voice was muffled for his lips on your skin.

“I can bring anything you desire, here. You desire these..fish? These waters? Surely there are delicacies that would please you more in Tarus city. What uniqueness is there in their properties?” 

His tail lashed back and forth, as it often did when he was conflicted about something. It sent innocent invaluable baubles scattering across the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at how he had perceived the request. You did not doubt he had a way to bring the springs to you – or the fish, for that matter. It was difficult to fathom things yet unseen. You turned in his grip, now kneeling between his thighs, facing him. He was looking at you levelly, awaiting your answer. His pupils were slits in a sea of crimson.

“It is not a desire for ownership, nor a particular uniqueness of property. I simply wish to enjoy these things with you. It’s a popular destination for those who are courting…” 

You found yourself trailing off. Despite your obvious closeness, putting an outward name to your relationship with Sylus still didn’t come as naturally as you would have liked. You weren’t entirely certain that there was a word that could quantify the sharing of a soul between a mortal and a dragon. Not in your language, anyway. Perhaps your dragon had one that your tongue was unable to pronounce. His eyes searched yours for a moment, and you saw the rapid dilation and contraction of his pupils. The thrashing of his tail ceased for a moment, then resumed. A crease formed between his eyebrows.

“You wish to be courted as a mortal man would?”

You placed your hands upon his broad shoulders. Soothing. His skin radiated an inhuman heat, almost too hot to the touch. You felt the places where scale shifted into skin, hardening and softening. At times, you could nearly forget the sword your heart brandished towards the end of his own. Flesh was just flesh, nothing more, nothing less.

“Your thoughts go further than my words. I only want for time we have yet to spend with one another.”

This seemed to calm him, for he relaxed back into your touch. You could see the way he took in your scent with the soft flares of his nostrils, gauging your emotional state.

“You could stand to be greedier for things other than lower creatures and ancient reservoirs.” 

Despite his words, your request would be fulfilled. The two of you procured supplies from the city below, and you packed them neatly into a bag that was securely fastened at your waist, along with a small fishing spear across your hip. Both were paid for by Sylus with a much too heavy bag of gold slung haphazardly into the shopkeeper's waiting palm.

After you were satisfied, Sylus swept you easily into his arms and took to the skies. You clung there to his neck, and worried not that he would loosen his hold. Never once was it not steady and sure, strong and unwavering. You, who had been born to slay dragons, were cradled in the dragon’s grip, now. The rush of his wings beat the air into submission around you, and the beating of your heart matched the steadiness of his own.

As you looked down upon Philos, the black hulk of a great volcano began to rise before you, circled on all sides by swathes of dark trees. There was a clear line of demarcation where the vegetation could come no closer to the mountain, lest the heat burn it away. Here was where Sylus deposited you delicately to your feet, his wings disappearing into effervescent mist behind him. Your lungs had grown more used to the rapid changes in air pressure, and you took less and less time to recover from these frequent flights. You took a great inhale of breath. The air was alive with sound around you. Creatures that had long adapted to this inhospitable environment made their presences known. There was the scent of the greenness of the untapped earth, mixed with the burden of fire; the scent of transmutation.

There was a trail here, too, though surely not well used. Lava rocks, cooled eons before your lifetime, crunched under your boots. It was small and meandering, and you were guided by little else besides this and Sylus’s directional instinct. The two of you walked in comfortable silence until you came upon what you were looking for. 

A deep pool, perhaps no greater than the span of your dragon’s wings across. It was surrounded on all sides by great dark rocks, cradled it into the womb of the volcano with an overhang above. Hardly any of the midday light could reach into its depths, and you wondered for a moment if there was any life here all. It was deeply still. But there – the bright flash of a fish, cast starkly against the strange darkness of the waters. You did not have a name for it. In the Sanctuary, there was no need for knowledge such as this. Your ears caught the sound of the spines on Sylus’s back expanding and contracting in interest, a sort of quiet creak of flesh and scales. He turned to you.

“You will hunt with that?” 

He motioned to your spear with a clawed finger, sounding a little incredulous. The spear was little and lithe – fitting perfectly in your hand. It was hewn from a lightweight wood, native to the area. You pointed its tip at his throat playfully, and he made no move to stop you. The corners of his lips twitched upwards. You couldn’t help but admire him, eyes roving all over the sharp contours of his face to the tips of his spiraling horns. His gaze invited you to press the tip against his skin.

“Unlike you, I wasn’t born with tools for hunting.” 

“You shouldn’t be shy when using me, then.”

You dropped the spear from his neck, unsure of how to fully respond to his request for use, and offered him a smile instead. He still thought of things in a transactional manner, no matter how often you tried to tell him otherwise. You saw his eyes rove from your own to your nose, then your mouth. Your neck. You turned from him.

Your mind was brought back to the pool. You shed your outer clothes, leaving only your undergarments. You could feel Sylus’s gaze still on you, unabashed with its interest. He was without shame as he watched, and he reflected your actions, shedding himself of his own overgarments. You waded into the darkness of the pool before you, and the lava rocks at its bottom pricked your feet with the finest of pains. The water was pleasantly lukewarm. Sylus followed after, and the two of you stood in the thigh-deepness of the water. You felt some trepidation at the darkness underneath your feet, but it was quelled with the quiet assuredness of Sylus’s presence. The fish scattered quickly at your approach, and you were both still as death, awaiting their return. You were nearly frightened out of your skin by the touch of something at the small of your back – but it was just the tail of Sylus, reaching out for physical connection. You saw him then, eyes trained on the water. A hunter in wait. A beast of the air you had brought into the opposing domain.

Gradually, there was a return of the school of fish, and you were given a better view of the creatures. They were strange, with large empty eyes and orangey bodies, accentuated by a row of spines along their backs. Protuberances came from around their mouths, with which they must have used to feel the world around them. You held your spear still above the water, operating on instinct rather than any formal training. You wavered. While the fish swam lazily around your legs, you were unsure of the precise moment to act. You could feel the quiet slip of their scales against your bare skin.

Just as you had made the decision to strike, Sylus moved a moment earlier. A clawed hand shot down and into the water, trapping the slick body of a fish in its vice-like grip. He held it up in front of you expectantly, and it wriggled desperately. You resisted the urge to turn away from its plight. You had seen your dragon eviscerate the bodies of men – but somehow, this image was more distressing. You reached out to him, and then dropped your hand. The eyes of the fish weren’t as empty as you had thought. The orange of its body stood starkly in contrast to the blackness of your dragon’s claws.

“Don’t make it suffer, Sylus.”

Sylus blinked, and looked from you to the fish and back. He raised a silver eyebrow. His grip on the fish tightened, and its struggle doubled, gasping. 

“Why so? I have seen you make men suffer for much less than the crime of being more miniscule of spirit than yourself.”

“These creatures are not like men. They are free from sin.”

Sylus watched the fish for a moment longer as you spoke. He put two of his claws through the gills of the fish and bent them. There was a quiet snap, and the fish was still.  Sylus removed his fingers, and rested his gaze on the limp body in his hand. 

“If sin is the necessary precursor for suffering, then you and I are far beyond recompense.”

The crawl of midday passed, and you cut your spear into the water with varying degrees of success. The tool took some getting used to, and it slipped from your hands into the water more than once. Sylus’s tail retrieved it for you. It was not your intention to take every fish from this place – but just enough for a meal between you. When your arm was exhausted, you waded from the dark water, and your dragon followed after you. 

The fish were consumed with fervor over a fire that Sylus had started with a snap of his fingers. You had half expected to breathe it out from his mouth, and still weren’t wholly convinced he couldn’t if he tried. You tried not to press him with silly notions, though, lest he chide you about the nature of dragons. He sat next to you with the cooked fish in hand, and tore at it with the sharpness of his canines. You watched, chewing your own fish thoughtfully. It wasn’t a taste that was particularly strong, and lacked seasoning of any sort. But after a day of physical exertion, the combination of fat and protein had its own unique draw. 

“How is the taste?” You pointed to this fish in his claws.

Sylus paused. He cocked his head at you.

“What does it matter?”

His frankness made you laugh, which caused him to look a bit sheepish in response. His tail smacked the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust. 

“Isn’t that the whole reason we came? To experience something new. Whether you like or dislike it matters not – just that you tasted it.” 

Sylus took another bite, this time smaller. You could practically see the gears in his head turning. He was quiet for a long moment.

“It’s…not particularly good.”

Peals of laughter erupted from your chest at his words, and its contagion made a grin spread across your dragon's face. The movement revealed his canines from his lips, meant for tearing flesh from bone, now smiling at you instead. You sidled closer to him on the ground, learning your shoulder against his. The two of you finished the mediocre fish before moving on to your next destination.

The trek up the volcano was not an easy one. Between the heat that radiated through earth through the bottoms of your boots and your tiredness from wading in the water, you were covered in a thick sheen of sweat by the time you reached your goal. Your clothes stuck to you uncomfortably, and you were greatly looking forward to peeling them off and cleansing yourself in the waters.

Finally, gratefully, just as your legs felt as if they were about to give up their uses beneath you – the pools appeared in your vision. As you drew closer, you could see them in the fullness of their glory. They were an opaque sort of robin’s egg blue, the bottoms of which you could not see. Some were wide as the wingspan of three men, and some no wider than the width of your own body. Adjacent to them was what appeared to be humble lodgings – though no one went in or out. It was a stone A frame, supported on the bottoms by rows of short stilts, as if to lift it away from the heat of the volcano. The only semblance of a door was a cloth split down the middle, buffeted gently by the breeze coming off of the mountain. On it was a symbol you didn’t recognize.

“No one’s here.” You mused, surprised at the lack of people. You had expected there to be others, based on the discussion you had overheard in town. You took another glance around, but still saw no one. Even any animal life that could exist here was quiet. Only the scent of ash hung on the air.

“I dislike crowds.” 

It was all Sylus offered in response before taking you by the hand insistently, towards the springs.You allowed yourself to be swept along with him, admiring the way his spine curved into the strength of his tail as you watched his back. He brought you to the edge of one pool, and you needn’t be told what to do. You were more than ready to be out of the soiled clothes.

Sylus watched openly as you again peeled your overgarments from your skin. You cast them aside, thankful to be rid of their now overbearing presence. Sylus stalked towards you as you began to remove your undergarments. He bent at the waist, and hooked a claw under your brasserie. You expected him to lift it away, he instead inhaled deeply, pressing his face there. His tongue lapped at the sweat that had gathered underneath the swell of your breasts. Up his tongue went until it met your clavicle, dipping to the central fissure where sweat had pooled there, too. A breathless, nervous laugh escaped you. Despite the time you had spent together, you still hadn’t quite gotten used to his disregard for mortal conventions for intimacy. He stood to his full height, licking his lips with the taste of you. Your skin burned where his saliva had been left behind, and your stomach warmed with need for him.

“I am still a man, you know.” His voice was accentuated with the click of a purr he produced when he was pleased.

So he said, but you saw in his face the egoless love that only animals were capable of – free from a shadow. The chemical release of testosterone into his bloodstream, the desire to possess and be possessed by another. He who would consume all of you without judgement, without preconceived notion. There was no strangeness in it, for it was his nature.

Sylus shed his own garments without a further word, and you did the same with what was left of your own. You took a moment to admire the nakedness of your lover as he stood before you – young and strong. A King of Beasts who should have inherited Philos. Dusk was beginning to lay gently over the mountain, and the black of his scales rippled like oil in the firelight of the setting sun. Lost in your admirations, you were suddenly hoisted to your feet over his shoulder before you could comprehend his approach. Your feet kicked at nothing, and you grappled at the spines on his back, attempting to force him to let you out of his grip.

“Sylus!”

A chuckle was the only response from your dragon, and he carted you to the awaiting pools of nearly too-hot water. You felt frightened for just a moment that he was planning to throw you in – but he did no such thing. Instead, he went in first, and you were deposited gently in the water when he had deemed it acceptable for your entrance. The water was a purifying, blisteringly warm temperature. The day’s sweat and grime began to immediately slough away for the sheer heat of it. The pool nearly came up to cover your shoulders, but Sylus stood with the upper portion of his chest out of the water because of his height. He was not to let you far from him – his arms kept you pressed against him. His body was nearly as hot as the water you were submerged in. He looked down into your face. Eyes the color of saffron stalks searched your own.

“Does this please you, my beloved?” His voice was nearly lost on the steam rising around you, despite the relative silence. 

You fanned your hands on his chest, petting him here and there. Across the broadness of his clavicle, up the powerful tendons of his neck. He lifted his chin to grant you better access to your whims. You saw his pulse throbbing underneath the delicate skin. 

“You make known to me pleasures that I could not have previously even fathomed.”

It was the truth – there was no world where you did not know Sylus that you would know things such as this. The coldness of the stone arches were wiped from your mind underneath the heat of his touch. Only Sylus remained, now. He framed the world in his image.

Sylus gripped you then, hoisting you up to lean against his chest. One hand supported your back at your shoulder blades, the other held you behind your knees. You flailed for a moment in surprise, but he kept his grip firm, chuckling.

“Cease your struggling. It will be even more enjoyable like this.” 

You forced your body to relax in his grip. Between his support of your weight and your buoyancy in the water, it was practically like being weightless. You put your head back in the water, and your hair pooled around you in little tendrils. Your dragon peered down at you, clearly pleased with your relinquishing of control to him. His support was unwavering underneath you.

“There, see?”

He waded around the pool with you in his arms, and the gentle drag of the water pulled you in and out of a meditative state. The two of you washed, then, hardly parting from each other as you did so. Sylus’s tail stayed wrapped around your ankle as you scrubbed the last of the grime from yourself vigorously. He insisted on having you help him with his spines.

The two of you lounged inside, having dried off what you could of the springs. Your body was heavy with the time you had spent in the water. The lodgings were simple but accommodating – tapestries lined the walls, and a mix of exotic carpets and pillows were strewn about for resting on. A hearth dominated the room’s center. Its smoke exited through a hole in the roof into the cooling air of the night. You produced the bag you had brought with your supplies. Sylus was eyeing it curiously. He tried to pry it open with a claw, but you swatted him away. He huffed out a dissatisfied growl.

“Your actions are too slow.” 

You couldn't help the smile that spread over your face at his impatience. He already knew what was in the bag – he had purchased the contents with his own gold, for you. Still, his eagerness was clear in his hurriedness. 

“Patience is also a form of action, no?”

You produced a bottle of oil from the pack. It reflected a pale green shadow onto the stone floor in the light of the hearth.

“Patience is for men. I have no need for such things. I have been patient enough.”

Images of Sylus bound to the rocks crossed through your mind, a sword through his chest. A being born in the likeness of men, only to be slaughtered by them.

“I seem to recall you referring to yourself as a man, just today.” 

Sylus’s tail curled around your waist, and dragged you closer to his side. You clenched the bottle of oil tightly in your hands so as not to drop it. Sylus seemed to relax, then, and offered you a smirk.You sat side by side with him, now. The carpets underneath you were plush and gave way easily to your movements.

“The sharpness of your tongue never dulls.”

You nudged his arm with your own, feeling your cheeks warm pleasantly at his compliment. The back and forth with Sylus was as natural as the draw of air into your lungs. You were as two children who had never seen the outside, suddenly freed to play in the endless garden. You chased each other, catching, rolling down the hill, laughing, merging. You him and he you – you caught yourself in your own arms. His arms. Yours.

“Sylus, take out your wings.”

Sylus looked taken aback for a moment. You raised the oil bottle at him. Understanding unclouded his features, and you saw him unfurl them. It was as if they came from nowhere and everywhere all at once – ripping out from the curvature of his back in a blackened-red mist that carried the scent of ash and florals. He kept them outstretched just enough, a clear invitation for you to do as you wished. You marveled at them for a moment – and recalled the pain he underwent at their birth. You remembered it as your own. You let the memory pass over and through you, focusing on the now.

You coated your hands with the oil. It was pleasantly scented, infused with myrrh and rosemary. Sylus had paid a pretty penny for it, though he had batted not an eye.

 Reaching for the outermost portion of his wing, you palmed the oil into it, starting just at the top where the bony frame met the membrane. Down you went in circular motions, rubbing the oil into the outer segment. Sylus said nothing, but the appendage shuddered and stilled periodically underneath your touch. As you moved inwards to the middle segment, you marveled at the thinness of the skin that stretched over his appendages. It was so thin that you could see the myriad of blood vessels that supplied the life there, running like so many rivers under his skin. It was pliant and delicate under your touch. You massaged up, down, pinching the membrane between your fingers gently with each downward motion. Sylus was making low noises of pleasure in his throat, and his tail had curled around you as you sat, its squeeze on you gradually tightening as you moved closer to the place where his wing sprouted from his back. As you neared its base, you had to reach around his side to rub at the place where it terminated against his skin, disappearing into the musculature there. 

Sylus, who had been still up until now save for his shuddering and the movements of his tail, reached out. Your legs, which were crossed beneath you, felt the grip of his claws on your thigh. His grip only tightened as you worked, massaging the muscles where wings sprouted. A low hiss escaped from his open teeth as you touched somewhere that must have been particularly sensitive, and suddenly you were sitting astride his lap instead of next to him, moved by two impossibly strong arms. He reclined back on the cushions behind him. Your hands hung awkwardly in the air, still covered in the oil.

“I haven’t even gotten your other wing yet. And the oil–” 

Sylus didn’t let you finish. 

“Forget the other wing. Focus on me instead.” 

Sylus took you by the wrists, and put your hands on his chest. You could feel the quickened pace of his heart, there. You couldn’t help the exhale of a laugh that escaped you at his words. As if his wings weren’t a part of him! They disappeared behind him as if they had never been. His impatience was always there, even now, when you were relaxing together. The oil from your hands was spreading out into translucent rivulets on his skin. You gave his pectoral muscles and experimental squeeze, looking into his face as you did so. There was the twitch in the muscle of his jaw, the dilation of his pupils. His claws crept back and forth between massaging the bottoms of your feet and your thighs, both steadying you and pressing you harder against him. 

You rubbed circles with your thumbs into his diaphragm, marvelling at how large his lungs must be inside of him. You took a peek at his face.

You could see the sweat gathered on his brow, his silvery hair stuck to it just there. You wiped at it with the back of your hand that wasn’t covered in the oil, and lifted it to your lips to give it an experimental taste. It was the masculine, heady, salt of the earth taste of Sylus.

Sylus’s grip on your thighs increased exponentially. His claws were pleasant little pinpricks of pain on your bare skin. You could feel the hard line of his arousal underneath you.

“Sylus.” You soothed, trying to calm him. 

He licked his lips at the call of his name. 

“You claim you do not tease..” 

His claws gripped your wrists again, and forced them flat against his abdomen. His voice had gone low. Dangerous. 

“Yet you taste me,” 

A movement of your hands downward,

“Call me by the name you’ve given me,”

Your hands could be pushed no further, and your palms rested on his lower stomach, now. You could feel the line of soft white hair that disappeared under what little clothing he wore under your palms.

“And touch me just so…” 

He trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the necessary words for your touch. Instead, the ruby of his eyes bored into yours with an iron-hot intensity. He released his grip on your wrists, and instead settled on clutching you about your waist. You saw the increase of his breath, the heave in his chest. You massaged little circles into his obliques placatingly. 

“Did you not ask for my touch?” 

Now you were teasing.

You felt his response before it ever came to your ears. The two of you were one, after all. It was as if there had never been a time where you had not known him as you knew yourself. Words were merely an accessory, an added enjoyment to the depth of your connection. Your soul heard his before either of your minds caught up.

“I did. And I’ll have more of it.” 

Sylus sat up then, and crashed his mouth into yours. There was a clacking of teeth at the depth of his insistence, and it was less of a kiss and more of him licking at the inside of your mouth, as if he couldn’t get deep enough inside of you. You tried to pull away for breath, but Sylus reversed your positions, pinning you down onto the cushions and rugs below. The residual oil on his chest dripped from him onto you. You knew the thin nightclothes you wore would have been ruined under his claws, anyway. It mattered not. You laughed breathlessly, and wiped the last of the oil on his forehead with your thumb, anointing it. Sylus pressed his forehead to yours.

His dominant presence on top of you commanded your attention to him. He pushed the heat of his body onto yours, into yours. The coolness of your body was a salve to his own burning. His mouth would hardly leave your own that night, if only to be on your flesh. When he finally let you free from your mergings, you passed nearly instantly into a dreamless sleep between the mutual nakedness shared between you.

[ncroissant]

Can you do an one shot of Francis with doppelgänger reader?

sub! francis mosses x gn! doppelgänger! reader

summary: francis taking over the security guard for the day...

wc: 1.4k

content warning: nsfw, blowjob, vibrators, nipple play, anal, cock can be seen as a strap, exhibitionism, public sex

author's note: hiii! thank u for the ask anon!! sorry for the wait, this one has been collecting dust in my asks for a while :') idk why this took me THREE days to write?? hope u guys enjoy one !! not proof read, minors pls dni !!

it was just another day, but there was a new security guard filling in.

francis was taking care of the affairs of the apartment at the request of a close friend, guarding the entrance for the day. usual protocol: check ids, entry requests, match names and faces.

but something about francis screamed gullible, naive and inexperienced. he just couldn't get every single person in correctly, could he?

"i just forgot my id at home, can't you just let me in?" a clear doppelgänger but it was just francis' first day! how could he tell the difference?

"mmmkay, come on in," and he'd give them such a nice smile, looking up at the doppelganger, handing them their things before they walked through. he was such a nice boy, so ignorant to who, or rather what, he was letting into the building.

so when your doppelgänger friends decided to ring you up to help infiltrate the building, your initial reaction of this pretty man was much different from what you were faced with.

you slipped your forged id and hastily written entry request through the opening, looking down at the man in front of you. "g'afternoon," you tipped your imaginary hat, watching francis gulp.

he couldn't even think straight the moment he got a whiff of your scent, not even carefully inspect the accuracy. lucky you. "c-come on in," he nodded, unlocking the door.

little did he know, you could infiltrate the security office to mess with him.

you creaked the door open, dropping to your knees to crawl towards the unattended male. he was letting in another resident, paying no mind to how you were nestled between his thighs.

but when your hand pressed on the unknowing bulge on his pants, he jolted. his eyes shot open, a small noise escaping his lips. he looked down at you, surprised at your sudden presence.

"shh. can't let 'em know i'm here, hm?" you pressed a finger against your lip, hoping to silence him. he picked up his jaw, biting his lip. "go on," you instructed, smiling at his obedience.

he shot his head up, looking up at his neighbor, william, inspecting his papers as carefully as he could. but the way your palm rubbed his cock through his pants made him buck his hips into your touch.

"h-hng, mm...you forgot to give me y...you're id, ngh..." he huffed, his hips shaking against the chair underneath. your fingers trailed to his zipper, slowly tugging it down.

when he let william in, he looked down at you shaking his head. as much as he wanted to scold you, another resident came in. "behave," he gritted his teeth, furrowing his brows.

as if he was in any position to be ordering you around.

you tugged his pants off, a spot of his underwear soaked. "so cute," you whispered to yourself, your breath making him shudder. he was so sensitive, like he's never been touched before.

"s-so, what brings you h-hengh, here today?" he almost jumped when you pinched at the head of his cock, toying with the pre-cum spilling out.

"c'mon francis, we're good friends. no need for any of that," the dark hair male chuckled, waving him off.

francis couldn't care less if this guy was his friend or foe, the way you were suckling his tip through his soaked undies made his jaw go slack.

you pulled off, looking up at him with furrowed brows. "we're not filming a porno, handsome. put that tongue back in your mouth," you quietly scolded.

he nodded with a gulp, before looking up at the resident in front of him. he looked over the papers, before sliding them back. "everything's go- ooONNGH?"

you fully latched your lips around his cock, the warmth of your mouth making him buck his hips. "what was that, buddy?" the man asked, poking his head backwards to look at francis.

"all good to go," he quickly coughed, sticking his thumb up.

when he locked the door, he threw his head back, tongue stuck out once again. "oooghh...y-you're so good at- ngggHH!" you took the entire length of his cock into your mouth, his tip kissing the back of your throat. "t-that..."

he didn't last long like that, cum pouring into your mouth, spilling down your lips. you looked up at the way his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut when he came.

but you didn't give him very long to recover from his orgasm.

"hnngh? w-what's that- aaNGHH!"

you slipped a bullet vibe into his hole, pressing it deep against his best feeling spot. "wanna see how long you keep your composure with these," you giggled.

"these?" he tilted his head, but gasped when he felt your fingers slip under his shirt, lifting it to reveal his nipples. "mmngh, what's this for?"

you paid no mind to his whines, ripping off tape from his desk to tape vibrators to his chest. you buttoned his shirt again, the outline of the vibes slightly noticeable if you truly looked.

"you'll find out. just be a good boy 'n act normal, kay?" you knelt, looking up at him with an innocent smile.

his eyes widened, fidgeting in his seat. you not touching him made him antsy, but it was certainly easier to do a better job when he wasn't getting sucked off.

unfortunately, when the next resident arrived, you turned on the bullet vibe.

"OONGH?" he moaned so loudly that it couldn't have been mistaken as anything else.

the quiet buzz coming from his unzipped slacks could only be heard by you. his head was fuzzy, he couldn't think about anything except the vibrations coursing through his body just from his ass.

"are you okay, mr. mosses?" the visitor asked, inspecting his face.

if they leaned in any closer, they would've been able to see how fucked out he looked. tear stains on his cheeks, puffy bitten lips and cum pooling on his chair.

"f-fuuck...yes. e-entry request and- hNGH! id, please," he nodded, pretending to look at the entry request thoroughly. you turned on his nipple vibes at the last second when you saw him getting comfortable with the ass vibe.

the vibration on the nipple vibes were much more noticeable, his shirt shaking. the resident didn't question it, more interested in getting into the building.

he covered the drool seeping out of his mouth with the entry request, looking at the visitor with a blush and teary eyes. "y-you can, hnn, come..."

oh he wanted to cum so bad.

"come, mngh, come in. cum, c-cum, cummin', haaNGH!"

he pressed the button, cumming in his pants again, spurting in his chair. he didn't even want to look at the reaction of the neighbor he just let in.

you made him cum so many more times as he continued to fly through residents, making sure to make him cum just as they were about to pass through so they could hear the pathetic moan that burst out when he came.

"t-there's s'much c-cum, mngh..." he huffed, after the last visitor came through the entrance.

"you must be so tired, hm?" you cooed, feigning innocence. you had no plans of making it any easier. "so many people came through today. don't you want to make your job easier?"

he nodded hesitantly.

and so, when the next resident, gloria, came in, there francis was pressed up against the glass with his shirt popped open and pants pooled at his ankles with your cock buried deep in his hole.

"oh my!" gloria exclaimed, looking at the lewd sight in front of her.

"show her what you need to do get into the building, francie," you cooed, pressing the vibe deeper into his prostate.

he was nothing more than a cum dump for you, mind completely clouded by the pleasure he was feeling at the moment.

"i-i need cock f'you to get, hNGH, into the building," his cock smeared his cum against the glass, making pretty shapes for gloria to make out.

you chuckled, gripping at his hips. "and what?" you thrusted into him at a steady pace, his teeth gritting letting out vulgar moans.

"c-can't get in unless i, mmnnGHH, cum! cum, 'm cumming again!, cum, oONGH!" he threw his head back, staining the glass in cum.

the horror on gloria's face contorted into an evil smirk when francis fell over, nipple pressing the unlocked button. she was a doppelgänger, proud of the way you corrupted the security guard.

"have fun with your little toy..." she chuckled, strolling through. francis twitched, cum spilling out of his hole down his thighs.

oh, you were going to have a lot of fun your new little toy.

[girlkisser13]

fearless

"but you're just so cool" "run your hands through your hair" "absentmindedly making me want you"

pairings: percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: none, just percy being oblivious.

summary: you have a crush on a certain sea green eyed demigod.

percy jackson, the son of poseidon and the hero of camp half-blood, was renowned for many things: his bravery, his loyalty, and his apparent inability to notice romantic interest directed towards him.

from afar, you admired percy's courage and wit, but whenever you tried to engage him in conversation, your words tangled like vines, leaving you feeling awkward and tongue-tied.

one sunny afternoon, you found yourself at the camp's training arena, stealing glances at percy as he effortlessly wielded his sword, deflecting imaginary foes with practiced ease while running his fingers through his hair to keep it from falling into his face. lost in admiration, you failed to notice a fellow camper, sauntering up to you.

"hey y/n," they greeted with a grin, their confidence evident in every step. "what brings you here?"

startled by their sudden appearance, you stuttered,

"oh, uh, just watching percy train. he's...amazing, isn't he?"

their eyes followed your gaze to percy, "yeah, he's something, all right. but you know, there are other heroes around here too."

percy watched your interaction with the camper unfold, a pang of something unfamiliar tugged at his heartstrings. he frowned, puzzled by the sudden twinge of jealousy that stirred within him. why did he care so much about your interactions with someone else?

percy approached, his expression curious. "hey, y/n, everything okay?"

caught off guard, you blushed furiously, your words faltering once again. but before you could embarrass herself further, the camper interjected smoothly, "just fine, percy. y/n here was just admiring your skills. quite the admirer you've got, eh?"

percy blinked in surprise, then turned to you with a sheepish grin. "is that so? well, thanks, y/n. i appreciate it!"

as percy wandered off to resume his training, you felt a mixture of disappointment and frustration swirling within you. how could he be so oblivious?

later that evening, you sat by the campfire, your thoughts still lingering on percy. lost in reverie, you didn't notice him approaching until he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"hey, y/n," percy said, scratching the back of his neck.

"i, uh, couldn't help but notice earlier...what the camper said. about you admiring me."

your heart fluttered, your cheeks flushing with warmth.

"oh, that? yeah, i guess i do admire you. but it's not just your skills in battle. it's...everything about you."

percy's eyes widened, a hint of realization dawning in his sea-green depths. "wow, i..i had no idea. i guess i've been pretty oblivious, huh?"

you couldn't help but laugh softly. "just a little. but hey, better late than never, right?"

a tentative smile tugged at percy's lips. "yeah, definitely. so, um, y/n... would you maybe want to go for a walk with me tomorrow? just the two of us?"

your heart soared, your smile radiant. "i'd love to, percy."

[scientia-rex]

One of the sad-funny things about TERFs is that, when I’m going on a nice little block spree so I unfortunately have to see some of their posts, there are so MANY posts that are “asks” they very clearly sent themselves so they could argue with their imaginary foes. It’s not enough that they don’t have friends, they can’t even get real ENEMIES on board.

[dandelionjack]

an essay about Rogue, The Chimes of Midnight, and how i believe all this ties in to the overarching themes of the series EVEN IF the inside-a-tv-show theory proves untrue

“Rogue” named himself after a stock character. he is the archetypal Handsome Rogue because there has to be a Handsome Rogue role in a period drama story set in Austenesque Regency England.

it’s all theatre — smoke and mirrors. just like the war waged against imaginary foes in boom (because there needs to be an Enemy in a wartime story) was theatre; the creation of the Bogeyman in space babies (because there needs to be a Scary Monster in a children’s bedtime story) was theatre; The Woman following Ruby in 73 yards (because there needs to be a Ghost in a folk horror story) was theatre. dot and bubble less so, but it’s wise to note — the dots created the slugs after all. they invented the slugs so that there would be a tangible Creature for the finetimers (and the Doctor) to fear, rather than simply being betrayed by their own technology. because that’s exactly what the false, harmful narratives colonialists tell themselves — stories of taming and conquering a wild Mother Nature and her ferocious beasts — have trained them to expect from the world. the dots were telling a story too, or rather putting on a play.

the penultimate episode of any doctor who series, if not always leading directly into the two-parter finale, will typically begin to tie up loose narrative strands that have stretched across the entire season. at a first impression rogue doesn’t seem to be doing that. but then you take a closer look at the antagonists: creatures that play a role for fun without the slightest regard for those around them. lethal LARPers. cosplayers out to kill. to put it pretentiously, a hyper-realistic theatre of cruelty.

to nobody’s surprise, i’m bringing up my favourite eighth doctor audio drama — the chimes of midnight. edward grove gives every person trapped in the time loop a designated role: the chauffeur, the doctor-detective, the plucky young lady of the house, the lady’s maid, the scullery girl, the housekeeper. they keep playing these roles, over and over, until they begin to forget their original identity, until the part they’re playing takes over their entire sense of self. the servants keep dying over and over because they cannot transcend their roles, because they believe themselves to be “nothing but a scullery maid”. they are reduced to the parts they play in the narrative until they become nothing outside of it, until they become confined to a single location.

the chimes of midnight is set in Edwardian-era England, a time of restrictive, prescriptive class, status and social roles which defined a person’s life and career trajectory — this strict delineation is driven to its logical conclusion and deconstructed under the unnatural conditions of Edward Grove. similarly, rogue is set in a Regency-era mansion — another historical period defined in the popular imagination by its complicated social rules, elegant courtship dynamics, strict class barriers, gossip and elitism. these two doctor who stories don’t have any intentional watsonian connection, but they are deeply linked on a thematic level.

high society is forced theatre. a 24/7 LARP. play your part, put on your costume, don’t interrupt the performance. the audience is waiting. they’re oh so hungry for tragedy.

the biggest part of them all, the most sought-after role, of course, is The Doctor. a standard to live up to. a name to wear like a banner, a pledge, a promise. he has to be like this because this is what he’s like.

the Scullery Maid scrubs the kitchen floor. The Detective searches for clues. the Chauffeur starts up his car. the Duchess hosts a glittering soirée. the Rake hides a secret fling with the Wallflower. the Rogue breaks hearts and broods on the balcony.

and the Doctor? the Doctor dances. “onwards and upwards”. forever in perpetual motion, spinning and spinning and spinning across the stars. never pausing to breathe. never stopping.

p.s.: so, pray tell, what is Ruby Sunday in all this? “The Companion”, of course. smart, funny, sassy, quick-witted, brave, cheeky, curious, self-sacrificial. she almost feels generic because she’s meant to be. she wasn’t born. she was written. an essential part of the story too. circling the Doctor like a satellite forever.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Alfie Solomons x Reader

Summary: Just an all-around cutesy fun family fic based on this request. I'm so sorry this took me so long!

The living room was a sea of chaos and laughter. Alfie Solomons and his three sons, Jacob, Levi and Noah, were engaged in an epic mock battle. Pillows were strewn about like fallen warriors, and cardboard swords clashed with imaginary foes.

Jacob, the self-appointed leader, stood atop the sofa, brandishing his makeshift sword with authority. “To arms, men! We must defend the ship from invaders!”

Levi, ever the enthusiastic six-year-old, charged forward with a pillow shield. “Aye, Captain! No pirates shall cross this line!”

Noah, the youngest at four, followed suit, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’m gonna get the treasure, Daddy!”

Alfie, playing the role of the fearsome pirate captain, let out a hearty laugh that filled the room. “Arrr, you think you can best ol’ Captain Solomons, do ye? Well, you’ll have to try harder than that!”

With a playful growl, Alfie lunged forward, swooping Noah up into his arms and spinning him around. “I’ve got you know, me heartie!”

Noah squealed with delight, waving his arms around as if trying to fly. “Put me down, Captain! I’ll tell you where the treasure is!”

Jacob, not to be outdone, leaped from the sofa with a mighty battle cry. “Charge! Rescue Noah from the clutches of the pirate!”

Levi followed, the two brothers launching a coordinated assault on their father who feigned dramatic defeat, falling to the floor with exaggerated groans. “Oh, the mighty Solomons crew has bested me! What cunning fighters you are!”

You watched from the doorway, cradling your six-month-old daughter, Rosie, who cooed happily in your arms. The boys sprawled across the floor, laughter filling the room, which made you smile. “Okay, crew. Time to tidy up on deck. Our guests will be arriving soon.”

Today was a special day, as your sister Clara and her family were visiting from the countryside. Alfie, ever the doting father, ruffled each of the boys' hair affectionately before making his way over to you. With a tender touch, he cradled the back of Rosie’s head, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek and then one on yours. You rose on your tiptoes to return the gesture with a kiss on his lips before you all busied yourselves tidying up the delightful chaos of your home.

Your family arrived a little while later, just as Alfie and the boys had renewed their game of Pirates. Clara, always the embodiment of poise and grace, stepped into the bustling household with her husband Henry and their children, Emily and James, in tow. The contrast between the two families was immediately noticeable. Emily, a ten-year-old exuding quiet confidence, and James, her shy seven-year-old brother, stood close to their parents, their eyes wide as they absorbed the lively scene around them.

Henry, a man of few words with a fondness for order, appeared slightly uneasy. His gaze lingered momentarily on the scar etched across Alfie’s face—a vivid reminder of the life Alfie had lived and the battles he had faced. Sensing her husband's discomfort, Clara, ever the diplomat, gently nudged him and offered a reassuring smile as they ventured further into the vibrant chaos.

As you ushered them into the living room, Alfie paused in his play, his gaze softening as he greeted your sister with a warm hug. "Clara, love, it's been too long. Henry, good to see you, mate," he said, extending a hand to Henry, who shook it with a polite nod.

The children exchanged tentative smiles, with Emily and James hanging back slightly behind their parents, unsure of how to navigate the exuberant energy of the Solomons boys, who had resumed their play with newfound vigor. Emily, with her neatly braided hair and a book clutched to her chest, surveyed the scene with cautious curiosity, while James, clutching a small toy car, shifted nervously from foot to foot.

“Alright, you lot, settle down for a bit,” you called out, your voice a gentle command amidst the lively chaos. The boys, though reluctant, heeded your words, collapsing onto the sofa in a tangled heap of giggles and elbows, their laughter bubbling up like an unstoppable tide.

As dinner approached, you found yourself orchestrating a delicate balance between chaos and calm. The dining table, a long, sturdy wooden piece that had witnessed countless meals and family gatherings, was set with meticulous care. Each place was adorned with simple yet elegant tableware, and the soft glow of candles flickered gently, casting a warm, inviting light across the room. The aroma of roast chicken, infused with herbs and surrounded by a medley of colorful vegetables, wafted through the air, offering a comforting contrast to the lively chatter and occasional bursts of laughter that echoed around you.

Seated at the head of the table, Alfie took it upon himself to engage Emily and James, his natural charisma shining through as he endeavored to draw them out of their shells. “So, Emily, James, you like stories, yeah? I’ve got a few good ones about treasure hunts and daring escapes that'll have you on the edge of your seat,” he announced with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief and a hint of challenge.

The children exchanged nervous glances, their eyes flickering between their plates and Alfie’s expectant gaze. Emily seemed both intrigued and wary. James, clutching his fork tightly, was visibly torn between curiosity and caution. Despite Alfie's best efforts, the scar that bisected his face and his naturally booming voice cast a shadow over his otherwise friendly demeanour, making the children hesitant to engage fully.

Noticing their hesitation, you leaned over to Alfie with a gentle smile, your touch on his arm a subtle cue. “Maybe start with something a bit less adventurous, love. How about the story of how you outsmarted that fox in the chicken coop?”

Alfie chuckled, a deep, warm sound that softened the edges of his rugged exterior. He nodded, shifting his approach with ease. “Ah, right, that one’s a classic. So there we were, middle of the night, and this cheeky fox thought he’d have a go at our chickens…” His voice took on a playful tone as he launched into the tale, weaving humour and suspense into his words, gradually drawing Emily and James into the story with each vivid detail. Slowly, their apprehension melted away, replaced by smiles and wide-eyed anticipation.

As Alfie wove stories with animated gestures and a playful tone, the ice continuing to thaw. Emily and James listened intently, their initial apprehension giving way to genuine curiosity. Alfie had a way of turning even the simplest story into an epic adventure, and soon the table was filled with laughter.

Meanwhile, Jacob, Levi, and Noah, ever the mischievous trio, had taken it upon themselves to share their peculiar brand of "wisdom" with their cousins. The boys, with the kind of solemnity that only children can muster, demonstrated what they deemed the "proper" way to eat peas—by launching them like tiny catapults across the table using the backs of their forks. Each pea flew through the air in a perfect arc, landing with a soft plop amidst the plates and cutlery.

Your stern look was met with their exaggerated innocence, the boys' eyes wide and faces a picture of feigned ignorance. Yet, despite your best efforts to maintain a serious demeanor, you couldn't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The sight was both exasperating and endearing, a reminder of the boundless creativity and joy of childhood.

Little Rosie, perched in her high chair with a perfect view of the spectacle, was utterly delighted. Her tiny hands clapped together with glee, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched her brothers' antics. Her giggles, a sweet and melodic sound, filled the room, providing a joyful counterpoint to the mayhem. Her laughter was infectious, and soon even the adults found themselves chuckling, the initial chaos softening into a shared moment of family warmth and connection.

As the meal progressed, conversation flowed more freely. Clara and Henry shared stories from their quiet village life, while you recounted the latest antics of the boys, each tale more outlandish than the last. Alfie, ever the storyteller, chimed in with anecdotes that had the whole table in stitches, even managing to coax a few smiles from Henry.

After dinner, the children burst forth into the garden, and their liberation from the confines of the dining table met with joyful exuberance. The garden, a sprawling oasis of lush green grass and vibrant wildflowers, was bordered by towering oak trees whose branches swayed gently in the evening breeze. The sky above was a canvas of deepening blues and purples, with the first stars beginning to twinkle against the fading light of day.

The Solomons' boys, natural leaders in mischief and adventure, quickly took charge, inviting Emily and James to join them in a spirited game of hide and seek. Their voices rang out through the crisp air, filled with excitement as they dashed across the lawn, weaving between garden furniture and disappearing into the shadows cast by the trees. Emily, her braids bouncing with each step, giggled as she found a perfect hiding spot behind a sprawling rose bush, while James, his earlier reservations forgotten, crouched behind a large oak, his eyes wide with anticipation. The children's laughter echoed like music, a joyful symphony that spoke of new friendships being forged in the twilight.

Inside the house, you and Clara worked side by side, clearing the table in a seamless rhythm born of years spent sharing chores and confidences. The clatter of cutlery and the gentle scrape of dishes against the wooden table were soothing, familiar sounds. Clara paused for a moment, surveying the room with a smile that reached her eyes. “You’ve got quite the lively crew here,” she commented, her voice tinged with both admiration and amusement. “But I can see the love in every corner of this home.”

You turned your gaze toward the window, where the scene outside unfolded like a cherished painting. There stood Alfie, his silhouette sturdy yet gentle against the dusky sky. He watched over the children with a gaze that was both protective and tender, embodying the essence of a guardian and a father. Rosie, nestled snugly against his broad chest, was a picture of contentment. Her tiny hand clutched his shirt as she nuzzled closer, lulled by the rhythmic motion of Alfie’s hand, which stroked her back with soothing, whisper-soft movements. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with the promise of sleep, as she basked in the warmth and safety of her father's embrace.

“It’s chaotic, but it’s ours. I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” you replied to Clara, a sense of deep satisfaction and love swelling within you. The chaos was a tapestry of cherished moments, woven together by laughter, love, and the vibrant energy of family life.

Clara nodded thoughtfully, her gaze shifting to Alfie. “And Alfie... he’s really something. I think he won over Emily and James with that story about the fox,” she said, her voice soft with appreciation.

A chuckle escaped your lips as you recalled the scene at the table. Alfie’s voice, usually so commanding, had taken on a playful lilt, weaving a tale that captivated the children and drew them into his world. “He has a way about him. Once you get past the rough edges, he’s got the biggest heart,” you remarked, your voice filled with affection and pride. Alfie’s storytelling was more than just entertainment; it was a bridge that connected him to others, revealing the kindness and warmth that lay beneath his rugged exterior. As you and Clara continued to tidy up, the laughter from outside mingled with your own, wrapping your home in a cocoon of love and togetherness.

As the evening gradually drew to a close, the first stars began to twinkle against the velvet backdrop of the night sky, casting a serene glow over the garden. The children, their energy finally beginning to wane after a day filled with laughter and adventure, were coaxed back inside with gentle words and promises of bedtime stories. The transition from the lively outdoors to the comforting confines of the house was seamless, the warmth of the interior enveloping them like a soft blanket.

Upstairs, you tenderly settled Rosie into her crib, her tiny form nestled among the plush blankets. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, a sleepy protest against the pull of slumber, before she succumbed to the peaceful embrace of sleep. Her breathing slowed into a gentle, rhythmic pattern, each exhale a soft sigh of contentment. The boys, still buzzing with the remnants of their outdoor escapades, were soon tucked into their beds. Their whispered conversations, filled with the lingering excitement of the day, gradually faded into the background, replaced by the soothing cadence of their breaths as they drifted off to dreamland.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. Alfie and Henry sat comfortably in the dimly lit living room, each nursing a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid caught the light, casting a warm glow that mirrored the camaraderie between them. Their conversation flowed with ease, the occasional burst of laughter punctuating their dialogue and breaking the stillness of the room. The day’s earlier formalities had given way to a genuine connection, a shared understanding forged over shared stories and mutual respect.

You joined Clara on the sofa, the cushions soft and inviting beneath you. A comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle clink of tea cups and the soft rustle of fabric as James and Emily, their energy finally spent, dozed quietly with their heads resting on Clara’s lap. The moment was a peaceful respite, a chance to reflect on the day’s events.

“It was good to see you,” you said, breaking the quiet, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “We should do this more often.”

Clara nodded, her smile warm and genuine, radiating the affection of a sister and friend. “Definitely. It’s nice to be reminded of what’s important,” she replied, her gaze drifting momentarily to the sleeping children, her voice laced with gratitude.

As the evening wound down, the sense of fulfillment in the air was palpable. Clara and her family prepared to leave, gathering their belongings with the unhurried pace of those reluctant to part. The visit had been more than just a gathering; it was a celebration of familial strength and the joy that could be found amidst the chaos of everyday life.

Standing at the door, Alfie clapped Henry on the back with a friendly grin, the camaraderie between them evident in the easy banter. “You take care, mate. And don’t worry, next time, I’ll have even better stories,” Alfie promised, his voice a playful rumble that hinted at future gatherings filled with laughter and tales.

Henry chuckled, finally at ease, his earlier reservations long forgotten. “I look forward to it, Alfie,” he replied, the sincerity in his voice a testament to the newfound friendship between the two.

As you waved goodbye to Clara and her family, watching them disappear into the night, you felt a profound sense of contentment. The house, though quieter now, seemed to hum with a lingering warmth, a testament to the bonds that had been strengthened and the love that had been shared over the course of the day.

Turning to Alfie, who wrapped an arm around your shoulders and drew you close, you found comfort in his familiar presence. “Well, love, I reckon that went alright in the end, didn’t it?” he mused, his voice a soft rumble that resonated with satisfaction.

You nodded, leaning into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your side. “It did, indeed,” you agreed, your voice filled with both relief and joy.

Together, you lingered in the doorway, watching as Clara’s car taillights faded into the darkness. The night settled around you, quiet and still, a gentle reminder of the connections strengthened and the memories made. Feeling the warmth of Alfie's arm around you, a sense of calm and satisfaction washed over you, knowing that the day had brought everyone closer.

[literatemisfit]

My thoughts on Opening Night of Macbeth at the Harold Pinter Theatre, Oct 1, 2024:

SPOILERS ON ALL OF IT

I have never. Ever. Seen theatre like that. The theatricality in the way everyone moved, the dramatics behind every word, the energy that every single actor had for the action and the violence

The thriller aspects of the play fucking floored me. The opening flash of light on Macbeth, bloodied and traumatized, shocked me and will stay with me forever. The red lights on the witches/visions that haunt Macbeth and convulse at his feet, then attack him and make HIM convulse and whimper and *scream* fuck

Macbeth fighting off imaginary foes was genius (and also made me giggle bc David fighting no one is kind of adorable)

Macbeth's grappling with manhood was beautifully done - from soft and desperate to prove himself to his wife, to fighting with himself to kill or not to kill the king, to aggressively grabbing at and grinding on his wife ordering her to give him male children, then righteous rage at those who turn against him

Also. The way that man moves his body on the stage is - spellbinding. Bowing to the King flat on his stomach in submission, arms out like a cross in reverence and vulnerability. Crouching and kneeling, legs splayed out, lowering himself to the ground in sorrow

The knocking behind the glass chilled me. The murders of Macduff's family disturbed me. The young actor Caspar is absolutely incredible - Macbeth catching young Macduff as if to help and shush him and then handing him off to the murderer, to his doom

The gunshots! How can I forget the gunshots ringing out all around as the witches taunt and tease him, writhing and twisting and calling out to him. His fear at being surrounded by amazing horrors, his anger at learning that he isn't invincible

And oh. Oh my God the folk dancing. Never have I seen anything more extra, more energetic, more folk inspired yet modern? around and around and around they spun with mad grins and roaring laughs and growls, a show of manhood and aggression as well as mirth and pleasure

The way they froze scenes - like the dance - to emphasize the terror or the shared looks or the doubt or the thereto untold knowledge of their crime

The beautiful and rugged Scottish accents and Cush's sublime magnificence were the icing on the incredibly tall and wholly overwhelming cake that is David Tennant on stage, doing what he loves most in the whole wide world, with as much energy and turbulence and drama and theatrics and vitality and desperate longing looks as he can possibly muster. David Tennant on stage, doing what he loves:

I think David is a perfect Macbeth. The way he wavers uncertainly at having brought the daggers out of the chamber and not knowing what to do next, being led by his wife and yet so eager to please her and get them the healing they both so desperately need, needing to take charge and finding his courage when it's too late.

His breakdown at Banquo's ghost: a masterclass in fear and rage and trauma, grasping at his wife as they clutch each other on the ground, both enraged yet both afraid and confused and disturbed but for different reasons

Pretending.

[creepa-b0t-inc]

Also making a collection of secret bosses. Why? Because I felt like it.

Let me know who I'm missing, and if possible, getting sprites would be nice so I can add them to the chart!

I'll try to add credits here, let me know what I should add/fix

Jevil/Spamton by Toby Fox

Snow-E by Lemonemy

Gospell design by Scratch Lunin

Blookette by Evil Nya Nya [@SmoochaGhost2 on twitter]

Sunsette & Cressette by Snokie

Wicker/Varminter/Gatsby/Jack/Helios/Nova (But Cooler) by Astromity

Will-fye by Spoon-Breaker

Collage/Stanley P. Scribbleton/Greas-E/Buzzkill/Dr. Pox by IndieMedley

Rublaad by imaginary-regret-608

Banner/Vangel/Haxter by Shaz0s

Halojack/Beltrowel/Gauze by Huecycles

Flowery/Descora & Belle/Atlas by Anne/Bepceleste

Host by Ne0nwithazero

Brandal/Screepto/Fakeris by LocalH00ligan

Radiola by Modtro64

Timber/Starlet/Screamo/Camellia/Wilter/Hycrisik/Mantle Keeper/Hex by R. V. Pine

Sleek by Axniety

Nova by Marnielovesyou

Skuntle Bingoid by ImpactWinter

Tenna by tvlandofficial

RErunner/Lustrelocks/Astrochew by HogRidah

Jukdyne/Dooblod/Terry Crow by RoxRox

Gygar by Rocco

Mederial by PomPom

Nonbinary Secret Boss by Furkrum (I thought it was funny)

Stern by JustTheMoonz

Rachel by R. T. Oak

The Neighbor/Mizpelt/Eve/Gilmore/Kass Sheere/Antoinette/Rock-E/Herifix/Honeur Able/Bellamy/Teel da Eel/Subject_17 by Creepa-Bot Inc.

Dirk/Serif by Emihead

Memme by DELTARUNE Chapters

Glonk by 4chan

Emeraldo by Parkerino69

Micheal Sperour/Shuebert/Min-E by l1zardart1stre

Woostern/BONSLICK THE WICKED/Sonatta/Shikari/Quiddo/Left-E by Mercair

Petaly by Jas

Deadeye by CondorCrest

Vee Sal by Sandshrewdoodle

Verre Trempe by Checherex

Rosey the Rose/Nightmar-E/Orbead by GoYourOwnWay196

Mad Hatter by Scare

Cabelle/Blanca-chan/Hero by Booripley

??? Robot by Deltaconduit

Memodia by Sunhatgirl

Veehenchezz/Olliever by Bonkers B Bonkers

Yogbert by danimodder

Floe/Clawhauz/Vessel by MrkySpices

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[jsmelodies]

Cassian thought it was supposed to be simple. 

Find the witch in the woods.

Convince said witch to give him Ataraxia.

Rescue the princess from the dragon guarding her tower, with said sword, from said witch.

If only the damned witch stopped getting in his way.

Written for @nessianweek Day 1: Banter

Read here on ao3

Also thank you so much to @missfckingfortune for doing a last minute beta read of this!

Chapter 1

Cassian was always meant to be a knight.

From the time he wrestled Rhys in the mud as a child, to the first time he faced down a foe—he’d known. 

He remembered the first time he held a wooden sword in his hand, playing with his chosen brothers as they hunted down imaginary monsters on Rhys’ estate.

He remembered kneeling before King Archeron and swearing fealty, dedicating his life to the realm. He remembered the honors that followed whenever he returned from a quest, meeting the smiling face of the king while he over and over declared Cassian a hero.

As the fourth son of a minor lord, Cassian considered himself lucky to even be a part of the knighthood in the first place. What he lacked in reputation, he made up for in pure, raw skill.

Rising through the ranks hadn’t been easy. He had to admit, it was hard at times having to earn the respect that was given to Rhys freely. But Rhys was his friend and his brother, so he never said a word. In turn, he trained relentlessly. Made sure no one ever had any reason to claim he shouldn’t be there fighting with the rest of them.

The early summer sun beat down on Cassian. Why the king insisted that they needed to stand at attention in full metal armor for this announcement he didn’t understand, but he’d suffered through it along with the rest of the knights. 

When it was over, they all trailed out of the courtyard, hanging up their armor and muttering amongst themselves. They’d separated themselves into groups, talking in circles as they walked, all coming up with a plan for the challenge ahead.

He exchanged a look with Rhys and Azriel, and they split apart from the rest, intent on ending the day at the local tavern over some ale.

“Well, that was certainly something,” Rhys said as they approached the building in the town square.

It had been. King Archeron had stood up on the palace balcony, Princesses Elain and Feyre on either side, and declared the quest. 

One brave knight was to rescue Princess Elain from the tower hidden deep in the woods, guarded by a fearsome dragon.

There was a catch, though. Only the legendary sword, Ataraxia, could defeat the dragon. And that sword, according to King Archeron, was in the possession of a witch in the forest.

And the reward for this whole thing? The hand of the princess. Elain.

“So not only do we have to rescue Elain from that tower, but we have to hunt down a witch for some sword as well?” Cassian asked. 

Ataraxia. The sword that Cassian had never even heard of until today. But he knew the Archeron family hid secrets behind their fortified walls, and he could only question so much before he was grasping through the air for answers.

“How did she even get it?” Rhys pondered. “I’ve never heard the name. Maybe it was hidden in the vaults somewhere? Maybe she stole it?”

So Rhys was thinking the same thing. 

But something didn’t add up. How would a witch get into the vaults? And the king remained surprisingly neutral about the circumstances. 

He merely said claim the sword. Nothing about killing the witch. But Cassian did not doubt that most of the knights wouldn’t take it that way, and would instead barge into this witch’s cottage with their weapons raised.

“You’re assuming the witch is evil,” Cassian said. “That’s not very progressive of you, Rhys.”

Though in truth, he couldn’t blame Rhys. He knew as much as the rest of them did—and that was what they were all told as children.

That witches were ruthless, terrible old hags, and whoever was foolish enough to get caught in their trap would suffer a slow, painful death. He’d heard stories of good, faithful men being cursed with bad luck and misfortune. Tales of witches kidnapping children and wives, never to be seen again.

He didn’t know how much truth he placed in that fact. As he got older, he realized such stories were few and far between, and spouted by men who feared a disruption to the order of things. In his experience, witches mostly seemed to mind their own business, which suited Cassian just fine.

“I’m not,” Rhys argued. “I’m merely curious. What else are we supposed to think?”

Nothing. He supposed that was the point. 

There was something that King Archeron was hiding. Something told Cassian that it wasn’t quite as simple as going into the woods on a witch hunt.  

“That poor witch will be dead within a week,” Rhys said. “Especially if someone like Kallon goes after her.”

How many men would she be forced to deal with on her doorstep? He didn’t even want to think about it. He preferred to steer clear of witches, but he had no desire to see one die. Especially if she hadn’t committed any crime.

However, being a witch was crime enough to some like Kallon.

The tavern was already buzzing by the time the three of them sat down with their full tankards. 

“You going?” Azriel asked, right before taking a sip of ale.

Cassian had never met Elain. Not formally, anyway. He’d seen her from across crowded rooms, dancing with suitors who were of much better rank than him, but he’d never actually spoken to her.

But he was the strongest knight the kingdom had to offer. It wasn’t just arrogance that made him say that; it was the cold, hard truth. Cassian alone had slain more beasts than the other knights combined.

Lanthys. Seven-headed Lubia. Blue Annis. He’d killed them all, freeing villages on the border from the terror they inflicted, and had the scars to prove it. 

So, yes. Cassian was the best. He was worthy of Elain. He had to be. He would be an idiot not to try for her hand. 

“Obviously. You?”

Azriel shrugged. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Cassian watched him with a scrutinizing gaze, picking up the blush that Azriel was trying—and failing—to hide. 

“There’s plenty of pretty girls around here,” he countered. “You could get pretty anywhere, without having to track down some witch.”

“Then why are you going? And don’t go spouting some shit as to how you’re in love with her.”

Cassian didn’t have a good answer to that.

Maybe it was because he’d had that feeling in his chest since he was a boy that he was destined for something greater than being a simple knight. Some siren in the woods sang his name, and he knew, in his gut, that it was a princess. 

But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he kept his mouth shut.

“What, you think she’ll pick you?” a sneering voice from behind them said. 

Eris. Of course it was Eris.

The Vanserra brothers stood behind him, a smug expression on the older one’s face. Lucien looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, though he gave the three of them a respectful nod of his head.

“No princess in her right mind would choose you for a husband. You might as well give up now,” Eris said.

“And she would choose you?” Cassian shot back. “Last I remember, you couldn’t hold on to your previous engagement. She did anything she could not to marry you.”

Morrigan, Rhys’ cousin. He’d slept with her once, years ago when she’d begged him in order to get out of her betrothal.

She was, in turn, disowned by her family, and once Rhys became lord when his father died, he took her in.

While he’d taken lovers since, he’d done it with the assurance that he wasn’t their first. They were usually either married women whose husbands didn’t pay them enough attention, or those who propositioned him in the taverns.

He wasn’t going to be the reason some lady was ruined again, her reputation torn. 

It was a low blow, he knew, but Eris turned red as he seethed.

“I have no need for a wife,” Eris said. “My brother, however, does.”

Cassian watched Azriel’s gleam as he took in the younger Vanserra brother, ultimately deeming him a worthy opponent. Lucien did the same. The two men watched each other, ignoring Cassian completely, having some invisible dick-measuring contest that only existed between the two of them.

“May the most worthy man win, then,” Azriel said, holding out his hand.

Sir Lucien peered at the hand that was offered to him. There was only a moment of hesitation before Lucien reached down and took it in his own, shaking Azriel’s hand firmly.

“And good luck to you as well, Sir Azriel.”

Eris clenched his jaw, then pulled Lucien away by the scruff. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Eris muttered into his ear as they walked away. “The princess will be yours.”

Azriel merely lifted his eyebrow in amusement while he watched them as if to say, we’ll see. 

“I thought there was supposed to be a third sister,” Cassian said, once the Vanserras were out of earshot. 

“There was. Nesta Archeron,” Rhys noted, keeping his eyes on the Vanserras as they ordered their drinks and sat at a table in the opposite corner. “Almost no one’s seen her in years, though. They say she’s off completing her studies, but I don’t quite buy that.”

Cassian hadn’t come to the palace until he was nearly seventeen. By that point, she was long gone, though supposedly she’d come back for visits every now and then.

“Why not?”

“Because the woman that’s next in line for the throne should be here, shouldn’t she?” Rhys said. “I think that’s why Elain’s betrothal is so important. Whoever marries her could be the king someday.”

“What do you think?”

“It could be any number of things. But trust me, Cassian, that is not a woman you want to go after.”

“What do you mean?”

Rhys shrugged. “I met her once. She’s not particularly pleasant.”

“With your charming personality? I wonder why.”

“Sir Tomas tried to charm her once,” Rhys went on. “Claimed they had a nasty end to their courtship because she turned out to be a massive bitch.”

“And you’re trusting his word? I’ve never liked the guy.”

“Listen. I know you like to believe the best in people, but just…don’t,” Rhys said. “Focus on rescuing that princess.”

Cassian didn’t know why he felt honor-bound to defend this woman he didn’t even know. So he kept quiet, not wanting to start a fight with his brother in the middle of this tavern.

“So, what’s your plan?” Cassian asked.

Rhys considered for a moment. “I think I’m going to sit this one out,” he said carefully.

Rhys was dutifully avoiding eye contact, and Cassian leaned forward, eyes narrowing and placing his weight on his elbows.

“You’re not even going to try?” Cassian asked Rhys.

“Elain’s nice enough,” he said. “But she’s not who I envision as my wife.”

“Oh?” Cassian asked, an arrogant smile already taking hold. “You already have someone in mind then, Rhysie?”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Everyone forgets there’s another princess right here, waiting for her perfect prince.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “Feyre Archeron? That girl does not need to be rescued.”

“Perhaps not,” Rhys said. “Maybe I like that in a woman.”

Feyre Archeron. Last he’d heard of that princess, she’d gotten in trouble for hunting in the forest like a half-feral beast. 

One day a few months ago she’d returned to the palace covered in mud and wyrm guts, claiming there was a sighting in one of the northern villages. Her father nearly had a heart attack when he saw her.

But…Cassian had to admit there had been a gleam in Rhys’ eye that day. He’d watched the corners of his brother’s mouth rise into a smirk when she threw that bone onto the ground, proof that the wyrm was well and truly dead.

“She’ll be the death of you,” Cassian muttered.

Rhys grinned. “What a fantastic way to die, then.”

Cassian shook his head and took another swig of ale, letting the stress of the day fall away. Tomorrow, he would strategize. And then he’d be off to rescue his princess.

*****

Cassian prepared for his journey the next day. In the morning he trained with the other knights, and as morning turned to midday several children ran up to him. They flaunted their sticks, makeshift swords that they pretended to fight with, and Cassian chuckled before kneeling down.

“If you want to be a proper warrior,” he said to one of them, “you’ll hold your sword like this. See?”

He adjusted the child’s grip on the sword, and he looked up at Cassian with awe before diving back into the fight.

They did that until one of their mothers called them back to finish their chores, and Cassian returned his attention to his exercises.

Rhys excited the alcove an hour later. He hadn’t been at training that morning. Now, he sported a bruise on his cheek, which he traced with the tips of his fingers, and he scowled as he approached Cassian.

“So, Rhys? Any luck?” 

His brother glared at him. “She threw her shoes at me.”

“Really?”

“Perhaps I deserved it.”

“What did you do?”

Rhys had the decency to look away ashamed before saying, “I may have climbed through her window.”

Cassian was about to ask more questions, but then Devlon rushed by, brushing past the two of them towards the palace gates.

There was shouting just beyond, and the knights all gathered towards the commotion, wanting to know what was happening.

Whoever the fuck this witch was, she wasn’t messing around. Kallon emerged through the gates, bloody and bruised, barely clinging onto his horse.

He nearly fell down getting off. Devlon grabbed the reins, and snorted at the sight.

“Bested by a woman, Kal?”

There was a part of Cassian that was glad to see the man so roughed up. They’d never gotten along, and the other man had certain opinions about how far a fourth son could rise, and what a woman’s place was.

Kallon stumbled forward a step. “I underestimated the bitch. It won’t happen again.”

“What happened?” Devlon asked.

“I…” Kallon started, but then his face furrowed in obvious frustration. “What the fuck did she do?”

“What?” Devlon asked. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t remember anything!” Kallon said. “I can remember going into the forest, and leaving it, but nothing else. What kind of curse did she put on me?”

“She wiped your memory, idiot,” Rhys said from next to Cassian. “She probably didn’t want you remembering where she lived, or what she looked like. I know I wouldn’t.”

Cassian shuddered at how practiced the witch needed to be in that. How many men had she felt the need to do this to?

“How?” Kallon asked.

“Are we forgetting the whole ‘witch’ aspect of all this?” Rhys asked sarcastically. “Magic,” he said, making a gesture with his hands.

Cassian snorted, leaning back up against the wall. Kallon began his limp towards the alcove leading into the palace.

“I’ll find her again. I already tracked her down once. How hard could it be?” Kallon said, shooting a sneer towards Cassian as he passed.

He remained silent. Cassian didn’t want to know the answer to that. And more than anything, he didn’t want Kallon to find her again. He’d find her first.

Then he’d put an end to this whole thing.

*****

Cassian left before dawn the next morning, saddling his horse and setting out through the village. Only a few souls were out and about, and they nodded his way with respect as his mare clopped down the cobblestone.

He’d dressed in leather armor, not wanting to deal with the metal heating his skin as he traveled. Plus, he wasn’t riding into battle. Just to some witch’s cottage in the forest.

Ruby nickered softly as Cassian patted her neck. “One more big adventure, girl. What do you say?”

Ruby had been through it all with him. She’d seen him slay beast after beast, was there when he received all of his scars, and never bolted away from him when any other horse might.

The trip to the edge of the forest was short, and once he reached the first line of trees he slowed Ruby down to a walk.

These woods were his destiny. Finding this woman was his destiny. He could feel it in his bones, and he followed that feeling deep into the forest, like a golden string guiding him to where he was meant to be.

Ruby carefully maneuvered over the foliage and through the thicket of leaves and branches. The woods turned dark and gloomy with the canopy above blocking any form of sunlight. All he could hear was the snap of branches underfoot as Ruby walked, and the soft exhales of her breath.

But still, he followed that feeling. That string in his chest tugged and tugged and tugged, until he was so deep in the forest that he could have sworn it was the middle of the night.

Until he saw light—a stream of it, fighting through the thick trees. That string in his chest snapped and called to him, drawing him closer. When he got nearer, he could see it for what it was.

A clearing in the woods. His mare pushed nervously through the rest of the trees, until they were right on the edge of it.

He slid off of her back and studied it.

This was it. A small cottage sat in the grass, surrounded by wildflowers and large, capped mushrooms. On the other side of the clearing, behind the cottage, was a babbling creek. The water trickled slowly across the rocks and the stones to a steady rhythm.

It was like a respite from the forest behind him, and Cassian felt peace settle into his bones as he crossed over the line that separated the two.

There was harmony in his soul, like the final, blissful cadence as a ballad resolved, leaving behind nothing but a lingering serenity.

He took another step forward, and realized there was actually music.

Birds sang with gleeful chirps, and the sound of humming made its way out of the open door. They blended together into a warm song that was melodic and sweet, and he paused at the edge of the property for a minute more, merely so he could relish that glowing feeling in his chest.

A second later, the source of that humming made herself known. A figure appeared in the door, like she was waiting for him. A woman, covered in a pale blue cloak that hid all of her features, except for the slender hand holding a straw basket.

She didn’t make a move towards him, instead choosing to watch from the doorway to see what he would do.

Kallon had tried to attack her. Cassian already wasn’t planning to do that, because he wasn’t the kind of man to harm a woman in the forest, but the bruises and gashes that the other knight returned with was not an encouraging sign.

All Cassian could do was hope that she accepted his deference,  and did not not subject him to the same fate. He’d fight if he had to, but he prayed that it wouldn’t come to that.

He knelt, placing his sword on the ground. “I mean you no harm. I swear it, on my honor.”

He meant every word. Nothing in the world would make him sacrifice his honor, his reputation, his standing. It wasn’t a promise he took lightly.

She cocked her head—or Cassian imagined that she cocked her head. He couldn’t see under the hood except for the slightest hint of gold—of youthful looking skin that had him fighting to contain his surprise.

“I didn’t realize knights knelt for witches,” she said. Her first words to him.

“Think of it as a gesture of goodwill.”

She was watching him like a wolf might watch a rabbit, her hooded face making note of the armor and insignia he proudly wore. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Sir…?” 

He cleared his throat. “Sir Cassian, my lady.”

“My lady,” she said, amusedly. “It’s been a while since anyone called me that.”

With that, she turned on her heel, leaving the forest behind as she strode into her cottage. Cassian stood there, lips parting in silent question, until she paused in the doorway.

“Well? Are you coming in?”

Cassian stumbled upwards, following her through the door and leaving his sword behind in the grass.

She moved to the counter by the window, and Cassian took a second to take in the interior of the cottage. On the wooden table in front of him were papers strewn about with markings, runes from the look of it, in addition to  both dried and living plants hanging from the windows.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

“Most people do have those, yes,” she said. She had gone back to work, throwing some of those dried plants into a bowl to crush together into some sort of paste.

“Fine. I deserved that one. Will you tell me your name, please?”

She paused in her task, cocking her head slightly to the side. “I haven’t decided if I will yet or not.”

He felt excitement, of all things, flare in his chest at the back and forth. Yet he asked anyway, “Are you like this with everybody?”

“No. Only arrogant knights.”

He let out a short laugh at that, but she paid it no mind, going back to her bowl.

“Most arrogant knights wouldn’t get on their knees for you.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” she said. Then, as if it were an afterthought, “Don’t mind Bryaxis. He doesn’t bite, unless you do first.”

Cassian was about to ask who the hell Bryaxis was, until a black cat sprung up onto the table. His eyes were a pure onyx and seemed to contain more wisdom than a cat was supposed to. The feline studied Cassian  unblinkingly.

Bryaxis stalked around him, slinking across the table, and it seemed like the cat was staring straight into his soul.

“Are you sure that’s a cat?” he asked, dread pooling in his stomach.

The witch threw her head over her shoulder. He could see the shadow of her face, though her hood hid most of her features. What was under it, he wondered? He’d heard witches were supposed to be old crones, but this one seemed young from the sound of her voice and the skin he could see.

Despite the hood, he noted the hint of blue in her eyes that pushed through the dark. A blue he had a feeling that would haunt his every thought. Those eyes were made of steel and fire and ice, and if he wasn’t careful, he could see himself getting utterly, inexplicably lost in them. Like a moth to a damn flame.

Her lips curved into a smile. “I never said he was.”

Bryaxis turned and did a stretch in front of him, bowing and flexing his claws, and faced Cassian with a slow blink. 

Cassian couldn’t help the shudder that rolled through him, as he tried to think about anything else. 

Right. Made perfect sense. Why would anything in this witch’s cottage be normal? He plastered his usual grin back onto his face. 

“Nice place you’ve got here.”

“I let the first man into my cottage in nearly five years, and that’s what you open with?” she said.

“The first? I’m flattered, sweetheart.”

She chuckled coldly, and said, “Call me sweetheart again, and you very well could be the last.”

His smile remained, but the confidence behind it faltered. His charm always worked. He couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t. But here, it was like talking to a wall of steel. Not that he minded too much. 

The witch turned, holding the stems of some plant in her hand, and brought them towards him.

“Chop,” she said. “You’re here, so you might as well be useful.”

“Seriously?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What? Is a little bit of housework beneath you?”

Cassian’s grinned, intent on proving her wrong. “Fine. Give me the knife.”

She placed the plants on a board on the table in front of him, in addition to the knife.

“So, you can follow orders,” she said, observing him for a moment. “That’s good to know.”

“When it suits me,” he said, sitting down and picking up the knife. “But you should know that I didn’t come here to cut plants for you.”

“Really? What a surprise.”

He sank the knife into the plant for the first chop, and then the second. Once he settled into a rhythm, he spoke again.

“I’ve come because there’s a sword that you supposedly have.”

“I know why you’re here, Sir Cassian.”

“So you have it.”

“I do.” 

“Are you going to give it to me or not?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He opened his mouth to protest, she silenced him with a finger in the air. “Chop. I’ll think while you do.”

“This seems like a way for you to get free labor.”

She let out what sounded like a chuckle, but she didn’t say anything further. Cassian got the message, and continued the task he was assigned, chopping the plant into fine pieces on the board.

She sat down across from him, writing something in her book. 

The minutes flew by. Before he knew it, he realized the cottage had gone completely silent, save for the sound of the knife hitting the board. The witch had stopped her scribbling.

When he looked up, she was watching him intently, tapping her finger silently on the table before her.

She asked, “Why should I entrust a woman’s future to a man I barely know?”

“Isn’t the point to choose somebody brave, like all the other quests?”

“Ah,” she said. “But this is no ordinary quest, is it?”

“I don’t see what you mean.”

“King Archeron takes his daughter’s well being very seriously. He will not settle for mere bravery.”

Cassian frowned. That was the purpose of this whole thing, wasn’t it? To find the knight that would venture into these woods, daring to face down the ruthless dragon that guarded Elain’s tower? It was supposed to be a measure of bravery and strength.

“Listen, let’s cut to the chase here. I’m the strongest knight you’re going to find. Just put me through your trials or whatever it is you want to do, and I can be on my merry way.”

“The strongest knight,” she repeated to herself, chuckling. “And that is all that matters to you, isn’t it?”

Cassian clenched his jaw at her mocking tone, but kept silent. The witch noted it, rolling her eyes and asking another question.

“Fine. Why do you want to marry her?” she asked.

“What?”

“That’s your trial, as you so put it. Tell me right now why you want to marry that princess. If it’s a good enough answer, I’ll give you Ataraxia.” 

He paused. It was the same thing Azriel had asked him two days ago.

It’s what he was supposed to want. It’d practically been ingrained in him. His duty was to the realm—he was destined to slay beasts and keep the kingdom safe. It’s what he had done for the last six years, and what he would continue to do until he no longer could.

Marrying a princess was supposed to be an honor.

“Well, I’m supposed to want to, aren’t I?”

She let the silence settle over the room like a fine dust. She was waiting for him to go on, almost like she was expecting him to proclaim his undying devotion to the princess.

He couldn’t.

What was he supposed to do? Lie?

Azriel had said it himself—Cassian didn’t love the princess. But respect and perhaps fondness would surely come with time. The princess seemed nice enough from what he’d seen, and he didn’t doubt that they would get along if he did marry her.

But clearly, his reasoning wasn’t enough.

“Any other reason?” she asked.

“I-”

Her eyes continued to bore into him, expecting an answer. What was he supposed to say?

“Any at all?” she asked.

Cassian cleared his throat, being the first to break eye contact. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Is it? I think it’s a rather simple question.”

It wasn’t a simple question. And from the look on her face, he assumed the witch knew she had him beat.

He supposed that’s why he said it. Maybe there was something in him that couldn’t handle this witch having the upper hand, when he was so used to getting his way.

So he said, “You know, it almost sounds like you care.”

At that, any lingering traces of amusement fell from her voice completely. “Should I not care?”

In the back of his mind, Cassian knew this was a test. But he didn’t like her prying for answers that he couldn’t give.

He couldn’t stop the words coming out of his mouth. He stood from his chair, placing his palms on the table as he leaned forward.

“I didn’t expect a soulless witch to be so invested in the marriage of a princess. Aren’t you supposed to be the one kidnapping maidens and throwing away the key?”

She blinked so slowly that he thought she might try to kill him. Maybe she would. She stood and took a step towards him around the table, her eyes flaring with a silver that was wholly unnatural.

She kept going until she was right in front of him, somehow looking down on him despite only reaching his shoulder in height.

The woman got so close that he took a step back, and another, into the pots hanging from the wall behind him. They clanged as they hit his head, and he winced, bringing his hand up to the hurt spot.

Gods, she was stunning. He couldn’t even see all of her, but what he could see had him thinking that this was why witches were so feared. She had a lethal kind of beauty, one that had him anticipating his own demise by her hand. And some masochistic part of him would enjoy every single second of it.

But she didn’t go for the kill.

Instead, she said, “Get out.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to bring your damn prejudice into my own home, then get. The fuck. Out.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I told you not to call me that.” The witch turned on her heel, not deigning to face him anymore. “You can leave on your own, or Bryaxis can see you out. Your choice.”

One look from the ‘cat’ told Cassian that he better follow the witch’s orders. He let out a hiss, digging his claws into the wood of the table, and Cassian knew better than to push that thing any further than he needed to.

“Listen. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Clearly.”

“But I need that sword.”

“So that’s what this is about,” she muttered. “You don’t care that you were wrong. You don’t care about making things right. You just want to ensure that you can still get what you need from me.”

He opened his mouth to protest. “I am sorry. But-”

“But.” She cut him off, demanding his full attention. “You are a coward, Sir Cassian. No amount of charming smiles will change that.”

“I would think that someone who puts his life on the line hunting beasts is the furthest thing from a coward,” he said. “And what about you? Hiding away here in the woods?”

“I am not hiding.”

He dropped his voice nearly an octave, and said with a serious calm, “Aren’t you?”

“Why would I possibly need to hide out here? Not when I have brave, heroic men showing up unannounced on my doorstep already.”

“Those heroic men keep the realm safe,” he argued. 

“Really? Do you want me to fall to my knees in gratitude? You want me to sing your name from the rooftops to feed your own arrogance?” 

She stalked towards him again, this time pushing him towards the door with Bryaxis at her heels.

She kept talking. “You want me to find you worthy? Well, here’s a hint. I don’t.”

The words hit him hard in the chest. He’d spent his entire life proving his worth. She wasn’t the first to say that he didn’t deserve the opportunities he’d been given, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

He didn’t know why this one woman saying it sounded different from all the others. Her eyes blazed as she shoved him through the door, back to the clearing and the forest beyond.

“Good luck finding a wife, Sir Cassian. But I can guarantee you it will not be the princess.”

[tofics]

Broken - Chapter 5

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes… Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he’ll never get.

Word Count: 6472 words

Warnings: feelings of shame, mention of child death, developing feelings and the uncertainty that comes with that, crying, cuddling, and, at long last, fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

A/N: Brace yourselves, for this is the quiet that comes before the storm. This was so hard to write because the pain of the reader and Joel stands so much at the forefront and going into lighter, happier feelings beyond that requires such a drastic mindset change 😮‍💨 I'm pretty satisfied with the outcome though. I hope you enjoy! And, remember, come Friday, Aug. 16th, we're back on a regular posting schedule! 😊

Chapter 5 - New Leafs and Old Foes

"Hoooo, eaaaasy there girl, easy." The mare neighs nervously and raises on its hindlegs. You stop your movement, but don't retreat, instead digging your heels deeper into the mud. Opposite of you, Savannah, the stable's keeper, is mirroring your moves, struggling to stay upright in the slick mud as she tugs on the mare's reins. The animal comes down with a thump and sprays the both of you with specks of sludge as she neighs again, her panicked eyes flicking back and forth between you and your helper.

"Easy now, girl, easy." The calmness of your voice finally seems to register with the panicked animal when her eyes flit back to you and lock on you. Her nostrils flare and she shifts on her legs uneasily, but her hoofs remain on the ground. You gonna work with me, girl? You convey the question with your eyes, a silent exchange between the two of you. It takes a moment, but eventually you notice the horse's body language shift - the 'yes' you were waiting for.

The animal is still panting, but she allows your touch when you run your flat hand over her strong neck. "Atta girl." She snorts in response to your whispered soothing appraisals and you can't help but smile.

"What are you, the horse whisperer or something?" Savannah carefully slips the reins into your hand with a big grin.

"Call me Robert Redford, sweetheart." You tip your imaginary cowboy hat in her direction with a wink.

"Phew, she ain't half bad, hu?" Tommy whistles through his teeth and you turn at the sound, giving the two brothers a small smile and wave in response.

Joel just grunts, but smiles back at you with a nod of his head.

"Don't think I don't saw that." Tommys voice matches the foolish grin on his face.

"Don't know what you're talkin' about. Ain't nothing to see." Joel clicks his tongue and leads his horse into the stable, away from the paddock where your little show took place. Once they're inside his stallion's box, he takes off the saddle and the halter, placing both on their respective mounts in the stable.

"Hey, no shame in fallin' in love, brother." Tommy's voice drifts over from the box next to Joel's. "After all," - his head pops up over the barrier, plastered with the same silly grin as before - "wouldn't dream of judgin' you when I'm guilty of the same crime." He sticks his left hand in the air and pointedly twirls the golden band on his ring finger.

Joel snorts but doesn't shoot back. Instead he heads back outside into the fresh spring air. It's one of those days that make it look like summer, all sparkling blue sky dotted with fleecy clouds and warm sunshine, but set one foot into a shadowy area and you're back in winter, with wind that's still got a sharp bite to it and temperatures that'll have your teeth chattering.

Joel tugs his on the collar of his jacket as he approaches the paddock's fencing, trying to shield himself from the chilly breeze that blows past the stable's shadowy entrance. It won't take more than an hour, but for now, only one half of the paddock is glistening in the sun, the trampled mud and sludge sparkling in the warm rays where the rain water has collected in little pools.

"C'mon, baby, c'mon. That's it. Atta girl." Your voice dances through the air and Joel watches the latest addition to the stable trot alongside you with ease, the panic of just a few minutes ago seemingly forgotten. It doesn't surprise him in the least. Your lures are so sweet, not only by word but by sound, delivered in a soft and light trill that could fit right in with the chirps of the birds that are coming out more and more each day. 'Talk to me like that, and I'd follow you anywhere too,' he thinks and feels the immediate internal backlash.

For fuck's sake. Get it together.

Of course Joel knows what Tommy's talking about. He's caught himself in moments like these one too many times not to know. That doesn't mean he has to admit it, though. Nor does he have to like it.

It's been a long time since anyone stirred something inside of him the way you do. There was Tess - she and him had been partners, both in business and in bed, but there had been nothing romantic about it. What he had with her was different, more down-to-the-point oriented. In business terms, it was a perfect match. She was the social baseline to their partnership, yet no less ruthless than Joel. He sometimes admired her for it, how she held on to that part of herself that made her more human. He lost touch with that side of him for years and had no interest in rebuilding it, not until he met Ellie anyway. She's softened him and brought him back to life in ways he didn't think were possible anymore.

So perhaps it shouldn't be that big of a surprise that you do something to him. And you have, from the start. Joel's not one to care for other people's business unless it's somehow related to him, and yet, he has found himself wondering about you time and time again. You mostly keep to yourself, but you're amazing with Ellie. You seem to share his love for silence, but you can easily talk his ear off if he gets you going on the right topic.

But more than that - and perhaps, most importantly so - he sees something in you that reminds him of himself, in the most painful way. He can see you trying to hide it around Ellie, but your occasional shut-downs never go undetected by him. Thankfully, you haven't had any meltdowns since that one time, but there are smaller signs of when you retreat somewhere into the back of your mind. The smile on your face becomes less genuine, like a cheap knock-off version of the real deal. Your eyes cloud over and lose the vibrancy they usually shine with. And sometimes, your arm wanders over your chest and digs into your other arm, like you're trying with all your might to hold yourself together.

Those moments are the worst for you, as far as he can tell. He's found himself wanting to reach over and gently losen the grip you have on your arm, to hold your hand and let it squeeze him instead, but of course he doesn't. Joel doesn't think it's his place, or if you'd even want him to. He never asks. He doesn't know how. And it's pissing him off.

He feels like a goddamn teenager all over again, and those years are well behind him. Hell, he's currently got a teenager at home, he's got no business acting the way he does. But it's just like it was back then, all those years ago. You come into his proximity and boom. It's like he's on fire. His palms break out into a sweat and his heart is hammering in his chest. It's pathetic, the way your sheer presence sometimes reduces him to a sixteen year old hormonal boy, when his real age is twice that and then some.

Worse than that, despite being thrice the age of a teenager, he's apparently about as good at hiding his crush as he was back then. Thankfully, Ellie hasn't caught on to it - yet, she likely wouldn't let him hear the end of it - and as far as he can tell, neither have you, but Maria keeps looking at him funny and this isn't Tommy's first comment regarding you either. Leave it to his brother to rat him out to his wife.

Flipping his collar back down, Joel exposes his neck to the chilled air around him in hopes of it having the same effect as a cold shower. Lord knows he could need one.

You feel Joel‘s gaze on you before you spot him leaning against the fence, looking better than he should be allowed to. A faint memory of some women’s magazine’s article pops up in the back of your head, something about how the entirety of an outfit should never consist of just jeans, and yet you couldn’t disagree more. Dressed in a lined denim jacket and a pair of pants made of the same fabric, he looks more like a catalogue model than a failed fashion ensemble. The cowboy hat he's been wearing lately sits on his salt and pepper hair, rounding off the ensemble like a cherry on top.

"Howdy, partner," you call out and watch with satisfaction as a small smile plays out on Joel's face. He tries to hide it in the same way he often pretends not to be amused by Ellie's jokes, pushing his bottom lip out and biting down on it from the inside. Clearly he's unaware of how little it's working, or how terribly adorable he looks doing it.

"Mornin'," he replies when you've almost reached the fence, the remnants of his hidden smile still visible in the twitching corners of his mouth.

The mare behind you snorts uneasily and you take a step back to softly pat her neck, but your eyes stay on Joel. "Patrol all done?"

"Mh-hmm. Haven't seen you on patrol in a while." The way he says it, it sounds like an unspoken question, and you understand why.

When you had begged Maria to take you off patrol, she had agreed instantly, probably persuaded (and somewhat concerned) by the cascade of tears running down your face. "Did something happen?," she had asked, the question loaded with the unspoken add-on of 'with Joel' and you just shook your head no, a wordless workaround for the very lengthy real answer you didn't have the strength to give, nor had the right words for. After all, how could you explain that what had brought you to her doorstep wasn't a miss-step on Joel's side, but a melt-down on yours and the subsequent overwhelming shame of Joel not only having been a witness, but the one to have helped you through it? A 'no' was just so much easier, and even though Maria didn't look like she fully believed you, she took you off patrol and gave you the day off, with the reminder that you could come talk to her about anything, anytime.

The next morning, you were back on Tommy and Maria's doorstep, asking if you could be placed with livestock care instead. You were nowhere nearly fully-recovered, but shame and worry had driven you out of your house and back to theirs. You weren't gonna be a leech, living off of other people's hard work. No matter how low you felt, you were determined to contribute to this community - preferably somewhere that wasn't right next to Joel. Tommy was eyeing you suspiciously, concern written all over his face, and a vague memory of him showing up behind Joel's house while you were 'chopping firewood' popped into the back of your head. The blood rushed to your head and painted you a deep shade of red, but you withstood his gaze regardless. Not a day later, you started at the stables. You haven't been back to patrol since.

"Remember how you said you thought I would be working with the animals, given my background on a farm? Well, turns out you were on to something. I didn't know how much I missed it until I was right back in it." You smile at him and try to ignore the feeling of guilt that's trying to take hold in your stomach. Even though you know you don't 'owe' Joel an explanation, the last thing you want is for him to be thinking you're avoiding him.

Especially if the opposite is true.

You're thriving in your new job placement, there's no denying that. You can't even really take credit for the idea either - it was simply the first thing you could think of in the heat of the moment, a fluke, really, but in a weird, cosmical-fate-kind-of-way, it looks like your abrupt change of profession has landed you exactly where you need to be. The work has a sense of familiarity about it that - for once (miraculously) - doesn't bring about pain. Instead, the smell of hay and manure takes you back to your childhood farm's stables, and so many of your daily tasks come naturally to you, your hands seemingly moving on their own accord through muscle memory. Sure, it's far more labor-intensive than any of your patrols have been and a lot smellier - most days, you come home covered in tiny flakes of straw and various spots of god-knows-what on your clothing, reeking of manure, wool and hay, but you don't mind. Somehow, feeling the day's work in your bones and carrying the evidence of your labor on your clothes helps you feel a sense of achievement at the end of a day, something that you didn't have on your patrols. On top of that, the body-intensive work seems to be a tremendous help with your insomnia: more often now than not, it takes you a lot less time to fall asleep. From all of your job's perks, this might just be your personal favorite.

There is only one downside to your new work arrangement, and ironically, it's the very reason you ditched patrols in the first place:

You don't get to see Joel as much as you did before.

You only managed to avoid him for a couple of days after the 'incident' before he tracked you down and set you right. It hadn't been enough time to properly work through the aftermath of your meltdown, so even though he made a point of saying you had nothing to be embarrassed about, shame and guilt stayed glued to you for days, despite your various tries to rid yourself of them. They were most present when he was present, a walking and talking reminder of who you'd bared your insides to in one of your weakest moments, and you found it easier to work through your feelings when Joel wasn't around. Your new job came in quite handy that way.

And then of course, there was that kiss on your forehead that you kept and keep thinking about, no matter how much you try not to. It added to the pile of feelings you had to sort through, spicing up the mix by adding very conflicting emotions.

On one hand, thinking back to the gentle gesture makes something tiny flutter in your belly, a sensation you're not sure you've ever truly felt before. Sure, there have been men in your life, but most of these arrangements were just that, arrangements, a means-to-an-end, an offering of yourself in exchange for safety or food. By some miracle, your life in Jackson has no need for arrangements like that. You still have your doubts about your safety, although that's more of a general concern that applies to the safety of Jackson as a whole, rather than concerns in regards to specific members of Jackson. Men are no longer a double-edged sword that can provide safety or be what you need protecting from, they're suddenly an option. It's a concept that is entirely new to you and that you weren't thinking about in the least, until that goddamn kiss on your forehead.

That kiss has opened up a world of possibilities you never previously had the luxury of even thinking about, and now, you can't stop thinking about it. It's come to a point where you only have to be in Joel's proximity to feel that tiny flutter in your belly. It's both delightful and entirely terrifying, so much so that you find yourself in a constant, sometimes overlapping loop of wanting to be close to Joel and wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

"Yeah well, I get it. Might've won against one horse, but an entire farm's worth of livestock? I can't compete with that." There's a glint in Joel's eyes, a small playful twinkle that creases the corners of his eyes and tugs on his lips and you can't help but laugh.

"Oh, don't sell yourself short now. You could've taken on two horses easily, maybe even three. It's the cows that are my weak-spot. You never stood a chance against those."

Joel's hand dramatically clutches at his chest as if you just delivered a blow to it. "Oof. Did what I could, though. Gotta know when to quit."

There it is again, that little flutter in your belly as you giggle and hit his arm playfully. It warms your belly and sends warmth up into your nose, your cheeks and your ears, even your hands and fingers. The skin that touched his jacket on impact is tingling and you suddenly have the strange urge to lay a hand on the jeans material again, though this time more softly and not in a rushed smack.

The impulse is so bizarre to you that you quickly withdraw your hand and tighten your clutch on the reins again. "Better get this lady inside her box. She's had quite the eventful morning."

The town hall is already bustling when you arrive. Although town meetings are open to everyone in Jackson, attendance isn't required unless you've been summoned, so the audience usually consists of Jackson's adults, with just a few of the kids and teens here and there.

Tonight is no different. As expected, quite a few seats are already occupied, but some of the backrows still have some free spots. Just when you choose one - close to the aisle, and, conveniently, close to the back exit - Evelyn claps her hands together. "Okay, let's get started, everyone." Just like any good classroom back in the day, everyone quiets down quickly until you can only hear the occasional foot shuffle or coughing.

"Thank you. I hereby declare this town meeting open. Gary, it's your turn." Evelyn takes her seat in the half-circle that's positioned so it faces the crowd and motions towards one of her neighbors.

Town meetings always follow the same structure. Someone on the council opens the meeting by giving an overview of the last month. This includes all kinds of stats: how that month's harvest went, animal count, town incidents (if any took place) or patrol reports about infected sightings or run-ins with raiders. Presumably, this is also the segment in which they provided updates about your health, back when you first arrived in Jackson. As far as journalism goes, this is the closest to a news source that Jackson has.

The news segment is followed by the 'open floor'. For this part, people can bring forward their nuisances that they were unable to resolve on their own. Just like the town meeting itself, this segment is open to every inhabitant of the town, council members included. You have yet to see a serious issue be brought up for this segment, but that speaks for the town's conflict management. Most people hash it out between themselves, and if anything does land in front of the council, it's typically something small or petty, like a drunken dispute or a missed shift.

The last item on the agenda tends to be the most interesting one: pending tasks, jobs and missions.

As with any town, small tasks and jobs can come up that are out-of-the-ordinary or temporary, yet no less urgent or to be overlooked. According to Joel, this is where they sometimes offer special rewards, depending on the appeal of the task. So far, there has been nothing in this segment that's caught your attention, but this part always has you on high alert.

You lean forward in anticipation as Tommy reads out a few smaller tasks that need to be taken care of, waiting for a good catch for yourself.

Surprisingly, you don't have to wait very long.

Joel's not a huge fan of town meetings. They tend to bore him, but he attends them anyway, mostly for Tommy and Maria and because it's good to get updates about the town once in a while. For today's meeting, there might have been the additional motivational factor of you being there, but he tries not to think about that too much.

Joel comes in as one of the last people. Most seats are already taken, but he doesn't mind, preferring to stand anyway.

Although you sit with your back to him, he spots you almost instantly, the backside of you standing out to him as if someone's casting a spotlight on you.

The meeting drones on, and Joel only half listens as he's leaning against one of the wooden pillars. His eyes wander across the room periodically, taking in Jackson's people as they react to news and chatter amongst themselves occasionally. It's a good way to get a read of the room, a habit he picked up in Boston and hasn't been able to shake yet. Despite Jackson being relatively safe, he still feels the need to get a feel for the current mood of Jackson's inhabitants. Never know when things might turn sour.

There's no denial about where his eyes wander most frequently. Every time he catches himself, he averts his gaze and hopes you don't feel him staring holes into the back of your head, just to repeat the process a couple of minutes later. You seem pretty relaxed, judging by your body language, until it's Tommy's turn to announce upcoming tasks and missions. He might have missed if you weren't secretly the center of his attention, but he immediately catches the way you lean forward when Tommy begins to speak.

"As Gary mentioned, one of our cows passed away at the start of the month. We knew it was coming and we hoped she'd pull through the winter, and bless that girl, she did. Still, we're one cow short now, and that just won't do. We'd like to put together a crew of at least two people to scour the nearby towns and places we last knew to hold some cows, see if any of them are still there. Any takers?"

To Joel's surprise, your hand flies up almost instantly.

Adding to his surprise, he feels his own hand raising before he even knows what he's doing.

Tommy's mouth twitches as his eyes land on his big brother. "And it looks like we got two volunteers!" You turn around in your seat, following Tommy's gaze to somewhere behind yourself before your eyes lock with Joel's. Joel can see the surprise on your face and something else that he can't quite place, and for a second, he's worried he's overstepped. "Perfect. We'll hash the details out later in person." Tommy nods to you and then to Joel, still clearly trying to hide a smirk behind quivering lips. "Okay, moving on. Angelo's caught a cold, so we need someone to take over his shift at the school..."

Tommy's voice fades into the background. Your eyes are still locked on Joel's, the same unreadable expression on your face.

Done messed up now, Joel thinks and has the urge to bang his head against the wooden pillar he's leaning on.

But just then - miraculously - you smile.

Tommy keeps his instructions brief: checkout all last known cow-locations and only bring one back if the circumstances allow for it. You are not to risk your life for that of a cow.

He spends more time repeating that last clause than he does going over the initial plan.

"Do you have a history of saving cows or something?," you ask Joel on your way to the supplies shelter. He responds with something of a chuckle and a scoff.

"Just saying, sounded like he was particularly worried about you risking your life for a cow, of all things."

"Yeah? Who says that wasn't directed at you? Ain't me that's workin' in livestock after all." Joel looks at you with half a smile and you feel that little tingle in your belly respond immediately.

How am I going to survive an entire mission next to this man?, you think and feel the slightest pink seeping into your cheeks.

"Maybe, but he was looking at you the entire time. Am I gonna have to drag you out of there if we see a cow being attacked by infected? I'm just asking so I know what to expect, you know. To prepare."

His snort is paired with a slight eye-roll and you giggle like the little school-girl he makes you feel like.

Betsy gets the two of you sorted with all the supplies you could need. An assortment of ropes, fire-starting-kits, cans of food and a health-kit is already littered on the large table in the middle as she adds two small sleeping bags.

"Now Joel, I know you've been on runs before, so you know how this goes. Y'all can go over to the weapon's den and get whatever y'all fancy. This right here is to cover the survival aspect of it all." Betsy chatters along while she continues to pile supplies onto the table. "Y'all don't gotta take everythin' we hand out, but it's highly recommended that you do. I don't think I gotta say this, but whatever you use up is gone, so make sure you find spares unless you wanna be fresh out of somethin'. Wouldn't complain if you bring back a few extras of whatever I give you either, but it's not a must. I know what it's like out there. I'll just be glad when you two come home safe."

You nod along while you examine everything she puts out on to the table. This is worth gold. Everything you could think of is accounted for, and then some.

You can't help but think that some people out there would kill for a set-up like this. If people knew about Jackson...

"Okay, one more thing." Betsy walks into the adjoining room and returns with a packed up tent in her arms. "It ain't big, but I expect y'all won't mind that, 'specially with temperatures still droppin' below freezin' at night. I reckon y'all might wanna snuggle up, for warmth and all."

You feel the tips of your ears burning while the rest of your face hurries to catch on, coloring you a deep shade of red. Snuggle with Joel. Betsy might as well have suggested you could kiss for warmth with the way you feel about the suggestion. Awkward, definitely, but worse: excited.

Crap crap crap.

You discreetly glance sideways at Joel who appears to be looking anywhere at you, then becomes intensely interested in one of the backpacks Betsy is offering. It might be your imagination, but you could swear that Joel's ears look a lot more flushed than normally.

You start off into your mission early the next morning while it's still dark out. Tommy sees you off at the gate.

"Y'all got everything you need?"

The two of you nod.

"Good. Be back safe. Watch out for each other." Tommy gives a sign to the men manning the door and they crack it open just enough so you and Joel can slip through on your horses.

It's a misty morning and the damp cold seems to find every little hole in your clothing to seep through. Your breath comes out in puffy little white clouds and you thank yourself for having remembered your gloves.

Joel leads the way. Tommy had the route all mapped out for you already, although he agreed to alterations where needed. "The two of you have been out there long enough to know when to trust your gut. If anything feels off, feel free to adjust the route accordingly. Ain't no sense in sticking to a plan if it gets y'all killed," he'd said.

For now, you stick to his pre-planned route and head south-west. The first stop on your map, an old ranch called 'Spring Creek' is just two hours out.

Neither of you speak much during your ride there.

But instead of the awkward silence you were worried about, there's a mutual understanding of enjoyed silence between the two of you that you developed on your patrols together.

Spring Creek turns out to be a bust, which surprises neither of you. 'Lucky' is not really something that's in the cards anymore in this world, as you're both well aware of.

The next stop on the map is less than half an hour away, located not far of the bridge that leads over the Snake River. It's a gorgeous place, once a park and now entirely reclaimed by nature, with the first signs of game here and there, but not a cow in sight.

By the time evening rolls around, you've made it across the river and into what used to be Wilson. Supposedly, there's an old farm a little further out of town if you head west.

When Joel suggests that you save the ranch for the next day, you have no trouble agreeing considering how little daylight you have left. You let your horses trot along the highway until you reach the outskirts of town that's framed nicely by a small forest. Joel leads his horse off the road and onto the open field to where the grass meets the trees.

"Looks like pretty thick foliage. Ain't no getting through with these horses. I'd say we make camp out here. Foliage should have our backs covered nicely, and we got a clear view into each direction over the field. Whaddaya say?"

The light of your small fire dances across your face in the dark, flames leaping over your eyebrows and then cowering beneath your cheekbones, only to lick up the side of your skull in the next second.

Joel watches the fiery dance on your features and finds himself wishing he could be the one to caress your face instead of the flames, trailing your skin with the pads of his fingers the same way the light does.

Although the day's journey was uneventful, all of his senses are on high-alert. Your presence is like a steady hum in the back of his mind. It started out fine this morning, just the spark of excitement he's now used to getting when you come into his proximity. But it has progressed throughout the day, steadily gaining in size and momentum during the shared hours together. Whatever you do to him, it's pulling him towards you like a moth is drawn to the light. If you were a candle in the morning, by now, you shine as bright as the sun.

"Tell me somethin' about yourself," he hears himself say. You look up from the fire and meet his gaze, a lazy smile on your lips. "Like what?"

"Anythin'." Joel wants to know it all. You're the puzzle he can't piece together but can't put on a shelf either. He's tried, and not just once. He tried it after your first patrol together. He tried it after you became a steady guest in his house, bringing warmth and humor with you anytime you came. Joel stepped out of the fuzzy feeling you ignited in him every night, neatly folded it and put it on the shelf in the back of his mind where things go to be forgotten, only to find himself wearing it again the next time he saw you at the dining hall or at his kitchen table.

He can fool himself all he wants, but your presence brings out the truth in him regardless, no matter what he tells himself.

"That's a broad frame."

"I have a broad interest." In you. Joel doesn't add the words, but they hang in the air regardless, almost as bright and shiny as the fire between the two of you. Joel wonders whether you can see them as clearly as he can.

You smile again and fiddle with the zipper of your jacket while you think. "You already know most of it," you finally say and Joel almost calls out bullshit, because he doesn't, not by a longshot. His knowledge on you is filled with gaps, a cloze he desperately wants to fill.

"Then tell me something I don't know yet," he says instead. Questions are piling up on his tongue, but he's biting them down.

What is that sadness that fills you on some days?

and

Do you, God forbid, know the same loss I do?

He sees it mirrored in you, the desperation and soul-wrecking-pain that comes with the loss of a child. It leaves a special kind of imprint that never really goes away, just grows over a little bit, if you're lucky, but it's always still there. Joel's sure he sees it in you, that he recognizes your pain as his own and his heart breaks at the thought of it, of what he thinks you lost, of what he lost himself.

How can I ease your pain?

Will you let me ease your pain?

Joel watches you think again, trying hard to come up with something to tell him that won't reveal too much. He knows the look. He wore it himself for years, not letting anybody close enough to read between the lines.

"You know I had a kid?" Your head perks up and he can see your eyes growing wide in surprise, pupils large and dark.

"A daughter. Name's Sarah." He feels the sting in his chest that always comes out when he talks about her for the first time. It pierces his heart with the same relentless white hot pain, but his flesh is used to it and has adapted over the years. A thick lining of tissue has grown around the spot where the dagger pierces through his skin every time he opens his wound anew. It never truly heals, never hurts any less. It does, however, take less time for the pain to subside now.

Joel takes a few deep breaths as he waits for the pain in his chest to die down. He feels your eyes still trained on him and watching him closely.

"She died the day of the outbreak. A soldier... shot her." He has to press the words out so they don't get stuck in his throat and suffocate him.

A twig snaps and bursts and sends up a shower of sparks into the cold dark air. Joel stares into the fire and waits for the pain to subside as another dagger pierces his chest.

It takes a while for his words to sink in. They bob around of the surface of your consciousness, like paper ships freshly put on water. You watch as they slowly grow heavier and begin to sink, the full weight of his words hitting you more with each word that fills up and eventually sinks to the ground of your mind where you finally grasp their meaning.

He lost a child.

Suddenly it all makes sense.

The way he sometimes looks at you with a sense of understanding that you've never been able to place before.

The way he took care of you on the day of your outburst, no questions asked.

You and her, you got the same kind of twitchy. Tommy's voice echoes in your skull and your vision blurs.

You realize you're crying.

The tears spill out of your eyes before you can stop them, a testament of your own pain, understood in the most horrible way.

You cross the fire in two big strides and fall to your knees in front of Joel where you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his shoulder.

You hold him tight, hands digging into his jacket in an effort to pull him as close as possible, while your tears soak into his shoulder. And then his arms wrap around you in return, holding you with the same feverish intensity that you're holding him with.

"I am so, so sorry," you whisper against his jacket when your tears have dried up enough for you to speak. His answer comes in the form of a kiss on the top of your head, and despite the situation, a shower of warmth rains down your spine from where his lips met your hair.

"I wish I could've met her."

"I wish you could've met her too."

The longer you keep holding on to each other, the more the tenseness leaves your body. The pain lingers, a dull throbbing sensation in your chest that is just all too familiar, but your muscles slowly loosen and you begin to melt into his embrace.

It feels almost shameful, finding pleasure in something that was born out of something so gruesome.

Joel detects the way you slowly wind down and allows himself to run a thumb over your back in small circles.

He holds you and is held back in the dancing light of the fire under the stars until the fire burns down and wishes this would never end.

Maybe he's been through enough. Maybe he's finally endured enough pain for a lifetime, because for once, the universe grants him his wish, and it doesn't end.

When he feels you snaking out of his embrace, his heart drops, his body already missing your touch where it pressed against him, but before he can mourn the moment, you're extending a hand to him.

You lead him into the tent, and his head is spinning, swimming with possibilities that seem too faint and outrageous to even reach before you open up one of the sleeping bags and slip inside, motioning for him to join you.

It takes a moment, but eventually, your sleeping bags are joined up into one large one. Joel's a broad man and sleeping bags are a tight fit on him as is, but with you pressed against his side, he could be getting strangled to death for all he cares.

You settle against him with your head on his shoulder and one arm wrapped around his belly and Joel feels like he's dreaming. He has half a mind to voice his concerns - "What about taking watch?" - but then your finger touches his lips and he ascends to heaven, the first man to be alive and knocking on heaven's door at the same time. "Not a single soul around all day. We're good," you whisper and lay your hand against Joel's cheek, where you draw the same slow circles he drew on your back earlier.

Maybe Tommy's right, is the last thing Joel thinks before he falls asleep. Maybe there's no shame in falling in love.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

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[queer-n-here]

once again comin in with another meal to cook !!!

character of your choice ♡

stalker, obsessive and possessive reader (quite literally just yandere) seeing their SoulmateTM one day and just going full degenerate and doing everything in their power to learn more of their new lover, even getting rid of powerful foes or imaginary rival love interests for them. no one has any idea as to how they're able to do things no human or gifted can do. eventually, reader slowly comes in and orchestrates their first meeting and slowly woos their lover, but they have major issues on hiding their possessiveness and jealousy of others. lover can either a) be all for it and find it hot or b) lover is unsettled by it.

either way, after someone flirts with their lover, reader kind of snaps and after that person leaves, reader excuses themself and goes to absolutely maim the persom who dared to approach what was his. it's nighttime when reader is finished with them, and they come home to their lover who is worried, but becomes horrified at seeing all the blood covering reader. all reader can think about is claiming his lover, breeding him and imprinting himself so deep inside his lover that they'll always feel empty without him. (dubcon would be amazing)

~ 🕸

Oh my god 🕸️ bro 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Bruv this is so good, love you for this, and yeah, y'all I've recently started reading a shit ton of dubcon/noncon so yeah...

I did this one for Akutagawa, cuz I feel like this could work for a situation where the reader is in the Port Mafia.

Also,this one got really long, and I haven't posted in like two days, so I thought I'd make two parts, yknow? Read Pt. 2 here!

Contents: Yandere reader that stalks Akutagawa and plans out their first time meeting in person. Not that Akutagawa already knows reader's name since they both work for the Port Mafia, but that's about it.

Warnings: No smut in this part yet, top male reader, yandere tendencies, mentions of stalking, murder, ability user reader.

You had been watching Akutagawa ever since you joined the Port Mafia. In total, this is what three years of stalking and careful planning was gonna boil down to: this one opportunity.

You had planned it out meticulously, paid seventy eight people to be nearby and on the scene to prevent anything from going wrong.

A heroic rescue!

As you watched Akutagawa cut open those men with Rashomon, you couldn't help but smile. He was so precious, so brave, so beautiful, so-

You shook your head, forcing yourself to concentrate. You couldn't miss your cue. Akutagawa wasn't stupid. If you made half a mistake, he'd know what was up.

One of the men got too close to Akutagawa for your liking, and you pounced on the opportunity like a starving cat.

You dashed out of your hiding spot, your ability leaping out and cutting the man to the ground.

Akutagawa turned to look at you, surprised.

Some of the men halted, too. They hadn't thought that you would actually hurt one of them. Before it was too apparent, and before Akutagawa could notice the changes in their expressions, your ability flew out, covering the entire area. Soon, all the men but the one you were enamored with were lying on the ground in pieces.

"[Name]," Akutagawa said, frowning slightly. "Aren't you supposed to be responsible for the East block tonight?"

"I asked Higuchi to handle it." You shrugged seemingly casually, your hands in your pockets as you scanned Akutagawa's body for any injuries. "The weather is great tonight, so I thought I'd step out for a drink. And good thing I did, otherwise you would have been cut to pieces."

Akutagawa sulked slightly, no longer focusing on the reason behind your sudden appearance. "I could've handled it."

Of course he could've, he's literally perfect.

"Were these Guild's men?" Akutagawa looked around the bloody mess of bodies around you two.

"How would I know?" You placed your hands behind your head.

Akutagawa shrugged. "Whatever, they're dead now."

And so the night ended. You took Akutagawa back to his home, pretending to ask for directions, when in reality you had his address memorized. He tried to turn you down, saying that you were being paranoid, but you said you'd rather be safe than sorry.

When you reached the tall apartment building, you watched him step inside, waiting for the light to turn on in the window you knew was his before leaving.

Over the next few weeks, you orchestrated multiple meetings between you two, always appearing out of nowhere and going back to it. Slowly, Akutagawa opened up, and started trusting you.

Miraculously, you even got Mori to assign you and Akutagwa to the same area. It cost you it's worth; you had to help Mori convince Elise into some bullshit.

It wasn't long before you were sure Akutagawa had developed feelings for you. He was painfully easy to read; his cheeks would flush every time you got too close, you could sometimes feel his eyes following you as you moved around. Once, when you 'casually' playfully winked at him, and you swore you could hear his breath hitch.

But you waited. The perfect thing to seal the deal for you and Akutagawa would be a confession from him, and not from you.

There were times when you almost gave up on this thought, like that one time one of your clients found interest in Akutagawa. He was ugly as hell and nowhere close to Akutagawa, who shone brighter than the sun. You had to take care of him your own way afterwards, slitting open his insides in your secret warehouse and throwing his pieces away to the dogs.

That wasn't a first-time occurrence, nor was it the last, but you fought well to keep your cool as long as Akutagawa was around. You didn't want him to know that side of you.

That day, you had known something was up even before you saw Akutagawa. There was a funny feeling in your stomach, and you felt like something great was going to happen.

And it did.

"I... I really l-like you."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment you almost punched yourself in the face to confirm whether it was a dream or reality. But you stopped yourself.

"Really?" Even as you spoke, your hands were already reaching for Akutagawa, pulling him closer to you.

He nodded, his entire face red.

A small broke through your face, and you kissed him, holding his waist in your hands.

It was finally happening. It was finally happening! Three years, four months, twenty-seven days, sixteen hours and forty-two minutes after you'd first laid eyes on this angelic man, you had finally kissed him!

It was a gentle kiss, despite the roaring in your head and all the urges to crush him into yourself. You nipped at Akutagawa's lips gently, making his breath hitch in that oh-so majestic way. He tasted like the best thing in the world, and you just couldn't get enough.

It was him who pulled away first, you wouldn't willingly part from those beautiful lips even if you suffocated to death. Staring at you with shining eyes and a shy little smile on his ethereal face, Akutagawa spoke.

"So... D'you... wanna be my boyfriend?"

Yes, yes, YES! A thousand times yes!

You nodded, pressing your forehead against his.

[sorinethemastermind]

Snake Boi Callum Week 3.0 | Prompt: The Key of Aaravos / Icarus

 “What story will it be tonight?" Rayla asked. She hadn’t needed to, Malia always asked for the same one when it was her turn.

 “The Warrior and The Mage!” she cried, clapping her little hands together. Raine groaned in the bed beside her, pulling the pillow over his face.

 “But we’ve heard that one a thousand times.” he complained. 

 “I don’t care.” Malia insisted, eyes wide with anticipation. “It’s my favorite!”

 “Alright then.” Rayla said. “The Warrior and The Mage.”

 After she’d tucked them both into bed, she began the story.

 “Once, not all that long ago, there was a boy who lived in a castle-”

 “Daddy!” Malia squealed. Rayla smiled.

 “Yes. That’s your Daddy. “He was the prince of Katolis, but he didn’t like doing princely things, like riding horses and sword fighting. He didn’t know what to do. Then one day an elf came to the castle, sent on a mission to-”

 “She was sent there to do a bad thing, but she didn’t. Because she was a good elf! Because she was you!” Malia interjected into the awkward pause that always came at this part of the story.

 “Yes. Yes, exactly.” Rayla said, moving on quickly. “Anyway. The younger prince-

 “Uncle Ezran!”

 “-yes. He showed the elf that the mission she had been sent on was a lie! That the egg of the Dragon Prince still lived. The princes impressed the elf with their kindness and courage, and she decided to take a chance and trust them. They set off to return the egg of the Dragon Prince to his mother.”

 “The journey was long and perilous.” Rayla continued. “But they were strong. They faced foes and made friends. And on their quest, each found something within themselves. The youngest prince found the strength to be a king. The elf found the courage to be merciful and kind. And the oldest prince found the power within himself to become a mage.”

 “And there had never been a human mage before.” Malia piped up. “So he was special!”

 “Very special. The specialist.” Rayla teased, poking her nose. “Just like you will be some day. And then maybe he won’t be so special.”

 “I can’t wait to learn magic.” Malia sighed. 

 “All in good time.” Rayla assured her. “Now, where was I?”

 “You were about to get to the good bit.” Raine urged her, peeking his head out from under the covers.

 “I thought you didn’t like this story?” Rayla mused.

 “I don’t!” he said quickly, before adding; “Well, I like some of it.”

 “Well then, I won’t keep you waiting. With their newfound strength, the three brought the Dragon Prince, Azymondious, back home to his mother. She was eternally grateful, and the act ushered in a new time of peace and prosperity among the humans and elves. But there were some who did not want peace.” 

 Rayla paused then, thinking of all the sacrifices that had been made. All the pain and loss. But she didn’t tell that part. Not yet. One day they would be old enough to understand, but for now… for now it was just a story of discovery. Of hope. Of love.

 “And so the three - the Warrior, the Mage, and the King - gathered their newfound friends and faced the monster together.”

 “And there was a huge battle!” Raine jumped up on the bed, slashing around with an imaginary sword. Rayla shook her head, bemused, before ushering him back under the covers with a knowing smile. 

 “Yes, there was. But as long as they stood together, nothing could stop them. And so the monster was defeated, and peace returned to the world.”

 Rayla began to stand up, moving to extinguish the last candle still flickering on the beside table, but Malia reached out and grabbed the hem of her tunic. 

 “Mommy, you’re forgetting the ending.”

 Rayla’s smile dipped for a moment before she turned back to them and sat down. “Of course. Silly me.”

 “Because The Warrior and The Mage had found more than just themselves...” Malia prompted. 

 “Yes.” Rayla picked up the story. “They had also found each other. And it was their love, in part, that helped to heal the rift that had once formed between humans and elves. And it was that love-” Rayla kissed each of her little ones on the head in turn. “-that created the next little Warrior and the next little Mage!”

 Malia smiled up at her, whispering so as not to wake her brother, who was already asleep. “I love that story.”

 “Me too. I think it’s my favorite.” 

 “Goodnight, Mommy.” Malia whispered as Rayla snuffed out the candle. 

 “Goodnight, my little moonbeam.”

 She crept on silent feet from their room, closing the door behind her slowly. Then she padded down the hall towards the only other door that had any light shining from it at this time of night.

 “Callum?” she whispered, pushing it open to peer inside. His head was buried in the book, as per usual. Tonight twining vines covered it’s front, sickly sweet pink blossoms poking out from among the green leaves. That accursed cube resting in its center. She raised her voice and called his name again. “Callum?”

 His head shot up to stare at her from over the pile of scrolls covering his desk. “Oh, Rayla! I didn’t see you there. I’ll be out for dinner in a moment.”

 “Dinner’s already passed, Callum.” she said tiredly. “I just finished putting the little ones to bed.”

 “Good, good.” he nodded absently, eyes already drifting back to the book before him. He scratched at the accumulated stubble on his chin. It was more than that now, soon it would be a full beard. “I’m almost finished with this.”

 “You should get some sleep.” she tried, seeing the bags under his eyes. But he was already reaching for a quill.

 “I’m just so close to a breakthrough. I can feel it. Can’t you feel it, Rayla?” he asked, finally raising his head to look at her. “And then I’ll have four! Four primal sources.”

 “Yes, Callum.” Rayla sighed. “I’ve left your dinner in the kitchen. Try and eat something?”

 “Mhm.” Callum’s eyes drifted back to the book. “I couldn’t agree more.”

 Rayla waited, but that was all. “Goodnight, Callum.” she said finally. 

He didn’t look back up as she closed the door and padded quietly to bed. 

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Ok so I know I said I was leaving for a month but guess what… I have Wi-Fi, so I can post! Just don’t be surprised if I leave suddenly 😅 I don’t know that I’ll always have Wi-Fi or the time (or privacy) I’ll need to post. Thanks for understanding! 😊

Part 1 | . . . | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43

Steve takes her to the junkyard, where they both sit cross-legged on the hood of his car. “Remember what I said,” he murmurs, then points to a bus. “Imagine that bus is a bunch of demogorgons, or Vecna, or both. You have all these cars you can use.”

“Besides yours,” she says, and he laughs.

“Besides mine,” he agrees. “But you have all these other cars. What would you do? If everyone you care about is right behind you, scared, but ready to fight with their bare hands if they have to?”

She takes a breath, squints at the bus. Imagines a group of demogorgons instead. Feels something furl in her chest as she extends a hand. “No,” she says, with a firmness that almost surprises her.

With a flick of her hand—and less energy than she’d ever expended before—a car crashes into the front of the bus. It skids back a few yards. Three of her imagined demogorgons are gone, but there’s still a lot more.

Both hands out this time, and she yells as she slams two cars into the side of the bus at the same time. It flips over twice, belly-up, and she grins as the last of her imaginary foes melt to dust.

“That was great, El,” Steve says warmly. “How do you feel?”

She wipes the blood from her nose and takes stock. “Tired,” she admits. “But not as much as I usually am.”

“Do you want to practice more? Or be done for now?”

“I want food,” she finally decides. “Then more practice.”

Steve grins at her. “I brought some cereal bars, but I think what you just did deserves more than that. What’re you in the mood for?”

She hesitantly grins back. “Eggos?”

Steve laughs and slides off the hood, helping her off after. “Eggos it is,” he promises. “Or we could go to a restaurant and get you real waffles with chocolate chips and whipped cream.”

Her eyes widen. “We can do that?”

He ruffles her hair affectionately. “Sure can.”

Her knees buckle when she gets off the car, and she would’ve fallen if Steve hadn’t been there to hold her up. “Whoa,” he says. “You alright, El?”

Everything suddenly seems harder than it should be. She takes a couple of deep breaths and shakes her head to clear it. “Alright,” she says, voice thinner than she’d like. “Just tired, I think.”

Steve hums. “Want to lay down in the back?”

“No. I will fall asleep and miss the time for waffles.”

“Well that’s the great part about it, is there is no time for waffles. Waffles are an anytime food.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I will lay down,” she finally agrees. “But you will wake me up when we are at the restaurant?”

He smiles at her. “Course I will, Ellie.”

She smiles as he helps her to the back. “Ellie. I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. More than Eleven. Maybe more than Jane.”

“Well,” Steve smiles, crouching in the doorway of the car and smiling up at her. He’s a little squinty, because the sun’s in his face, but El thinks that just makes it all the better. “Get some rest, Ellie. I’ll wake you for waffles.”

“Good,” she nods, laying down as he closes the door behind her.

She’s asleep before he rounds the car to his own door.

When Steve calls her name to rouse her, she notices the sun is significantly lower in the sky than it had been when she’d been practicing. She narrows her eyes at him. “You waited.”

“You needed the sleep,” he returns. “There’s still time for waffles. I figure we eat, head back, let you practice once more, then head home to rest before tomorrow.”

She swallows. “Tomorrow is it?”

Steve sighs before scrambling into the backseat to join her. “I don’t want to force you,” he says quietly, like he’s worried someone will hear them in the safety of his car. “If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. That’s fine. He may have his mind tricks but fire still burns him. Bullets can still hurt him. And we’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he can’t hurt anyone ever again. If it has to be without you, then that’s fine. We’ll make do.”

She leans into him and closes her eyes as his arms come up to wrap around her. “I’m scared,” she admits. “I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want you to be scared, or Alli, or Will, or Barb. If I can help you not be scared… then I want to help.”

“It’s okay to be scared. If you weren’t scared, I’d be worried.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want to keep being scared.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, Ellie. I know.”

She looks up at him. “Are we… like this? From when you are?”

He smiles down at her. “I think we’re getting there.”

She nuzzles back into him. “Can you adopt me? But as a sister?”

Steve pulls her in a little bit tighter. “Done.”

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[the-winter-spider]

Seven | One Shot AU

Word Count: 3.5k

Parings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Death, mentions of drug use, mentions of abuse. Angst.

Inspired by: Seven by Taylor Swift

You remember the way the woods smelled in summer: an earthy mix of moss and wildflowers, the gentle decay of fallen leaves. Back then, those woods felt endless to you, a vast expanse filled with boundless adventures waiting to unfold. The town, with its creaky old houses and quiet, winding streets, served as a mere backdrop for something greater—something you and Bucky hadn’t quite discovered yet but talked about endlessly. Together, you crafted entire worlds, weaving stories and escaping into realms that existed solely in your imaginations.

Bucky was always a step ahead, a fearless explorer leading you deeper into the forest as if he knew its secrets by heart. He would pick up a stick and declare it a sword, instantly pulling you into an epic adventure. You’d find yourselves battling imaginary foes, building forts from branches and leaves. The towering trees became your protective walls, and the leafy canopy above transformed into your expansive sky. Every so often, he would glance back over his shoulder, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, checking to see if you were still there, breathless and laughing behind him. In those fleeting moments, it felt like nothing could touch you—not the outside world, nor the weight of grown-up worries whispered in the shadows of your home.

The river became your favorite sanctuary. You would sit at its edge, dipping your toes into the cool, clear water as it rushed by. In that small clearing by the bank, you both shared secrets that seemed monumental at the time. You confided your hopes and dreams to him, the aspirations that reached far beyond the town’s borders. Bucky listened intently, nodding as if he understood completely, even when his responses were often silent.

One bright afternoon, curiosity nudged you to ask him if he believed there was more beyond the town limits. Without hesitation, he gazed out over the shimmering water and nodded confidently. “Of course there is,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring, imbued with a certainty as solid as the earth beneath you. “One day, we’re going to see it. All of it.” In that moment, you believed him completely, your heart swelling with shared dreams.

The clearing became your sacred sanctuary, a timeless refuge just for the two of you. In this secluded space, you felt an exhilarating sense of freedom. There was an unexplainable safety that enveloped you, as if the bond you shared could shield you from anything the world outside could throw your way. As the worries of life faded into the background, it was just you and Bucky—two kids with wild imaginations, playing make-believe in the woods as if you could remain in that moment forever.

You don’t often discuss home with Bucky, but somehow, he always knows. There’s a deep understanding between you, unspoken yet solid, built from the glances exchanged over the years, from those times he would meet you outside when you couldn’t bear to stay another minute within those walls. The woods transformed into a haven, a place to escape not just for adventure, but to breathe freely, to leave everything else behind.

There are days when you meet in the clearing, and Bucky seems quieter, his usual spark dulled, as though a heavy weight bears down on him. He doesn’t reveal much, but you’ve overheard fragments—conversations about expectations and duties pressing upon him like a dark cloud, his parents whispering about wars and the looming possibility of conscription. When you ask if he’s okay, he simply shrugs, offering a small, reassuring smile, as if he’s trying to comfort you as much as himself.

You don’t share everything, either, but he understands when you lean against him, finding solace in the strength of his shoulder. He allows you to speak when the words rise within you, and sometimes you do, pouring out your heart about the walls of your house that feel stifling, about the eerie silence that lingers there, the unsettling calm that hangs over every room. Some days, it feels like a weight pressing down, like you’re poised on the brink of something shattering. But here, in this clearing with Bucky, the world feels manageable once again. In this sacred place, all that matters is that you have a refuge, someone who understands.

In these moments, neither of you needs to fill the silence with words; instead, it becomes something precious—a bond deepened by all the unspoken thoughts and feelings. Sitting side by side, you let the trees around you block out the chaos of the outside world, and for a little while, it’s just the two of you. Just two kids, two hearts tethered to each other by shared secrets and the comfort of knowing that someone else is there—enough to keep the shadows at bay.

That night is etched into your memory, every detail vivid as if it happened just yesterday. You met him in the clearing as usual, but tonight felt different—he felt different. His eyes held a look you hadn’t seen before, an emotion that lay somewhere between sorrow and hope, a quiet longing that mirrored the ache in your own heart.

The world faded away as he took your hand, pulling you close. The familiar sounds of the forest fell silent, leaving only the soft sound of your breaths mingling in the cool night air. His hand gently brushed your cheek, his thumb tracing a line over your jaw, as he gazed at you as if he were memorizing every detail, acutely aware that this might be the last time he could see you like this.

Lying together on the uneven ground, surrounded by the scent of damp earth and pine, you allowed the distance that had been building between you to dissolve. His touch was gentle, hesitant at first, as if he feared breaking the fragile space you’d created. But as both of you grew bolder, hands exploring familiar curves and lines, it transformed into something deeper—an unspoken understanding that blossomed with the way he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath shuddering with the same mix of nerves and desire that surged within you.

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm that felt instinctual, the warmth of his skin grounding you as the feel of his heart beat rapidly beneath your fingers. It wasn’t about the place or the way the world lay just beyond the trees, waiting for you to step back into it; it was about him—the way he looked at you with a depth that felt like safety, a promise that he would be there even if he couldn’t stay. You felt connected to him in a way that was new and uncharted, yet it felt right—as if you had been made for this moment, for him.

Afterward, the two of you lay tangled together, his arm draped protectively over you, as if he could shield you from everything that lurked outside this sanctuary. He murmured softly, his lips brushing gently against your shoulder, tracing your skin with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Then he grew still, his mouth lingering on a tender spot, and you felt his hand shift, his fingers skimming over the bruise that had appeared on your upper arm, a mark you hadn’t realized was there until he touched it.

His hand tightened slightly, his body tensing beside you. He lifted his head, his expression hardening as he looked at you with a mixture of pain and anger—not directed at you, never at you. His jaw clenched, and he held your gaze, something protective and fierce igniting in his eyes.

“Come with me,” he whispered, the words almost a plea. “We don’t have to stay here. We can leave tonight. Just you and me.”

A rush of longing surged within you, a fierce desire to say yes, to let him take you away and escape everything that held you here. But then you thought of your little sister—how she counted on you, how she needed you. You couldn’t leave her behind. Not yet.

“I can’t, Bucky,” you murmured, your voice trembling beneath the weight of your choice. “I have to stay. She needs me.”

He nodded slowly, understanding even as you saw the hurt in his eyes. Gently, he pulled you close again, his arms enveloping you, holding you as if he could keep you safe just by remaining there a little longer. The two of you lay there, clinging to each other as if you could hold the world at bay for just a little while more, letting the quiet night and the shadows of the trees surround you.

When he finally left, it felt as though he had taken a piece of you with him—a piece that would always belong to him, left behind in that hidden clearing where the memory of your love remained untouched and untarnished, a sanctuary from everything you couldn’t escape.

—-

Bucky stepped off the bus, the crisp autumn air biting at his skin as he took a deep breath, the familiar scent of damp earth and fallen leaves wrapping around him like an unwelcome shroud. After years of chasing ghosts and avoiding the pull of home, he was finally back, and it felt like stepping into a shadow of his past. This wasn’t the homecoming he had imagined; it was the day of your sister’s funeral, a day draped in mourning and heavy with grief.

The funeral was a blur of somber faces, murmured condolences, and the familiar weight of loss hanging thick in the air. He stood at the edge of the crowd, watching you from a distance, unable to bring himself to cross that final barrier. You looked different—so much older, worn down by the weight of everything you had endured. Your eyes, once bright and full of life, now held a haunting depth, a heaviness as if this loss was the last straw in a long line of burdens you had carried.

Bucky’s heart ached at the sight of you, the girl he once knew so well, now surrounded by people who offered empty words of sympathy, words like “tragedy” and “too young” that dripped with a bitterness he couldn’t ignore. The murmurs of the crowd stung, and he felt a familiar surge of anger rise within him—anger for the unfairness of it all, for the way life had dealt you such a cruel hand. He knew the weight of the sacrifices you had made for the only family you had left, the way life kept pulling you under when all you wanted was to stay afloat.

As the service wore on, Bucky finally pushed through the throng of mourners, seeking you out but you were already gone. When he found you again, it was as if the world had faded away. You stood alone at the old riverbank, your gaze lost in the gentle ripple of the water, the place that had once been your sanctuary. Memories flooded back—the laughter, the whispered secrets, the dreams you’d spun together. In that moment, it felt as if no time had passed at all, and the years that separated you melted away.

He stepped up beside you, his presence grounding. Together, you stood in silence, letting the memories settle like leaves upon the water’s surface, swirling and mingling until they disappeared from sight. After a while, Bucky broke the silence, his voice softer, rougher than you remembered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said, the weight of the unspoken words heavy in the air. He began to share snippets of his life—stories of travel, of trying to find meaning in places that felt foreign without you. “But nothing ever felt real,” he admitted, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart race, “or fulfilling without you there.”

You gave him a sad smile, one that carried the weight of understanding. “I should feel crushed,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know I should be heartbroken, but… I can’t help feeling hopeful. And that makes me feel like a terrible person.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed in concern, surprise evident in his gaze. He didn’t interrupt, sensing you needed the space to let your feelings flow.

“I lost her over a year ago,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “When she fell in with the wrong crowd… I tried everything, Bucky, but it was like she was already gone. And I held on, thinking I could save her, but now—now I can finally let go. I feel like I can breathe for the first time, like maybe… maybe I can finally leave.”

His heart swelled at your words, both painful and liberating. He reached for your hand, his fingers warm against your cold skin, grounding you with the strength of his touch. There was a deep understanding in that simple gesture, the weight of his own losses mirrored in yours.

You took a shaky breath, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. “I got accepted into a writing program at NYU,” you said, a small smile breaking through the grief as hope flickered in your chest. “I can finally start over.”

A glimmer of pride lit up Bucky’s face, making your heart ache in a familiar, tender way. “That’s incredible, your incredible” he said, his voice full of warmth.

He reached up, his hand finding your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. The warmth of his touch seeped into you, steadying you in a way that felt safe. You leaned into his hand, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, the world outside seemed to fade into nothing.

“I’m moving to New York too,” he said softly, his words wrapping around you like a promise. “Got a job at the VA with my friend Sam.”

The realization settled in your chest, a feeling that was dangerously close to happiness. “You are?” you breathed, and your heart raced at the thought of him being so close, so accessible after years of distance.

Bucky nodded, a soft smile spreading across his face, wide and genuine. You leaned your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as the years of separation melted away. The connection you had shared as children resurfaced, and it felt like home—like finally finding your way back to something sacred.

“Finally,” he whispered, his voice thick with relief, as if this moment had been a long time coming, a culmination of all those unspoken feelings and the bond that had never truly broken.

In that quiet space, surrounded by the stillness of the river and the memories that lingered in the trees, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace wash over you. This was a new beginning, one where the past and present intertwined, allowing you to step forward with the promise of hope, of love, of something that felt right. You had found your way back—to him, to yourself, and to a future that shimmered just beyond the horizon.

——

New York feels like a whole new world, yet somehow, with Bucky by your side, it feels like coming home. The city buzzes with life—horns honking, people chattering, street performers playing their hearts out—each sound merging into a chaotic symphony. But when you’re with him, the noise fades away, leaving just the two of you in a private bubble of shared memories and quiet laughter.

You fall into each other’s company with an ease you didn’t realize you could still have, as if no time has passed since the days of innocent dreams and whispered secrets. Each moment spent together feels like a thread weaving a tapestry of connection, pulling you closer with every shared smile and lingering gaze.

One evening, after wandering aimlessly through the vibrant streets, you find yourselves drawn to Central Park. It’s the city’s version of your old woods, a sprawling oasis amidst the concrete jungle. The trees sway gently in the cool night breeze, their leaves rustling softly, creating a soothing melody that accompanies the distant sounds of the city. Above you, the stars flicker faintly, struggling to shine through the urban glow, but still managing to create a beautiful backdrop for the two of you.

Bucky takes your hand, his grip firm yet tender, as he leads you to a quiet spot beneath a large oak tree. The grass is cool beneath you as you sit together, close enough that your shoulders touch, the warmth of his body radiating against you. You lean against each other, letting the silence speak volumes.

Eventually, Bucky breaks the stillness, his voice low and steady, like he’s afraid he’ll shatter the fragile moment. He starts to talk, and the words pour out, revealing the layers of his experiences—the sights he’s seen, the losses he’s endured, and the moments that still haunt him. Each confession is like a fragile thread he carefully unravels from his chest, laying bare the vulnerabilities he often hides from the world.

You listen intently, your heart aching for him as he shares his scars—both visible and hidden. It’s a side of Bucky you’ve rarely seen, the soldier stripped of his armor, allowing you to see the man beneath. Your hand rests on his, grounding him, a silent promise that he’s not alone in this.

When he finishes, you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your own story pressing against your heart. You share your truth—the ache you carried when he left, the years that felt hollow without him. You tell him about the quiet days when you’d return to the clearing in the woods, yearning for a glimpse of him, hoping that somehow he’d be there, standing by the river with that boyish grin that had always made your heart flutter.

As you speak, there’s something fragile in the air, like a delicate thread connecting your pasts. You both seem to step back into your younger selves, back when life was simpler, filled with dreams and possibilities. But now, you carry the weight of experience and loss, yet somehow, together, you feel lighter. You laugh at old memories, reminiscing about the games you played, the secret looks you shared, and the dreams you whispered when the world felt limitless.

In those quiet moments, you feel something shift between you—something real and steady. It’s like finding a part of yourself you thought was lost forever, a piece that belongs to him as much as it belongs to you. Bucky reaches for your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin, anchoring you in this newfound intimacy.

“I thought I lost this,” he admits softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Lost us.”

You smile softly, squeezing his hand, the connection pulsing between you. “I did too.”

As the night stretches on, you sit together in the heart of the city, enveloped in your own little sanctuary. In that moment, you both realize that this—the love, the innocence you thought was gone—is still alive, buried beneath the weight of everything you’ve been through, just waiting for you to rediscover it.

The evening unfolds in soft whispers and tender glances, the night wrapping around you both like a comforting promise. Eventually, you make your way back to his apartment, where the city lights cast a warm glow through the window. It feels as if all the years and miles between you have led to this moment, to the quiet sanctuary of his room.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifts. Bucky’s hands are gentle as he pulls you close, his fingers tracing the familiar lines of your face, as if he’s rediscovering you all over again. There’s a tenderness in the way he holds you, a reverence that makes your heart swell. When his lips meet yours, it’s unhurried and soft, full of the patience you’ve both learned in his absence.

The kiss is a revelation, a blend of everything you both have yearned for, a promise that transcends the years apart. His touch is careful, reverent—a reminder of all the words left unspoken, all the feelings tucked away for far too long.

The world outside fades as he lays you down beside him, his touch slow and full of certainty, savoring every part of you as if you were the missing piece he’s searched for all along. His gaze is intense, softened only by the quiet vulnerability in his eyes, a look that says he’s finally home.

As your bodies move together, everything feels right. There’s no urgency, only the deep, steady rhythm of rediscovery, a silent promise exchanged between breaths and touches. When he finally pulls you close, his forehead resting against yours, his voice is a whisper that cuts through the stillness.

“There’s never been anybody but you,” he murmurs, his words like a vow, anchoring you both to this moment.

You smile, brushing a hand gently over his cheek, your heart brimming with warmth. “And there will never be anybody but you.”

In that moment, with his arms wrapped around you, the past fades into something distant, replaced by the quiet certainty that this is where you were always meant to be—here, with him, where you’ve both finally found your way back to each other.

As the night deepens, you drift into a peaceful slumber in each other’s embrace, the city’s heartbeat echoing outside, but within the walls of this room, there’s only the soft cadence of your breaths mingling together. And in that sacred space, you know that no matter what the future holds, you have reclaimed not just each other, but the love that has always been waiting for you to find it again.