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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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exit, no entry wound joe bear graves x reader; part 1 (3.8k)

Local time at destination: 0500 hours.

And then the world rushes back to him like the culmination of a terrible dream.

Bear wakes up in another rosebush outside the front steps of the local library worse for wear. Blinking out of sleep-crusted eyes, shapes diverging in blurry unfocus before slipping back into material objects. A bench. A door. The thorny stems of roses already on their way out, already depetalling, the ground below covered in a thin layer of them. One petal even sticking to his cheek when he pulls himself off the ground, wincing at the branches that crunch around him, that tug against his skin and clothes.

His clothes smell of cheap liquor. Gin. Bourbon. It hurts to open his eyes, to sit up.

“Morning, sunshine,” someone says. He remembers hearing it in his dream too.

He looks to the source of his awakening, blanching when he notices the man staring at him.

Rip sits on the other side of the bushes on his haunches, looking deeply unimpressed. Hair slicked back for a change. “This what you get up to when I’m gone?”

Bear doesn’t respond. He struggles to his feet instead, hangover only just creeping in. Still drunk, to an extent. His knees threaten to buckle under him, forcing him to lay a hand flat on the wall to keep himself upright. One foot in front of the other. The walk home feels endless in the hour before dawn, hardly any light to guide him.

“Pretty pathetic shit, Bear,” the man says, trailing along behind him. Not quite mockingly, but bordering on it. “Getting piss drunk and passing out in a bush? Really? C’mon, man. You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

There’s no sense in responding, Bear knows that now. No sense in even turning around to look. One foot in front of the other. Stumbling home alone under the cloak of night, dawn just around the corner; terrified that one day he’ll have to see it—the sun coming over the mountains, over the horizon.

It’s been less than a year. He hasn’t yet made his amends with God. Forgiveness sits outside of him. Not quite the right time to let it in. Maybe that time passed a long time ago, a small aperture that shuttered closed at the approach of his eyes. He missed it sometime between killing a boy and losing his mind.

A man cannot hold himself up on the scaffolding of the world alone. There has to be something beneath him. There is no sense in repeating the horrors of the world back to him; he’s already lived them. He’s got something of a Midas touch for death.

The months have been long since the divorce was finalised, since Lena left for good, since Buckley died, since Rip—since it all went down. If he thinks about it for too long, it seems like a nightmare that he woke up from still mad about; a nightmare he had no choice but to drink himself into a stupor over to escape. That’s the reality of the world.

“You know, Bear, you’re not the one that’s fuckin’ dead,” Rip spits as he follows behind, matching Bear’s stumbling gait stride for stride. “So you can stop acting like it.”

There’s a truth in Rip’s words and it leaves him feeling nauseous. There’s also a kink in his neck and a headache threatening to split his forehead open. In the belly of him, he has a truth that says that the firmament of heaven is beyond his reach. When he looks up and the sky is void of coruscating light, the meagre stars like an exit with no entry wound, it doesn’t surprise him. Of course there wouldn’t be anything there.

On a good day, his heart feels like it’s weathered a siege.

“So she left you! It’s time to fuckin’ move on. Go to a bar—I mean, you already are, so step one done—and pick someone up. Go on Christian Mingle or something. You keep living your life like this and you’re going to wind up killing yourself. And then the fuck good that’ll do?”

It takes everything in him to not turn around and do something rash. Only the nausea keeps him from making any sudden movements. Even if he were to turn around and do something, his knees would probably buckle under him. Probably throw up the contents of his stomach. Not much in there either. It rumbles when he thinks that, clenching at the thought of food. Then it twists, the nausea returning.

One foot in front of the other. The walk home takes twice as long, his whole body aching.

“Heard you almost quit. Wouldn’t be the worst idea you ever had. Let Buddha take over—he’s earned it. Get yourself a nice piece of land in fuckin’…Montana or something. Couple cows, maybe some chicken—you could get a dog, Christ. You look like a guy who’d have a dog. Why don’t you have a dog, actually? You would’ve told me if you didn’t like dogs, so it’s not that.”

His forehead is greasy when he touches it to rub his head. Body secreting poison in his sleep. Oily. The corners of his lips crack when he yawns. It’s not like he’s never thought about a dog, about having something to care for, another living thing in his house.

But—

(“Bear? …I don’t think we should have a child.”)

What he wants often falls to the wayside, slides off him like a glancing blow.

Her old, familiar shape appears at the sudden loss of a dream: one where Lena’s gaze lingers on him long enough to burn; but then it is the sun.

Bear watches dawn break. Sunday morning. In a different life, he would’ve squinted into the light of a new day and closed his eyes against it, curling into the slighter body tucked into his chest for another hour of rest. Felt the rise and fall of her chest. Woken up to a hot mouth on his cock or fingers curling in his chest hair, petal lips seeking him out. Church after that, showering off the remnants of their morning, solemn in their pews with their chests still holding the laughter of an hour previous. Light as air, as a feather.

He won’t go to church today; hasn’t in months. Not with the guilt of missing it the week before trailing after him, each missed week compounding month after month. The cracks in his faith webbing. Splintering out like stepping on the lake when it freezes over in the winter, crunching under his boot until he holds his place. Conscious that it could break under his feet.

“I grew up with a dog,” Bear finally responds, voice hoarse. First thing he’s said since last call at the bar.

“Yeah. Figures. What kind?”

“Black lab. We called her Daisy.”

It’s another lifetime ago. Still living in his parent’s house, Daisy curled by his dad’s feet, her favourite spot to sleep. Television playing at a low volume, mom at the kitchen table doing her crossword, ink bleeding into the side of her hand. It’s been a long time since Bear buried all of them. He’s buried countless people since.

“What—can’t get another? One and done? That’s how everything works for you?”

Teeth raze across his skin again. Trust Rip to always cut to the quick. Finally back in his neighbourhood at least, the street empty apart from the cars parked in their driveways or along the sidewalk. Bear’s stomach rumbles something fierce now, entreating him to eat. Worse than hunger is how he’d kill for a glass of water though. Anything to settle his head.

“Haven’t wanted a dog,” Bear grumbles, then clears his throat.

“Yeah, you have,” Rip scoffs. Bear hears him kick a rock, sending it skidding across the asphalt.

“Fuck off.”

Heart silicified in his chest, composed of fossilised shells and rocks and bones. It feels heavy in his chest.

He turns down the street leading to his house.

“Gotta let someone else in, Bear. Girl, dog—whatever. You can’t keep this up forever or it’ll kill you.”

When he turns around at the door, fishing in his pocket for his keys, the sidewalk beyond his house is empty.

(So a man lies down and rises not again; till the heavens are no more he will not awake or be roused out of his sleep.)

Every Friday like clockwork, Bear stops at the diner down the street for a coffee and a slice of cherry pie before heading to the bar.

Today is like any other. He leaves the house with only his keys and wallet and walks the long twenty minutes to the diner. Every time he fights the urge to drive, but there has to be something holding him in place. A reason not to throw it all away.

It’s never completely empty when he shows up, but it’s never full either. His seat at the back of the room is open as usual, like they put up a sign before he comes ambling down the street that says Reserved for Joe Graves and then pluck it away before he opens the door. It’d be nice if that were the case. Nice to have something just for him for a change. The thought comes with its accompanying pang of shame. Desire is a dangerous thing; anything he’s ever wanted has come at him with sharpened teeth, clamping down on his leg and ripping through the flesh. Bear trap for old Bear.

He slides into the booth and waits for someone to notice him. Never bothers to flag someone down—if it’s ten minutes or even half an hour before he’s served, that’s fine by him.

“Hiya,” a clear voice says to his right, pulling him away from staring through the blinds out the window. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?”

The face Bear turns to meet is pleasant, smiling. Wide and untroubled. It’s not a face he recognizes though, despite months coming to this diner and becoming familiar with the staff. If he had to guess, he’d bet she only started a few days ago, maybe a week at most. She still has the sparkle of someone who hasn’t had the goodness beaten out of them yet.

“Coffee,” he says, his own smile strained. “And a slice of pie.”

“Sure—we have key lime, blueberry, apple—”

“Cherry,” he interrupts, not letting her build steam. The wick in his chest burns too low for any conversation. The quick flicker of her brow makes the shame in his chest swell again. Forgive me sitting on his lips, unsaid. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I do this.

She nods and scurries off to the back, skirt swishing with her movements. Bear notices only because his eyes get stuck there, somewhere between the curves of her hips and the roundness of her ass. When he realizes where he’s let his mind wander, he pulls it back, flattening his lips into a hard line. Any sort of indulgence feels wrong, a taking that shouldn’t be taken. He hasn’t even begun to pay penance for all the damage he’s wrought.

It’s only on her way back that Bear notices the small bump protruding from under her apron. His mouth goes dry. When she reaches him again, he wordlessly accepts the cup of coffee and her reassurance that the pie will be out in just a minute. For a moment, he can hardly meet her gaze, eyes locked on the gentle curve of her belly, caught off guard in a way he hasn’t been in months.

The first thought with any clarity is, what is she doing working here? A crummy diner on a Friday night. Down the street from an even sleazier pub. His second thought is to look outside at the poorly lit stretch of road and think that this is no place for a pregnant woman to be alone. He recognizes each car in the parking lot save one, likely hers. Drove herself here with the expectation of driving herself home at the end of the night.

If it had been Lena—well, he never would’ve let it be Lena, but if it had been, Bear can’t imagine letting his pregnant wife drive herself home in the middle of the night. Can hardly stomach the thought.

She’s not Lena though, so he has no right.

She’s gone before he has time to say anything else, skirt swishing behind her. It catches his eye again. When he tears his gaze away for a second time, he swallows back the metallic taste of self-loathing. It curdles in his mouth. It’s the sign telling him to stop coveting, stop looking out into the world and wondering what he can take. It’s his hamartia, his fatal flaw; thinking himself above the reproach of God. Thinking that he can kill, fuck, curse, and stray farther and farther from the light only to find his way back in the dark.

The bell above the door rings when someone else comes in and Bear tenses. His shoulders only relax when two older women step in and head to a table.

He watches as she picks up a plate from the pass-through window and heads back towards him. When she places it in front of him, he draws a deep breath in, trying to catch more than just the aroma of fresh baked cherries.

“Here we go…one slice of cherry pie, straight out of the oven.”

“Thanks, honey,” Bear rumbles, smile finally meeting his eyes.

“No trouble. The guys in the back said they make it special for you. Joe, right?”

That gets him to levy her with the full weight of his attention. The thought of her asking about him. “I go by Bear.”

“Oh. Alright, Bear.” She twists the word around in her mouth and seems to find it satisfying. “I think I’ve heard your name before. You were—I mean, you’re part of Pastor Adams’ parish, right?”

He clears his throat, cutting off the triangle point of his pie with the side of his fork. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Me too,” she confides, voice a low whisper. A secret between strangers. She doesn’t glance around though, doesn’t bother to draw out the ruse. “Or, I was, anyway. Haven’t been to service in awhile. I, um…I remember you. From a year or so back. You and your—um…you and your wife used to always sit up at the front.”

The fork scrapes against the plate. “Ex-wife.”

He catches her wince from the corner of his eye. “Oh. Sorry. You just—” She doesn’t have to say it. The slight dip of her eyes tells him all he has to know, and besides, it’s his own fault for still wearing the ring. Even with the paperwork signed and dated, even with Lena in another state now, starting a new life without him, the thought of taking it off makes him break out in a cold sweat.

“It’s not—” Bear starts before giving up. He curls his fingers into a fist on the table.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Not a big deal.”

She fidgets in the silence. Bear can’t bring himself to break it or make the atmosphere less oppressive. He tenses under it, the ache in his low back worsening. These days, he always aches. Nerve damage, a disc on the verge of slipping, an old ankle injury that flares up whenever he goes running. A ghost that follows him from haunt to haunt. The ring on his finger is just another old ache.

“So, uh—” he clears his throat, nodding to her belly. “Your first?”

It’s inappropriate, hardly his place to ask. Incredibly intrusive for someone he’s met for the first time, a stranger just trying to do her job and serve him coffee and pie before he goes off to drink himself half to death again at the dive bar down the road.

Still, he asks.

Only the faintest wrinkle of her nose betrays any embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah. First one.”

“Congratulations.” It’s sincere. The envy in his gut is old, but it’s a manageable pain.

“Thanks,” she says, with a small, private smile, hand resting absently under her belly. “I’m excited. I’m only a couple months along, but, uh…it’s been a journey. Just me and baby against the world, you know.”

That stops him in his tracks. Screws up the whole course of his evening because suddenly the sound of the bell over the door jingling doesn’t draw his attention away. It stays fixed on the smiling girl to his right that just opened her mouth and said something unacceptable.

“Where’s the dad?” he asks, far too bluntly.

She shrugs. “Somewhere. Didn’t stick around long enough to tell me where. It’s fine though—I’ve got my little peanut. That’s all that matters.”

“You told him and he left?”

The pie sits cooling in front of Bear as a pit in his stomach opens up. It’s a terrible, empty hole that holds truths like the fallibility of the body and the good shouldering the burdens of the world.

He only regrets being so direct when her lip quivers, a little motion that betrays her until she wrests control over her face again. “It’s not his fault. I don’t think he was—well…you know, it was a surprise.”

“That’s—” he struggles to find his words, “—that’s not right.”

Again, she shrugs. “That’s life.”

Bear feels his eyes go hard. A coldness settles under his skin.

In the deep, dark gut of him, only anger lives. He spends his days questioning why God has allowed everything else in his life to fall apart, has allowed countless other people to die, but refuses, for reasons unbeknownst to him, to kill him. He’s given him enough opportunity and enough reason.

The answer he circles back to time and again is the same. An eye for an eye. Divine wrath. The litany of his sins could be sung until the end of time and there’d still be more to sing. It’s only right that there would be consequences for him.

The rage that simmers in his blood now is twofold. It begins with the sharp pang of injustice, of witnessing a punishment meted out to someone innocent. The girl standing by the booth he’s shoved himself into, almost too small for a man of his size, cannot be deserving of the same punishment that he’s brought upon himself. She has never killed. The babe in her belly has never killed. The two of them should never have to meet at the point of two paths converging with the likes of someone like Bear and proceed down the same road together.

Then it sinks into a familiar territory. A place at the core of him where righteousness gives way to envy, as it always does. After what he's been through, the thought of someone having everything that he's always desperately wanted handed to them on a silver platter and then sending it back leaves him feeling a bit off-kilter. Not quite right.

“Bear?” Her voice breaks the silence. When he blinks, concerned eyes stare down at him, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, dragging a hand down his face. Shaking it off. “Sorry, I—got lost in my head. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” she says, again gentle in her voice and smile. “Easy place to get lost in, isn’t it?”

He makes a sound in acknowledgment. Drags the silence out. Her mouth twists shy under his scrutiny.

“Anyway, I have a few other tables to get to, if you don’t mind. Enjoy your pie. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

He eats his slice of pie in silence as she leaves, eyes following her to her next table. Rage still sizzles under his fingertips. It makes his hands shake, old nerve damage and anger problems.

It’s like a gun punch to think of her all on her own. It’s not right. For someone like him, well, it’s—deserved, earned. Inevitable, even. Every step taking him further away from grace, from its light. No one who knows his story would think otherwise.

She’s a pretty thing though, this new waitress. Too tired, the bags under her eyes testament to that, no matter how well she hides them with makeup. Slightly puffy anyway, maybe from a lack of sleep or too many tears. His stomach aches at the thought. It must have come as a shock, the bottom of her world dropping out from under her when the baby’s father took off. Dragged away from the church not through her own doing, but the fault of another. Not her shame to bear, and yet.

He forces the pie down. Bites that taste like nothing,

Bear hears the lilt of her voice from two tables over. “Refill on your coffee, hun?”

A supplicant sits in his place as he sips his coffee. The hour slips by into the next and it starts to come together in his mind. Why he's been forced down this long road alone, why God hasn't struck him down yet despite every terrible thing he's done. His eyes follow her flit across the diner, the light seeming to bend around her like a halation.

When Bear looks across the room at her, he thinks, Lord, do not think I am waiting patiently for your hands. Every part of me trembles with anxiety.

(O Lord, show me I can fall apart together again; but not just yet.)

He stays until the last customer has finally left, waiting for her to come back to his table with an apologetic smile. When she does, Bear hands her his empty plate, watching her take a step back when he scoots out of the booth, rising to his full height. He makes note of the way her eyes round as they follow him up. Taller than her, unsurprisingly. Surprising though, the way her bottom lip droops just the slightest bit.

“Is it just you closing up?” he asks, voice a tad too gruff. He clears his throat again, looking around for anyone else.

“Well, the chef’s cleaning up in the back, but, uh—” she looks around the diner, conspicuously empty apart from the two of them. “Yeah. Just me.”

Bear gestures with his chin towards the door. “I’ll wait ‘till you’re done, then walk you to your car.”

“Oh, Joe—”

“Bear,” he corrects.

“Bear,” she amends, fingers twisting together now. He relishes the sound of it on her lips. “You don’t have to. I’m used to it, honestly. I know I just started here, but I’ve done closes before, you know.”

“I’ll wait outside.” A statement now. Stubborn. He’s always been a bit mulish, hard to shake off.

He can tell the second she relents, shoulders slumping. “Alright. I shouldn’t be too long…you can leave if you get bored though. Won’t blame you.”

He fights the urge to tilt her head up by the chin to make her meet his eyes. Just barely restrains himself.

Leaning against a tree out front, he twirls the ring around his finger as he watches her clean up. For the first time in a long time, he slips it off.

#ceil writing #joe bear graves #six (2017)#joe graves #six #big bear

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evervigilantnightshade · 2 months ago

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The Line - Part 2

Reader and John have always straddled the line between playful flirting and taking things further. However when they are forced into a safe house and a secret comes out will they be able to save what they were heading for or is all lost.

Reader x John Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Original characters.

Warnings: Angst, violence towards reader, reader attacked by men, a pup gets hurt but don't worry he's ok. Blood

Authors note: This is a rough chapter. Lots of angst, hurt and sadness.

MASTERLIST

“I have six on the roof. I’ll take the West side and the one facing South, you take East and the one facing North.” Y/N said in the coms looking down at the warehouse.

“Copy that.” Ghost replied.

They both took out the lookouts quickly and quietly as the team reached the building. Soap headed in her direction as Price and Gaz headed in Ghost's direction. The goal was to put stoppers on all the doors, and put a target marker on the roof. Gaz was in charge of the marker while Price and Soap took on the exits.

“Hold up. Soap you have two around the corner from you.” Y/N said into the coms

She had the man in the back lined up in her scope when she felt a hand wrap around her ankle and yank her backwards causing her to cry out.

“Belladonna ya good?” Soap asked into the coms.

“Soap… not in position.” Was all she could say before she turned her body around bringing her other leg up and kicking her assailant in the face.

“Ghost you’re solo” She grunted and then looked over and saw another man standing next to her with a gun.

“What’s happening” Price barked

She reached down as the other man was distracted by his partner's groans of pain and pulled her knife out, throwing it so it hit him in the chest.

“One second” She huffed as she stood up.

The remaining man stood up straight, looking around for his gun and noticed it was about five feet away from him. He pulled a knife out from behind his back and then looked back at Y/N. He lunged for her but she went down and kicked his left knee out before he could make contact and then stood up quickly getting behind him and wrapping her arm around his neck.

“BELLADONNA REPORT IN NOW.” Price said harshly into the coms.

“I said” She grunted as she tightened her grip on the man’s neck. “One second.” She then heard the crunch of his neck breaking and she dropped him. “Ok all clear.”

“What the hell happened?” Price asked.

“Patrol. They must have added one.” Y/N got on one knee and grabbed her gun to look over at Ghost’s position. “Ghost be silent. You got three coming up the hill towards you. I’ve got them in my scope.”

She lined up her shots and took them out back to front. Then quickly moved her scope to Soap who was standing over two dead men.

“Clear. “I’ve gotta move. I have two DBs at my spot.”

“You broken?” Price asked, worry lacing his voice.

She looked herself over and saw the man’s knife sticking out of her leg. She yanked it out and pulled the bandana that was around her neck, quickly wrapping it over the wound.

“I’m fine.” She grunted as she pulled the bandana tight.

She cursed the men on the ground and then looked around for a good vantage point. She saw one about 50 feet away and quickly moved. Laying down she put Soap in her scope again.

“Alright, let's get this over with.”

“I’ve got a car approaching.” Ghost said gruffly and all three men on the ground crouched down. “Looks like the man of the hour.”

“In position” Price replied

They watched as Bako got out of the car. The way he was positioned Y/N couldn’t confirm it was actually him.

“A'body git eyes on his face?” Soap asked a Y/N huffed in annoyance.

“Not on my end. Ghost and Price he’s closer to you, do you have eyes on?”

“Working on it.” Price said quietly.

Bako was about to walk into the building and Y/N felt anxiety taking over her body. If they couldn’t confirm it was him the whole mission was a bust. She bit her lip so hard it almost bled. What felt like an eternity later they finally heard Price’s voice in the coms.

“Confirmed. Bako has entered the building.”

The team signed with relief in unison.

“Alright Gaz get your arse up to the roof so we can get out of here.” Price instructed and he pressed a large stopper on the door Bako had just entered through.

Y/N watched as Gaz used his grappling hook and climbed onto the building. Once the marker was in place and the doors were secured the three of them went back to the boat and when they were far enough away Price called it in. Y/N stood up with her gun against her chest and watched as the missile came out of what seemed like nowhere and lit up the entire warehouse.

“Target eliminated” Ghost confirmed

A small celebration erupted from the coms and Y/N smiled. Finally a win. She glanced down at her leg in the light of the fire in front of her and then scrunched her face as she could see blood seeping down from under the bandana.

“Alright, Ghost and Bells meet up with the rest of us at the extraction point. Coms off unless it's an emergency. Good job team.” Price instructed

Y/N turned and started limping her way down the hill to meet Ghost, her adrenalin now subsiding. She had taken a lot longer than what was expected so she wasn’t surprised to see him making his way over to her and she could tell he was pissed.

“Liar” He hissed and she shook her head.

“I didn’t lie, I am fine. Just bleeding a little.”

“Stubborn woman.” He scolded and motioned for her to sit down on a rock next to the road.

“Just stitch me up and we won’t say anything about this to the others.”

He took off the bandana and ripped her pants so he could see the wound. He pressed the skin beside it harder than he had too causing Y/N to jolt forward in pain.

“Sadist.” She hissed

“Alright, you don’t need a hospital, I can handle this.” He said and pulled off his pack

“I told you.” Y/N said, rolling her eyes.

“Ya also said weren’t hurt so excuse me for not believing you.”

He started cleaning the wound and Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides.

“So, you want to tell me what’s going on with you and Price?” He asked when he had to press down on the actual wound.

“Right now? You want to do this now?” Y/N said holding herself back from swatting Ghost’s hands away.

“Yeah why not. Now's as good a time as any. No one else is around and we can be candid.” He said and then pushed the needle through her skin.

She hissed and he reached up and grabbed her neck and pulled her forward so their foreheads were touching.

“Man up.” He whispered and she nodded.

He let go of her neck and she now had a determined look on her face. He pulled the thread through and then pushed the needle in again. This time she remained silent.

“So Price. Never seen you do feelings. What changed?”

“The stakeout.” Was all Y/N said and Ghost nodded.

“Figured.”

Her and Price were on a stake out together in a seedy hotel in a seedy part of town. It was a place where you don’t go anywhere alone and don’t make eye contact with the other hotel guests. The beds were gross and the room smelled like cigarette smoke and regret but it had one redeeming quality. It overlooked a bar that Bako’s right hand man liked to frequent.

Y/N watched through the binoculars at the entrance of the bar, the patrons filtering in and out. They had been here for three days already and hadn’t had any luck. She sighed and reached over for her cold, almost empty cup of coffee. She took a sip and then shook her head with a look of disgust on her face as she placed the coffee cup down again. She yawned and stretched her arms up above her head.

“Here let me take over for a bit and you get some kip.” John said from behind her and she nodded in agreement.

She stood up and rubbed her right hip that was now sore due to sitting in a very uncomfortable kitchen chair for the last few hours. She looked over at the table and grabbed a pack of cigarettes, then frowning upon realising they were empty. She looked all over the kitchen while Price situated himself in the offending chair.

“Hey, are there any smokes left?” She asked, stifling another yawn.

“How should I know, I’ve been smoking my cigars, the smokes are all yours.”

She frowned and rubbed her temples.

“I thought there was at least one pack left but I guess not. I’m going to have to run over to the store.”

“Not on your own you aren’t.” John said sternly and she sighed.

“Price, it's literally next door and you have to watch the bar. I’ll be fine. I have my knife,” she lifted up her pant leg to reveal her hunting knife tucked into her boot “and it’s the middle of the day. Nothing is going to happen. I’ll be quick. 5 minutes tops.”

She wasn’t waiting for an answer and already had one foot out the door, before he could argue it any further she closed the door and made her way to the elevator.

When she stepped out into the fresh air of the street she stopped to take a big breath in. It has been three days since she had left the hotel room and the sun on her skin felt good. Remembering where she was though she opened her eyes quickly and put her head down, heading next door.

There was an alley separating the hotel and the convenient store next door. She was just crossing in front of the alley when she heard a dog yelp and then two men laugh. She then heard the dog yelp again and even though she knew it was a bad idea she turned and walked towards the sounds.

What she saw broke her heart. In front of her was an extremely small dog cowering against the wall as two men threw beer bottles at it.

“Hey fuckfaces, what the hell do you think you are doing?” She yelled as she approached.

“Just having a little fun here. What's it to you?” One of the men said as the other threw another beer bottle.

Y/N rushed forward and situated herself between the men and the pup. She glanced back at it and could tell it was injured. Tears started to form in her eyes.

“I highly suggest that you leave now.” She said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do if we don’t?” The second man said as he started to advance on her.

She started to bend down to grab her knife when a beer bottle hit her in the top of the head disorienting her. Suddenly one of them was on top of her. He tackled her to the ground and punched her in the face a few times causing her head to smack against the pavement.

“Hey don’t hit her too hard or you’ll knock her out. Then she’ll be no fun.” The other one said and the guy on top of her stopped hitting her.

Instead he grabbed her leg and started dragging her further into the alley. Her head was spinning and she desperately grabbed the air around her for something to defend herself with. Her hand landed on a glass beer bottle and she gripped it tight. When they stopped moving, she sat up quickly and hit the man on the head, breaking the bottle and then plunged it into his chest. He stumbled backwards while looking down at his chest in surprise, eventually falling against a dumpster.

“You bitch.” The other man said and then ran over to her, kicking her in the ribs a few times before getting on top of her and wrapping his hands around her neck.

She tried to fight him off but her head was swimming and she didn’t have the strength. For a moment she thought that this was going to be her end. Not in battle like she thought, but in some seedy alley by some unknown man.

The darkness started taking over her vision when suddenly the hands wrapped around her neck let go. She gasped in the air she desperately needed and then looked to see the pup biting the man's leg as he tried to push it off. Seeing her chance she reached down and pulled out her knife and with everything she could muster she stabbed it into the man's neck and then pulled the knife forward. Blood poured all over her face and chest and then he collapsed on top of her.

She quickly pushed him off and laid there catching her breath. She felt the pup come up and lay his head in the crook of her arm and she let out a sob.

“Good pup.”

She went in and out of consciousness, losing track of time. She was starting to go out again when the pup suddenly sat up and started growling. She then heard John’s voice calling her name.

“Price.” She tried to call out but her voice wouldn’t cooperate.

As he got closer the pup started barking and Price walked over having heard. As soon as he saw Y/N he ran over to her in shock. Y/N patted the pup to let him know it was ok.

“Jesus Christ. Y/N, Y/N can you hear me.”

She nodded yes.

Instantly he got on the phone.

“Watcher, we need an immediate medical evac.”

“How bad?” Kate asked and he shook his head.

“I don’t know. It looks bad but I can’t…” He had to stop and take a breath to calm the panic that was filling his mind. “I can’t tell what’s hers and what isn’t. We’ll need a clean up crew too.”

“Evac is at least 10 minutes out.” She replied and he swore.

“Tell them to make it faster.”

He hung up the phone and then started inspecting Y/N’s wounds. He couldn’t distinguish anything due to all the blood and instead just started running his fingers through her hair while whispering words of encouragement.

“John.” She rasped. “When they come. Bring the dog.”

“The dog?” John asked, looking at the small street dog beside him.

“Pup saved me. Is family now. Hurt too.”

John saw that the pup had some injuries and gently reached over and ran his finger over the pup's head.

“Good job bud.” He said

When the team arrived Ghost was with them and they loaded Y/N into the van. John grabbed the pup and then got in behind them.

“What’s with the dog?” he asked but John didn’t answer.

When they got to base John watched as they wheeled Y/N straight into the med bay, not letting him follow. He stood there for a minute and then turned and headed to the on base vet.

“Do whatever you have to do.” John instructed them and they took the pup to the back.

About 20 minutes later the vet came out to speak to John.

“Alright you got a tough little guy in there. He’s got a cut that needs to be stitched and he’s going to lose his right eye but overall I think he’s going to be ok.”

John sighed with relief. He couldn’t do anything for Y/N right now but he could do this.

“What about shots and stuff? What does he need?” Price asked

“Well considering he’s a street dog I would assume he’ll need the whole gambit.”

“Do it.”

“He also needs a name.” The vet said and John thought for a moment.

“Call him Odin.” Remembering Y/N's fondness for Norse Mythology

“Alright you gave us your number, so we’ll call you in a few days when he can be picked up and go home with you.

He headed back over to the med bay and saw Laswell talking to the doctor. Ghost sitting in a chair next to them. He immediately went over to them.

“How is she?” He interrupted them

The doctor looked over at Laswell who nodded.

“Well she has two broken ribs, a broken nose, a split lip that needed stitching. We had originally thought her right orbital bone was broken but it’s not; however we will have to wait to see if there is lasting damage to the eye. Our biggest concern is the injuries she sustained to her head. She needed multiple stitches in the back of her head and she is currently getting an MRI to see what’s going on.”

Price nodded, unable to speak due to the lump in his throat.

“Thanks doc, keep us updated.” Kate said and the doctor nodded heading back into the ward.

Ghost stood up and stood in front of John, his body tense.

“What the hell happened?” He asked, his voice strained.

“I don’t know, she insisted on going to the store next door by herself.”

“And you let her?” Ghost asked gruffly

Instead of answering John walked over and let out a scream and kicked the chair Ghost had been sitting on down the hallway. He walked away without saying another word.

Y/N was out for five days. On the evening of the fifth day she slowly opened her eyes to see Ghost on one side of her and John on the other.

“Boys…” She began but started coughing.

John immediately got up and grabbed a cup of water, letting her take slow small sips.

She glanced over at Ghost and kept staring at him for a minute before smiling and reaching out, squeezing his hand. He slowly nodded at her and then got up and left the room.

She then turned to John.

“ Am I broken?” She asked

“You are. Nothing that can’t heal though. I want to be mad at you, but I’m more mad at myself. I shouldn’t have let you go alone. I should have insisted I went with you. I’m sorry.”

‘John, this one's on me not you. I should be the one apologising.”

She reached over and grabbed his hand. All he wanted to do is crawl into the hospital bed and scoop her up into his arms, protecting her from anything and everything. Instead he settled on kissing the back of her hand.

“How’s the pup?” She asked.

“He’s fine, lost an eye though.”

“Well we can match for a bit” Y/N reached up and touched the patch on her eye.

“I got him all his shots and everything. He’s on meds so the team has been taking care of him. Snuck him into the barracks. I got him a collar, a harness and a leash as well as some toys, a bed and a food and water dish. I stayed up at night with him his first night after the vet because he wasn’t used to having a home but he’s warmed up to us.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at him as she listened to him talk.

“That was it, that was the moment” Y/N explained to Ghost.

He tied the last stitch and then placed a bandage on her leg. He then handed her some tablets which she swallowed dry.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he was forced to accept that he had fallen for you too that day. Thought he was going to lose you and it scared the shit out of him.”

He reached out his hand to help Y/N stand up.

“If this shifts Si, if this thing between me and Price gets serious I’m going to want to tell him.”

Ghost looked out into the distance and then sighed.

“I figured as much. I know you feel bad for keeping this from the team, but I just don’t know if I’m ready for everyone to know.”

“Well it wouldn’t be everyone, we could just tell John.”

“I know, let me think about it, yeah?”

Y/N nodded and then motioned for them to get moving. They walked in silence and Y/N felt a tightness in her chest. Hopefully Simon would agree to let her tell John everything. The only question was, would he understand.

#captain price x reader angst #captian john price #cod #john price #captain john price angst #captain john price x reader #john price x y/n #john price angst

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cambion-companion · 1 year ago

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BG3 Companions on a Halloween Date

YES I was itching to do something for the BG3 gang for the season. You could say it's been bugging me. Hah. Ok sorry it's the influence of my pfp.

Let's start with

You want a cozy night in under the covers, watching scary movies (or puppet shows or whatever the heck is the equivalent in Faerun) but he's not sold on the idea. "I've seen enough horror to last me several lifetimes, darling."

Instead Astarion would take you out in the crisp Autumn air, under the distant sun, for a walk crunching through the dried leaves of brown and red.

He'd want to go to the pumpkin patch to find the perfect gourd for a Jack-o-Lantern.

When the sun set so very early in the afternoon, you'd retire back to your cozy abode and set to carving faces into your pumpkins.

Astarion of course would make short work of his, dexterous as ever with those knives, and he would do his best to shape the face into what he hopes he looks like.

Either that or, depending on where you're at in his character arc, he'd remake Cazador BEFORE gutting it and making a whole show of utterly eviscerating the poor Halloween decoration. "Astarion, this is supposed to be relaxing." "This IS my ideal downtime."

You want someone who will snuggle under the covers and watch Hocus Pocus with you? Wyll is your man. But sorry I'm trying to keep to a less modern AU.

Wyll seems like the kind of guy who would put on some fitting music as you two cooked together, dancing in the kitchen intermittently and almost forgetting to check on the cookies before they burned.

He's such a sweetheart, checking to make sure you're happy with just spending an evening indoors with him. "We can go out on the town if you desire, sweetheart." "No, Wyll, I've told you this is absolutely perfect."

Depending on the choices you've made with him thus far, Mizora might pop in to dip her finger in the batter and bamf out again, giving ya'll a cheeky wink. "Ta ta, love imps. You make me physically ill."

Sigh, you're back for more bones hm?

Alright I'll entertain you.

You ask Withers to dance to Spooky Scary Skeletons. He looks at you, unimpressed. "Get thee hence." "Wilt thou harass someone else?"

Ideally I would propose and she'd say "yes". Oh what? Sorry, I was miles away.

For a Halloween date. Hm. A corn maze. Definitely.

She'd be all about her tutelage under Shar's freaks followers and want to show off her sneaking skills.

It would turn into a game of hide-and-go-seek and then it'd get a little creepy before she'd inevitably pounce on you and you'd end of in a fit of laughter together.

"I wasn't going to hurt you!" "Well, Shaddy, sometimes I wonder." "Good to keep you on your toes, then." "Careful, I saw a pond on the way in."

Then you two would go and get some candied apples and chat about memories and flowers that bloom in the gloaming.

Oh Gale.

He'd love to read to you out of a classic gothic novel (cough cough Dracula cough cough) while you two cozy up under some blankets.

He'd probably get fresh with you and run a hand up your leg or something, OH SORRY this is post the patch that fixed that? OK. He'd wait an extra hour.

Tara would curl up next to you and listen as he read from the book, the firelight crackling and warming your bodies as the night grows dark outside.

Afterward he would ask if you'd like to be guided into the Astral plane where you can look down on the All Hallow's Eve festivities below.

yeah, gotta give Tiefling daddy some love. Especially since I still feel bad for massacring them all my last playthru.

Zevlor is another who has seen his fair share of horror, and he would opt to do something more lighthearted with you for a Halloween date.

He seems like a family kind of man, so I expect he would invite the whole gang over for a delicious dinner. Mol and her friends, Arabella and her parents. Rolan and Zorru and maybe even Auntie Ethel will sneak in there. Then it really WOULD be a Halloween experience.

After the dinner and the guests are snoozing or already left he'd wrap an arm around you and pull you close. "Would you accompany me outside? I would like to show you the stars and tell their tales. It's been so long since I've gotten to properly admire them. Or you."

Of course I have to include the daddy devil, who do you think I am?

Raphael would take you to a haunted house, of course. OF COURSE.

Hell, what better house that is haunted than the House of Hope?

It would be horrifying for you, since the no touching rules don't apply there, and most amusing for him.

You'd practically climb the cambion in your efforts to avoid the ghosties, especially that one who constantly says "huuuurt meeee, pleeeaaase."

Raphael would enjoy watching you squirm, and remind you such a fate would not be yours only IF you followed his rules.

Oh yeah, and maybe if you're lucky, or perhaps very unlucky, he'll invite you to his Boudoir.

Oak Father frowns on dissecting pumpkins for the sake of creating superfluous lanterns (or something...I heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend, ok)

Instead, Halsin would druid craft you vines and harvest fruits in whatever shapes, sizes, and colors you desired.

He'd also want to go trick or treating so BADLY. "But Halsin, you're eight feet tall and built like a linebacker. No one is going to mistake you for a kid." Then he'd cast Disguise Self and you'd be forced to take him out on the town in hunt of candy.

Poor guy didn't have much of a childhood and wants to experience the finer things in life. Get those king sized candy bars...just once.

You are a bit huffy, having expected a more...romantic evening than this. But he'll make it up to you later winkwonk , till you can bearly stand it.

You guys would get all CUTE and gussied up together.

Go out on the town.

Pick the best looking victim to be a sacrifice to Lolth.

Wait...what?

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renren-006 · 9 months ago

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Savior | Daryl Dixion x fem reader

plot: Daryl saved you, and you want to kiss your savoir warning: slight mentions of almost taken advantage of, violence word count: 1518 a/n: I just had to write this idea!

taglist: @rosecentury

Back when the world had just ended, and things were still unknown, you were wounded around Atlanta's wooded, less populated areas. You had run from your car that got overrun, remembering the screams of your parents and the harsh pain in your ankle after you fell from the car watching them. You still struggled on your ankle; hisses escaped your lips as you walked. You had not stopped long through the days to heal or to rest, not knowing where the next undead would come for your flesh. Your jeans were worn and dirty, your red shirt now had holes, and you desperately wanted a bath.

The day Daryl came to your rescue was the first day you had fallen asleep next to a tree with the fire embers still cooling in the morning rays. You heard the crunch and woke with a startle; there were three men watching you, all eyeing your body like a prise.

"Well, lookie here, boys, some fresh meat for us," one of them said, toying with his belt to hide the painfully evident erection there. All three of them had one. You didn't know what to do, had nowhere to go, and knew you wouldn't make it far with your ankle.

"Please don't," you said, your voice coming out louder than you intended, maybe preying someone would hear you.

"Aw, look at her. She's begging. I want her first," the second man said, and the others shook their heads.

"no way she's mine," The third said, pushing his friend back before strutting twords you.

"No, No!" you said, shouting; maybe even the undead would save you. "Please!" he came to you, and you struggled to push him off. The others were smiling, ribbing their pants, and wanting their turn.

"Hurry up, man", the first man said. Wanting the man who was trying to get your belt off to rush. That was when an arrow went through the man's skull, making his body thud against the forest floor, and then the second man went down with a knife in the head. The man on top of you looked back and gave you just enough room for you to knee his body off you. The man looked angry as you went back further, your pants even more ruined from the mud. Thankfully, your belt was still on, and your pants only ripped slightly from his strength. The man went down soon after, and two men peered around the trees twords you.

"Hey there, girlie?" one of them asked, the same face the men had before they died. The shorter one pushed him back, walking over to you, bending down by the man, and pushing him away so you couldn't see his dead eyes.

"We ain't goin' to hurt ya," he said, his voice soothing you from wanting to leave. "We got ya know."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," the taller one said.

"He ain't going to hurt you either. hands off, Merle," the man sad

"I got it", Merle said, getting the hint that I wasn't to be touched by him at all.

"I'm Daryl, that ma brother Merle. He won't get his hands on ya," Daryl said to you, holding out a hand; this seemed to be the first act of kindness this man had shown anyone in a while, and his face read it all too well.

"You don't save many people, do you?" you asked him. He shook his head, lagging slightly.

"Nah, normally we don't run into people. ya needed help, coulden't leave" Daryl told you, gripping your hand in his as he lifted you up. "You aint got no weapons on you?"

You told him, "No… I didn't prepare for the world to end." He nodded his head. Merle looked around, noticing a few of the undead heading your way.

"We gotta move."

That started your journey with the brothers for a few months. It was just you two. They trained you on how to hunt and how to fight, and most importantly, how to piss Merle off, so he left you alone. Daryl also made sure your ankle was looked after, and in no time, it was better. Merlemeantt, no harm to you; he was just desperate for action you never wanted to give him. Daryl became your savior and bodyguard, making sure Merle understood that would NEVER happen.

The three of you traveled until you met others who welcomed you into their small, little mountain-top community. It was you, the brothers, some sisters, and a man named Dale for a bit. Soon, the group grew and grew, but you only hung with Daryl and cursed off Merle.

However, the time with him on the mountain made you aware of your attraction twords Daryl, the want you craved when you were near him. You were late in your 20's20s, having experienced college before traveling home to your parents just before the world ended. In those times before Daryl, you felt like you were younger, but now you feel your age, you feel strong. For the time being, you felt strong until your group had to pack up and leave because of a walker outbreak.

Months later, you were entering the farm, your hands wrapped around Daryl as he rode into the grounds. You were mesmerized by how quiet and large it was here. While the others were setting up, you glanced over at Daryl, who was setting his tent up a bit away from them but not so far that he was secluded.

"You got a tent?" Carol asked. You looked back at the woman. You didn't know what you were going to do. For the past months, you had slept by Daryl and Merle, but now, you were not sure what you would do.

"She with me," Daryl said, coming over to you. You looked beside you at the man who had apparently finished setting up and had walked over. "That good?"

"Of course," you told him, smiling; he nodded and walked over to Rick and the others.

"You both need to talk about your feelings for one another," Carol told you. "I can see it clear as day."

"Carol!" you said to the woman who had become a mother of sorts to you over the months. “I…cant”

"I think you can. I think you should," she told you, patting your back and going over to the others, leaving you thinking about how exactly you could even begin to explain to Daryl how Head becomes the soul man you wanted to be with for the rest of this apocalyptic world.

It took you weeks and weeks to gain the courage, and only after he got shot did you tell him. He was lying in that recovery bed, not able to move a lot. You came in and sat beside him.

"Whatcha doing in 'ere," He asked you as you sat down in the chair by his bed.

"I…needed to tell you something…" You said to him, referring to the breakfast you had only a few hours earlier, which was being eaten away by the nerves.

"What? Ya hurt?" he asked, concern spreading fast across his face.

"No, no," you told him, "I…god, I don't think I can tell you."

"Tell me what?" he asked, his southern accent so strong inside that room that it made your head spin.

"How you've been making me feel," you started, "I just didn't. I don't want to lose you, and after you got shot, I figured I might as well tell you before you died, and I never did."

"What are ya going on about?"

"I love you, Daryl. I've loved you since you saved me, and God, I love you even more since you've shown me how to be strong in this world", you rambled to the man in the bed beside you. Your hands were in your lap, and your eyes were glued to them.

"Y/N," Daryl said in a soft tone you had never heard from him.

"I know I should have told you you were the man who saved me, and you probably think I'm some kid to you", you said. Worry eating at you again.

"I don't think you're some kid." he told you, "I think you're a lot more than that."

"You do? You asked, eyebrows scrunched together.

"That first night you spent with us, I didn't sleep cause I couldn't keep my eyes off ya," he told you, "I thought you were…blessed by a god or somethin'" he told you, holding your stare; there were tears in your eyes now

"I don't think I ever heard you talk like that," you said, smiling through the slight tears brimming your eyes.

"Ya won't again," he told you, pulling you down to him and kissing your lips so deeply. The door behind you opened, and then the person proceeded to fall into the door.

"Finally," Carol screeched. Smiles stretched over her face, as well as Ricks', who came to check on Daryl. Finally, you got to kiss your savor after all these months.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion #daryl dixion imagine #the walking dead imagine #fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl x reader

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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Hey! I was wondering if the requests are still open? I’m so obsessed with BMD💗✨ I was wonder how Ben would react to his gf having cramps during her moon cycle✨

Tysm for sharing these awesome stories with us hun🫂💗✨Hope you’re healthy and happy💃🏻❤️

Hey there!

I'm so glad you love BMD. 🥰 I’m slowly but surely working through my inbox of requests! And because I’m currently on my “moon cycle” as I’m writing this [last week. I was suffering for four days], I just had to do this prompt. So thank you for it, lovely!

And you're so very welcome. It's my pleasure. I hope you're healthy and happy as well!! ❤️❤️

AN: This one is set in the Break Me Down-verse, but can be read as a stand-alone. Considering where we're going next in "Strong as Blood," I thought it'd be good to release this first lol.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Word Count: 2,700 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, of course. Hurt/comfort, fluff, grumpy Ben.

Imagine: How Ben reacts to his girlfriend having cramps during her period.

You really were going to die this time.

The thought was both a conviction and a deranged mantra as you stood hunched over the bathroom sink. Nausea and pain warred for dominance as you pressed a clammy hand over your forehead.

Jesus Christ, end me please. I beg of you.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend was in the bedroom getting ready for work. Both you and Ben worked at Supe Affairs now, with Butcher and the rest of the team.

You were one of the top agents in the Surveillance department, while Ben was considered a “contractor,” catching rogue supes and dealing with the remnants of Vought.

He was just about to undress from his shirt and sweatpants and start getting his supe suit on, when he heard the toilet flush in the bathroom…for the third time now. He realized then just how long you’d been in there.

He went over and knocked on the closed door.

“Hey, you planning on going to work today?” he said, with a teasing note to his voice. “Or making breakfast, for that matter?”

“Not now, Ben,” you replied, barely stifling a groan.

A frown tugged at his lips. “What’s wrong?”

“Debating if I’m gonna start my day by throwing up last night’s pot roast,” you replied sourly.

Ben’s brows crunched when he heard the strain in your voice. But at the same time, he couldn’t help smiling.

“What, are you pregnant?” he asked.

He heard your dry huff from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Most definitely not,” you said. “But at this point, I’d much rather be knocked up.”

Ben didn’t like the sound of that. He twisted the doorknob and let himself in, just to see his girlfriend locked up with pain. He read the misery written across your face. You were still in your pajamas (one of his old shirts that hung almost to your knees).

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he repeated gruffly. He rested a heavy hand on your back, between your shoulders. You let out a breath.

“Move that hand lower?” you requested. “My period came early this month. Hit me out of nowhere with a vengeance.”

His brows crunched a bit, but he obliged you, moving to your lower back. His hand was warm, as usual, and the weight of it was a small relief as he rubbed back and forth into your aching muscles.

You let out a deep breath and briefly closed your eyes. Finally, the nausea was starting to pass. And if you dawdled any longer, you were going to be late for work.

“Okay,” you breathed. “I need to get ready.”

You tried to straighten up, even though what felt like your entire lower body protested.

“You can barely move,” Ben said. “How’re you gonna work like that?”

“The way all women have managed to do for centuries,” you tartly pointed out. “With a buttload of painkillers and a heating pad under my desk…speaking of, where is that thing?”

You moved past him to look for said object. You knew you put it somewhere…

Ah! You found it in the top drawer of your nightstand. You plugged it in just to make sure it was working, but to your frowning suspicion, it didn’t turn on.

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” you said. You pressed the “on” button several times, but it didn’t light up. You touched the fluffy heating pad on both sides, but it was still cold. “Damn it. Don’t tell me this thing’s broken!”

You were about ready to tear the thing apart with your bare hands, when a sudden cramp spasmed in your lower belly. You inhaled sharply and held a hand there with a wince. Your back bent forward on reflex, and you grabbed onto the nightstand to steady yourself.

“All right,” Ben said. He took the defunct heating pad out of your hand and guided you to sit down on the edge of the bed. He went over to his side to grab his cell phone where it sat on his nightstand.

When you twisted to see what he was up to, you raised a suspicious brow. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not going to work,” he said. His tone was matter of fact, and your brows rose even higher.

“What? Ben—”

He ignored you when whoever he was calling finally answered the phone.

“Yes?” came Grace Mallory’s steady, but slightly incredulous voice. Ben never called her, nor did he want to. But he didn’t have your manager’s number and didn’t feel like scrolling through your phone to find it.

“She’s not coming in today,” Ben said, without preamble.

"Ben," you tried. Again, he ignored you.

In his ear, Grace spoke your name, both a question and a clarification.

“Yeah, she’s sick. Get someone else to fill in,” he said.

Grace sighed. “…All right, but just so you know—”

Ben hung up the phone before she could finish. He then tossed it onto the bed. You shot him a wry, questioning look.

“What did she say?” you asked.

“It’s fine. You’ve got the day off,” he said. “Just relax.”

You sighed. Going above your manager to call Grace wasn’t the protocol for taking PTO in the slightest, but you couldn’t help but smile.

You beckoned him over with a hand. "Come 'ere."

A smirk tugging at his lips, Ben came back around to your side of the bed. You pulled him down by his shirt until he sat next to you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck in a hug. Maybe it was a small thing, but sometimes your boyfriend surprised you with the ways he showed that he cared.

“Thanks, baby,” you said softly. You carded your fingers through his hair, rested them at the back of his neck.

“Mhmm,” Ben nodded, rubbing your back again. “I gotta get going.”

“If you must,” you sighed. You pulled away enough to see his face, and something occurred to you. “Oh, can you get me some more feminine pads on the way home? And some Midol, and a new heating pad?”

Ben raised a brow at you. This was where he drew the line. He wasn’t about to be caught dead browsing through pads and tampons in some pharmacy aisle. God for-fucking-bid, some kid would be there with a camera phone. He’d learned about the internet, and it was worse than the tabloids used to be.

But you read the pullback in his face. You implored him with your eyes, and your gentle fingers in his hair.

“Please?” you asked. “I’d do it for you.”

Ben’s frown deepened.

“I’m not the one with the…” He gestured at you vaguely. “Monthly problem.”

You grinned a little. The way he reluctantly phrased it amused you. Despite his deplorable sense of humor, and often vulgar language, not to mention his blatant love of pussy, you supposed his fragile male disposition wouldn’t allow him to say the words.

Period.

Menstrual cycle.

Bleeding from the vagina.

“Exactly,” you countered, and you leaned up to once again snuggle your face into his neck. “Please, baby. You don’t know how much it hurts right now. You really want me to go to the store like this?”

Ben held you back with a terse sigh. You were somehow ready to go to work a minute ago, yet you couldn’t drive around the corner to the drug store?

“Fine,” he groused. His voice was nearly a growl, but you still smiled behind his back. You laid small, sweet kisses into his neck. When you leaned back, you pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” you said between kisses. Ben just shook his head when you were done bribing him with affection.

“Yeah,” he dully replied. The things I fucking do for you, said his tone.

He finally withdrew from you to continue getting dressed, leaving you to crawl back under the covers and try to find a comfortable angle to lay down. You used all the pillows on the bed, even dragging his toward you. That one you rested your head on, as it still smelled like him.

Ben watched you settle in out of the corner of his eye, like a cat curling up in her bed. A smile tugged at his lips when you sighed in relief and turned on the TV.

He didn’t see so much pain in your features anymore. You seemed in a better mood, relaxed as you held his pillow like an anchor.

So that’s how he left you. However, it wasn’t until he got to the Supe Affairs building that he saw your text pop up on his phone:

Here’s a picture of the pads I like. If you don’t see them, call me and I’ll help you. And don’t forget the heating pad! 😘

He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

By the time he got home that evening with takeout and a plastic bag (filled with the things you'd asked for), he spotted an empty cup of yogurt in the kitchen.

It meant you’d gotten out of bed at some point, at least. He set down the takeout bags on the kitchen counter and made his way up the stairs.

He found you in the same place he left you: in bed, in your pajamas. And you were crying while watching a movie.

Ben frowned. He stood in the doorway in his supe suit with the pharmacy bag.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. You looked up and finally noticed him.

“Oh, hey.” You paused the movie. “I’m okay. It’s just…Marley & Me.”

“What?”

“It’s this true story about a dog…just, don’t ask. It’s ridiculously sad,” you sniffed and wiped your eyes.

He raised a brow at you.

“Sure it’s not just your uh…situation, making you all weepy?” he asked.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You did not just say that.”

Was he really calling you hormonal right now?

His lips pursed, but he held up the bag.

“Before you start blowing your top, I got your female shit.” He ventured into the bedroom and laid the bag in your lap.

Giving him some annoyed side-eye, you peered into the bag. You nodded in approval at the correct brand and size of the pads you wanted, and a new pack of Midol. You then had to smile, as he even got you a couple of Twix bars. Your favorite chocolate covered candy.

“Admit it, I did good,” Ben said with a smirk. Your side-eye was begrudgingly amused this time.

“Color me surprised,” you replied, but you still treated him with a genuine smile. “Thanks, baby. This is perfect…”

Though you realized something was missing. Ben’s smirk started to fade as he caught on.

“Wait.” You sorted through the bag. “Where’s the heating pad?”

Fuck, Ben thought. He forgot.

His expression slackened, making you sigh in disappointment.

“Okay, it’s fine,” you said, ripping open the box of Midol. This would have to be enough to relieve your pain (but it never was). Even now, your cramps were starting back up again.

Ben nodded in response. You were no longer looking at him though.

He let out a sigh. Didn’t he get credit for fucking trying here?

Without another word, he started unzipping his supe suit and disappeared into the bathroom for a shower.

By the time he returned, you were nearly in full fetal position. The Midol had only put a dent in your pain. The First Wives Club movie from the '90s was playing on the TV, but not even that could make you laugh, let alone relax right now.

You were truly miserable, and Ben saw it as he got dressed in a clean pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asked. He wasn’t sure about the last time you’d eaten anything.

You paused the movie and moved your head enough to meet his eyes.

“Not really,” you admitted. “You go ahead and eat.”

Oh, he was starving. After the day he’d had, rounding up another telekinetic that tried to trash Midtown to evade capture, Ben could go for about five burgers. But there was a part of him that…didn’t feel right, leaving you like this.

Still, he needed to eat. He went downstairs and grabbed his meatball sub out of the takeout bag. He also took your sandwich along too, just in case the sight of food managed to make you hungry. He brought it all upstairs and sat next to you in bed. Though he was also kind of behind you, the way you were curled up.

You'd felt when his body dipped on his side of the bed. His presence both soothed and annoyed you. The former, because you did love your man. The latter, because he forgot the most important thing you'd reminded him not to forget.

You reached back blindly, eventually finding his hand that wasn't occupied with holding his sandwich. You placed that hand on your lower back.

"Massage, please," you grunted into your pillow. (Well, his pillow, but semantics.)

He sighed through his nose and a mouthful of meatball.

"I'm eating," he replied.

"What, you can't multitask?" you quipped.

Ben's gaze hardened with annoyance at the back of your head.

Still, he found himself reaching over and rubbing across your lower back. He applied gentle, but firm pressure with the heel of his hand. You sighed in appreciation.

“Thanks,” you murmured. Ben nodded and continued to polish off his sub while watching the movie. He usually wasn’t into chick flicks, but Bette Midler was hilarious, and Goldie Hawn was hot as fuck.

“I got you turkey and provolone,” he said. You nodded.

“Thanks. I’m still not hungry though.”

“Are you nauseous?”

“No…just in pain.”

Ben frowned…until he got an idea. He crumpled up his trash and tossed it onto the nightstand for now, along with brushing off the crumbs from his chest. He grabbed a couple of your pillows and propped them up behind him, against the headboard.

You shot him an annoyed look. “Hey!”

“You’re like a little dragon with her hoard a’ gold,” he remarked, smirking. Before you could start getting all huffy, he reached for your arm. “Come ‘ere.”

“What?”

“For once, just do what I'm telling you," he said. His lips twitched at your narrowing eyes. "I’ve got an idea."

With a loud sigh, you reluctantly (and slowly) uncurled and turned towards him. Ben laid back against the headboard, and he guided you to lay on top of him. You often complained that his skin was too hot at night for summer. Sometimes you woke up sweating.

It was a result of the power that emanated from his chest. Ben couldn’t exactly control the heat; at least, not when he was sleeping. But he was sure you were going to appreciate it more when winter came.

Not to mention, right now.

He positioned you just right, with your knee curling around his hip and your head resting against his chest. His large hand once again soothed against your lower back, underneath your shirt, and his fingers massaged into your skin.

You smiled as you realized what he was doing. You felt the warmth emanating from his body as it seeped into yours. Along with his calming touch, it slowly managed to relieve your pain.

After a few minutes, you let out a deep sigh and pressed a soft kiss to his chest, before you went back to resting on him fully. You couldn’t see it, but Ben smiled.

“Better?” he asked.

You closed your eyes with a soft smile. “Yeah. My new heating pad’s working wonders.”

Ben huffed a bit at that.

Just then, your stomach growled fiercely. Your eyes popped open.

You met your boyfriend's wry look, biting your lip. He smirked and reached down into the bag that still laid beside the bed. He retrieved your foil-wrapped sandwich and handed to you. You took it and happily began breaking through the foil.

Ben looked down at you, both fond and resigned. You clearly had no intention of getting off him. Which meant you were about to try and use him like some kind of makeshift man table.

You eventually took a bite of your sandwich, your eyes lighting up as you hummed in appreciation. You glanced up at his raised brow with a happy little smile.

“So good!” you said, still with your mouth full.

Ben restrained the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he thumbed at a bit of crumb on the corner of your mouth.

“Just don’t get mustard on my shirt,” he said.

AN: Lol I hope you liked this! I had fun with it, even though I don't have a body heater for my cramps. 😭

(It's fine. I bought a new heating pad online. ❤️‍🔥)

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asthedeathoflight · 26 days ago

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Run It Back, pt. 3

I got an ask bothering me for more run it back and while I have not managed to write more since last time (😬) I had in fact already finished chapter 3. So. Be the change you wanna see in the world guys. But also be careful what you wish for guys because um. This one is a lot. General warning for violence/police brutality.

- - -

She really tries. She makes arguments that don’t work, appeals that don’t land, says things so venomous she can’t even care if they worked because she can see in Ajax’s eyes that there isn’t anywhere for them to go even if they get home. She cries and screams and pleads and watches in silence and one time she even makes it all the way up into the Bizzies loft until one of them leans in close to her and says, “What you got a boyfriend or something? Or, like, a girlfriend or something?” before she has to close her eyes and start all over.

None of it works. She watches, and watches, and leaves Ajax over, and over. Until she can’t do it anymore.

She hears Ajax scream for them to run for, what, the tenth time? The fifteenth? It’s hard to remember how many times she’s done this when it’s on replay in her mind nonstop. And she can’t go. Some rope inside her that she didn’t know she was nearing the end of snaps taut. Swan reaches out for her and Rembrandt can only stare back as Mercy yanks on her other arm and drags her away.

There are sirens down the block. This whole thing must be a setup. What do they think Ajax did? What will they write on the paperwork when they book her? The cop looks up from his radio and sees that she isn’t running. What will they write on Rembrandt’s?

He makes to walk towards her but Ajax lunges after him and hauls him back towards her. “No, don’t fucking look at her,” she snarls, “Look at me, asshole, I’m not fucking done with you.”

There’s not much she can do to him one-handed but this guy’s not really a fighter. Rembrandt just stands there watching as Ajax slams him against the bench again and kicks his feet out from under him.

This should be the part where Ajax calls it a win and leaves him gasping for breath in the street. But there’s nowhere for her to go. She twists his arm up behind his back and shoves him down over the back of the bench so he can’t get enough leverage to pull free. When she looks up and sees Rembrandt still just fucking standing there, something vital breaks in her expression.

“Rembrandt, you gotta go.” Rembrandt has heard a lot of Ajax with hurt in her voice these past few - hours? days? weeks? - but this Ajax sounds like she’s been cracked open. She doesn’t bother saying “I’ll be alright.” They both know she won’t be. “C’mon. For me. You gotta go.”

Rembrandt hears the crunch of leaves beneath heavy boots. There’s another cop on the scene. He comes towards her with both his arms outstretched - to placate her? To catch her if she runs? Rembrandt already knows she won’t be running. There’s nowhere to run to, except back into the arms of another fucking Ajax who will end up right here all over again.

“Hey, Miss,” he says, “Easy, easy. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Idiot. Like he’s even a blip on her radar.

“Leave her alone!” Ajax shouts, “She didn’t fucking do anything!”

She sounds desperate. The new cop can hear it. He’s grinning.

And Ajax looks from him, to Rembrandt, and Rembrandt has seen more of Ajax looking gutted than she would ever care to but this time cuts to the bone. There’s nothing in the world Rembrandt could say to her that would hurt worse than this. Than having to watch. Rembrandt would know.

“Big fucking man picking on someone who can’t fight back!” As if Ajax herself is not currently someone who can’t fight back. “Bet you can’t even throw a punch, fucking rookie nobody scared of a fight!”

The cop Ajax is holding down takes her momentary distraction to surge back up to his feet. He knocks her backwards but she can’t back off him to regroup so she’s still in arm’s reach when he turns on her.

“Do you ever shut up?” he spits. He grabs her arms and shakes her and something about that movement makes Ajax freeze up long enough for him to slam her against the backrest. Ajax’s skull hits the metal with a crack that’s too loud and the park is quiet for a heartbeat too long.

The new cop reaches out and catches Rembrandt by the wrist but she can’t really find it in herself to care. Her heart is too far outside her body, watching Ajax push herself back to her feet to kick the cop in the shin spitefully, ineffectively.

He clocks her in the temple again. She shakes her head like she’s trying to get her vision to focus. There’s blood streaming from a cut by her eyebrow. He’s got her blood on his hands.

Ajax regains enough awareness of her surroundings to realize the other cop is holding both of Rembrandt’s wrists in one hand, reaching for a set of cuffs with the other. He looks a little spooked that she isn’t moving. He’s not being as rough with her as he could be. Ajax doesn’t seem to appreciate this.

“No,” she says, and she can’t seem to take in enough of a breath to scream. “No, no, nonono, please, you have to let her go.”

The click of the cuffs lights the spark of panic in her again. She lashes out at the cop near her again but she’s losing coordination and he grabs her wrist before she can hit him.

Ajax is saying Please, please, please, over and over. Rembrandt doesn't know what she's asking for. She doesn't know if Ajax knows. Her anger is collapsing into fear, now, and Ajax has always been the most dangerous when she's afraid.

The cop hits her again, and again. She doesn't seem to register it. He kicks her feet out from under her, but she gets back up. The cop holding Rembrandt hasn't gotten any less nervous.

People are always misjudging how strong Ajax is. She gets the cop again, kicks his legs out from under him and he hits the ground hard. He climbs back to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and mouth.

“Need some help?” the other cop calls over to him. He shifts on his feet.

“Crazy bitch won't stay down,” he growls.

Of course not. Not in any universe.

Rembrandt hears a click. It’s a familiar click. She can’t place it.

“Hey girlie,” the cop holding her hollers. “Give it a rest. I’ll even let you guys cuddle in holding if you play nice.”

And Ajax freezes. This is a different kind of freezing than she does when she sees the cop the first time. It’s not a predator locking into the hunt. Ajax goes so still that Rembrandt places the click without having to turn around to look.

Ajax looks at the cop, and at the gun that Rembrandt doesn’t want to see, and then she looks at Rembrandt.

Every scrap of defiance in her evaporates. She looks as hurt and bewildered now as she does when Rembrandt goes for the jugular to get her out of the park. Her face settles, at last, into betrayal.

Rembrandt can hear her quiet, broken, why? without Ajax moving a muscle. Why didn’t you run? Why are you letting them do this to me?

Ajax just watches mutely as the cop twists her arm behind her back, turns her around so he can get her other wrist into a cuff with it.

Ajax doesn’t understand that it’s too late for Rembrandt to run, it’s always too late, the moment they get to the park it’s already too late. But as Ajax stares back at her Rembrandt can’t swallow past the idea that this is worse. Ajax twitches a little bit when the cop finally uncuffs her from the bench to drag her over to where there must be a cruiser waiting behind them. Rembrandt hasn’t turned around to check this whole time.

Rembrandt isn’t supposed to be here. She’s not supposed to see this. The specter of defeat Rembrandt has seen in flashes across Ajax’s face has closed its jaws around her now.

Rembrandt has seen a lot, but she can’t watch this.

Rembrandt closes her eyes and prays for once that the dark, weightless moment doesn’t end. She’s tired. She doesn’t want to wake up. But in that shapeless darkness the lonely animal of Rembrandt’s body can’t resist reaching, searching, needing to feel the proof of her next chance. As Ajax materializes under her, Rembrandt turns away from the subway car and tucks her head into Ajax’s neck, nestling closer into her body. The train rumbles, the Warriors murmur to each other in blissful ignorance of what’s coming for them, and Rembrandt just stays there for a long time.

- - -

Okay thanks so much for reading guys hope you're having a good time I'm gonna go finish chapter four now I promise

#warriors musical #run it back #sorryyyyy but we have to establish the stakes here okay #good news is that this chapter is the worst this fic is gonna get #bad news is its not gonna get THAT much better after this #my fic

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tmwcs · 1 year ago

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Mermaids Tale FINALE!

It's here! so a quick note before you start reading, this originally had alot more to it and was going to be split into three finale parts (and eventually i will revise and do that) but i'm on a time crunch because i have to start preparing for school and there's so much work to be done (all the one shots and ofc HHP and TO) so i'm trying to get everything finished before i take a break to focus on classes and not leaving my wonderful readers dry with ongoing works, not to mention some family trips coming up is also going to take away my time from writing. This chapter is still good and has all the meat and potatoes, just...i wanted it to be way longer and add more to it. But alas! here's to another end of a great series (i really do love this series) sorry it's not proofread (i really wanted to but again...time is not on my side atm) I gotta get ready for TO and finish these one shots!

Warnings: Okay, seriously, this piece has some very extreme non/dub con content, so please please please if that stuff makes you uncomfortable in any way, do not read. As you all may know, yandere's have many methods in emotionally/mentally detaining their darlings, and sometimes (usually the westernized and more modern yandere traits) show yanderes physically altering/maiming their darlings from escaping (such as cutting off limbs) but i opt for the traditional yanderes that don't have any intentions of seriously hurting their darlings (not in that way) but they are still crazy and violate some aspects of human rights, non/dub con is the method they normally resort to in 'taming' their darlings and this chapter has that (a bit more strongly than what i've written thus far) so please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable. There are also mentions of murder, isolation, and kidnapping (you know...traditional yandere stuff) but i promise, regardless of what is mentioned, this is a good read. Please enjoy.

The two Adams engrossed themselves into a stare down, leaving you at a blind sight behind Heeseung while he stood as the blockade between you and the unfamiliar Adam. Their manner in communication became evident that the two knew each other, but how?

“Move aside, Heeseung.”

Heeseung didn’t move. He stood steadfast as his jaw clenched, he wasn’t going to let anyone come near what was his.

“I said move, boy! Or else—“

“Or else what?”

The man scoffed out a semi defeated breath. “Feeling brave? Or are we just putting on a show for the oceanic Angel?”

“She’s not yours. She never was.” Heeseung smirked out as he crossed his arms. You remained cornered, confused as you gazed on Heeseung’s backside while the other Adam looked over in your direction. His eyes were dark and rather desperate, desperate for you. Meanwhile, Heeseung remained composed and entirely too confident in his demeanor, what did he have up in his sleeve that would allow him to be so poised and relaxed when another Adam was vying for your ownership? You hated the thought of it but let’s be honest, that’s exactly what was happening before your own eyes.

“Tell you what grandson—“

Grandson?

“Let’s make a deal; you leave now, and I’ll give the entire rights to the corporation in your name. From there, you can have electric men under your thumb to search and scour every part of the world and bring back all the Sirens you want. You can have them all. Just leave this one with me, everything else will be yours. Deal?”

Heeseung remained with an everlasting smirk presently ingrained on his youthful face. “A deal, huh?” He calmly starts out with, seemingly considering what his so-called grandfather was pitching. Was he actually going to toss you off to this man? Why can’t they just leave you alone? You’ve done no harm to anyone, all you wanted, more than anything on this world, was to be free and swim off into the ocean. The waters your ancestors were born in, just a few hundred feet out from the beach rental you seemed to be stuck in.

“I don’t make deals. At least not anymore.” Heeseung’s tone grew wild with fury, his eyes darken and all lustful glaze disappeared as the matte black coloring took over, igniting a demonic appeal.

“What is wrong with you?! Are you fucking insane?! Heeseung!” His grandfather spat out of rage, completely dissatisfied with Heeseung’s tone.

“Yeah…I am.” Heeseung calmly denotes as his dark chuckle continues to grow into a crazed laughter. “I am so fucking insane, you have no idea! Ah fuck…” biting down on his lowe lip, he slurps in the bit of drool that leaks out; his appearance became too menacing for you to handle, so you shoved your face into the corner of the wall and cradled your sight from looking much longer at his face. The tone of his words weren’t very pleasing, despite covering your ears, you picked up everything he said.

With his arms still crossed, he elevates his hand, spreading his fingers violently as he buries his face into the palm, dragging it downward. He looked like a madman, so sadistically frightening as one eye peels through his knuckles. “I’m soooooo insane…because of her…I’ve thought of things that have never crossed my mind before. Because of her…I am willing to use my capabilities, not to help others, but to protect her instead—to keep her…ravish her…love her and thrust into her until she tastes every inch of me…to the point where she will someday share my level of insanity.”

What is he saying? You couldn’t believe your ears, this man has gone completely mad! You panicked as your body trembles, it was almost as if you had to root for the lesser of two evils, but you weren’t entirely sure which one of them was it. Was Heeseung’s grandfather? The man who looked dull compared to his grandson, who stood laughing maniacally, oozing out words that distinguished great mental distress for you.

“SHE…will be the only thing I live for…I’ll die for her, kill for her, I’ll skin the entire world alive just only for her…..what a fucking idiot you are, for ever thinking that a handful of Sirens weee ever worth trading her in. You could promise me an entire ocean filled with them and I still wouldn’t ever give her up…she’s nothing like the rest….she’s nothing like I ever seen…and she’s all mine.”

Heeseung turns to face you, at that moment you started to hyperventilate. His gaze was all too much, and you couldn’t bear the thought of what he had in mind to do to you. “All…fucking…mine…from the moment we first touched…” he takes his steps closer, you panicked. “Get away! Stop!”

His voice remains calm and tender as he continues to pierce your personal space. “From the moment we shared voices at that karaoke bar…”

“Stop!”

“And from the moment…I saw your face when—“

His words came to a pause, or rather, it was all replaced by a loud groan of anguish and pain. You looked up to see the other Adam, his grandfather, standing off to the side with the lamp post in hand. He had struck his own descendant, yet the expression of his actions quickly made you realize that he too, was afraid of the repercussions. He’s never seen his own relative like this, despite being an Adam himself, he never once became the way Heeseung had. It was enough for him to gain courage, and for once, gaining the intention to help release you rather than just keeping you for yourself. Sure, there was generations of instinctive nature between Adams and Sirens; the former being the most dominant and yearning of two, and while Sun Juan felt it within his heartbeat to keep and touch you, he was nowhere malicious enough to develop murderous habits as his own grandson spoke of. “Run…” he tells you. Shaking as he arms himself with the lamp post, while Heeseung stumbles towards the wall, gripping onto his head. “I said fucking run! Do you want him to catch you?!”

His voice was urgent, sending shivers to your spine as you quickly got up and exited the rental. Running through the hall, you leave behind a scuffling scene with the sound of masculine groans and shattered glass. As far as you were concerned, the two could fight it off and take their time with it, this was your chance to run…run to the sea.

You burst through the front door, and climbed down the wooden stairway, making a rounded turn as you ran outside the frontal perimeter of the beach house. You reach the back end, and there over yonder, you could hear just as clearly as you could see, was the raging water calling your name. You shuffle off your sneakers, and stripped off your blouse as you ran through the repeated mounds of sand. The sight of sea foam becomes clearer the closer you edge on to the shallow water. You could smell the salty air, the scene was exactly the way you remembered so long ago when you first visited…when you first found out what you really were.

Almost there.

So close, the dampened sand squished in between your toes and you could feel that tingly sensation come through. The nerves in your legs become blazed with overwhelming heat and pressure, it was discomforting and painful, just the way you remembered. You lose balance, and your legs become numb and weak; the denim of your jeans shred and tear as the dazzling scales reappear. After so many years, for the first time since your 15th year, you were changing back into the maiden of the sea. The remnants of your attire shred to pieces, and you discard what was left until nothing clothed you. Unable to walk, you edged closer to the deeper end as you used your upper body strength, and dig your fingers in the sand as you crawled towards the roaring waves, dragging your mermaid tail behind. Your fingers feel the smooth and flourishing rush of water feeding under your palms, easing your migration to the deep end. The image of your mother appears before your eyes.

Mama…I’m coming…I’m coming to find you.

……………….

“Gotcha!”

You screamed as you felt the sudden tug on your tail. A strong grip punches your scales as the weight climbes up towards your hips, waist, and rests around your shoulders. “Aaaaaah!!!! Stop!!! Let me go!!! Get off!! You can’t do this to me!!! Let me go!”

You feel yourself being lifted from the sandy shoreline, carried princess style as you are left helpless and immobile. The tipped edge of your tail fin drags against dry sand, indicating that you were being taken farther and farther away from the ocean front. You could feel the sensation of your nerves coming back to you as the scales on your bottom region start to dry up, telling you that you were soon changing back to your normal state. With pitiful sobs, you each across his broadened chest as he cradles you forcefully in his arms. You loop one arm around his shoulder while your free hand reaches out and grabs the air while the view of the shore slowly disappears.

“Please…..please let me go…let me go home….”

………………….

A year had nearly passed since the event of Heeseung’s duel with his grandfather, who had been dead since that night. You never inquired about how it all went down, after you rushed out of the house, all you knew was that the harrowing events from being taken from the sea, you learned that Heeseung had made special preparations in not only taking over his grandfather’s legacy, which included his entire corporation, but to eradicate all those closest to him. His great-grandfather, as you later learned.

You never met his brothers, since they too were Adams, Heeseung had taken precautionary measures to send them on assignments overseas once he manipulated the legal documents to have everything assigned under his name. His father, brothers, and the rest of the males that shared the same bloodline, all sent and kept far away from you. No one…was allowed to look, to touch, or to even dream of you.

……

“You’re all mine…now say it.”

As his words echo throughout your brain, you fall down in memory lane and recall the image of what you saw in the mirror that very night, after Heeseung dragged you away from the ocean waters, past the corpse of his mangled grandfather, and right into the shower.

That night…..

……………

“Please let me go! Let me go! You can’t do this!”

You grab onto whatever your fingers grazed as Heeseung carried you back inside the beach rental. The view of blood splatter on the walls told you of a brutal fight, one that ended with the elder Adam laying breathlessly on the floor. The sight of it all caused you to panic and about once more. “Let me go! I don’t want this! Let me go, I want to be free!”

By the time he enclosed you both in the shower room, your tail dried out, leaving you entirely nude as your legs returned. You cover yourself as you crawl against the sink cabinet, covered in semi-dried sand with your hair sticking to skin. You cry as you hear the latch of the door is set to lock, with Heeseung blocking it. He doesn’t say anything, at least not immediately. He looks over his shoulder and walks over to the elaborate stand in shower, surrounded by the glass wall. He turns the faucet and sets the water just at the right temperature; the screeching of the faucet dial causes you to look over, and to your horror you watch as Heeseung removes his own blouse, leaving only his wet jeans to remain as he flexes his abdominal muscles.

Once again, you hyperventilate as you dread what he was about to do. “No please….please…please don’t do this.”

He ignores your please and didn’t even bother to look your way, instead, he places his hand under the sprinkled rain drops under the shower head, savoring the warm temperature. “Come here darling…let’s get all that sand off you.”

You tucked your face away against the wooden cabinet door, when you hear his foot steps grow closer, followed by his harsh grip around your nude body. Still too weak from the transformation, you couldn’t stand let alone walk or run. You sobbed against his bare shoulder as you felt him lift and carry you over to the glass box. He sets you down on the tiled floor, recognizing that you were unable to flee. It only made this easier for him.

You lay mercilessly on the floor as the water washes over your body, your hair pooling around you gracefully. The sound of his zipper drawing downward, while the buckling of his belt loosens made you wince in fear as the weight of damp denim plops down on the floor became the icing on the cake.

“Please…”

Again, he ignores your pleas. You feel yourself being lifted from the tile floor and pressed against the glass, chest forward with his body plastered to your backside. You felt the warm droplets coating your skin, and his warm hands roaming every inch of your nude frame. He tenderly moves the wet pieces of your hair away from your neck, and latches his mouth on. Indulging the savoring sweetness of water and your own skin, he remains glued to you, all the while his hands continue to rub your waist and hips. He takes the girth of his shaft in hand, and begins stroking it as it pokes your derrière, causing you to cry hysterically as you felt the motions of his palm moving up and down. Releasing your neck, he finally decides to speak.

“How do I even begin to tell you…how often I’ve thought about you like this?” He breathes out heavily as he buries his face against the nook of your neck, taking your breath away as the sensation of his lashes, the tip of his nose, and his pursed lips pressed against your skin…it felt so…

“I’ve only known you for such a short amount of time…yet you had such an effect on me…you became the only thing I could think about…breathe in…and spit out.” He over exaggerates an inhale as he sniffs your skin, dragging his nose tip along your neckline, right up to your jaw, all the while he continues to stroke his lengthy member as it remains pressed against the plumpness of your rear end. “How do I tell you?….how?”

Your cries soften, maybe it was the way his tender words came out; so soft and calm through that deep and sensual voice of his. Perhaps it was the way he was touching you, a sensation you only felt with him, despite your reluctance, yet it felt like a blessing to your curse. No man could make you feel, make you realize or yearn, just his. To feel skin…to feel warmth of someone else’s body, or the shrilled coldness of their hands. To feel their lips as they adorn you with kisses, or the feeling of their breaths coating your ear when they whisper into it. To feel all of this for the first time, from not feeling pain, pleasure, or touch, to feeling it all at once it was…it was…

“I-I don’t know..I don’t know how…” you whimpered out as you find yourself submissively falling for his touch. “Please….don’t…” you beg one last time, giving it your last shot to stand strong, yet the soft desiring tone of your voice made it obvious—you already lost.

“Come here baby, let me show you.” He whispers from the side of your cheek, before he tilts you to look over shoulder and kisses you. The thick and lengthy muscle migrates from your rounded cheeks and probes through your thighs. Devouring you into a fierce kiss of hunger, you feel the rounded, bulbous tip of his cock breaching your entrance. You gasp out of the striking sting of pain as he pushes…more…and more. Finally, the tip breaks through and enters. With just the tip inside, the right sensation of your walls squeezing the life out of his head was already overwhelming and sensational. So much, that he had to pause and take a moment to gasp out his oncoming climax. “Fuck…” he breathes out heavily, all the while you remain in his right grasp wincing and trembling in pain. “You feel better than I imagined…how am I going to fuck you properly when you feel this good?”

“D-don’t…dont…” you gasp out as the pressure cause you to become incoherent.

“Hm? Tell me how.” He antagonizes, finding his motivation and senses coming back as he hears your helpless and whimpering pleas. It all fueled him to get more out of you. “Tell me how baby…”

He begins thrusting the remaining length of his shaft inward. He had intentions of starting slow and gentle, considering you never once felt the touch of someone’s fingers let alone tasting cock for the first time, but he couldn’t contain himself anymore. The screams of your beautiful voice bouncing off the tiles as he thrusted the leaked pre-cum to glaze your walls made it all too much for him to take things slow. No, he had to go in hard, deep, and fast…he needed to fuck you. It was in his nature, he needed to breed with you, dip deep into your belly where he was going to release his entire lust and create the product of his love for you.

For you, the sensation started out too conflicting. Initially, you were disgusted and angered by the fact that the man had restrained and forced you into this, yet the feeling of touch…something your cursed lineage prevented you from indulging, was starting to make you feel differently about him. The feeling of touch, skin on skin contact was already something you hadn’t gotten used to, but to feel it from the inside…to feel his own extremity pulsate, throb, and twitch inside your womanhood as the faint remnants of first blood dripped down into the drain. The sting of pain and discomfort fades, and you feel a tingle knot formulate. There was an intense pressure in between the folds of your cavity, something that was only satisfied as he took each thrust and pelted you with his violating member. It felt glorious, of all the sensations you could feel for the first time, this was something that, now you’ve experienced it, couldn’t live without. No matter how rough, dementing, and crazy he was, you couldn’t help but yearn more for his touch, his licks, and those devouring kisses. He leans in, pressing your breasts and palms agains the glass wall, and there before you was the large mirror hovering above the sink. It displayed the reflected image of your united silhouettes behind the steamed glass; his shadow showing the motions of what he was doing from behind, as he thrusted and held onto you tightly. The nipples of your breasts and prints of your fingers were the only thing that could be made out clearly as they smudge and smear the glass, succumbing to the bouncing motions of his sickening pumps of cocking you.

You weren’t sure how you felt about the reflection, normally, you would have cried and shuttered your sight away from it, but the longer you admired it, the more it caused you to feel….strange…almost funny….like you wanted to watch…you wanted to see more…you wanted him to do more…it was an internal feeling you’ve never felt in your life, yet here it was overcoming your better senses. You found that, in this moment, nothing mattered to you anymore. You didn’t care about preserving your pureness, about escaping, about your freedom…you didn’t care. Perhaps you’ll regret saying that after he’s had his fille with you, but for now, all you could think about, was…

“Ah! Oh….oh God!”

“Yeah?” he pants vigorously as he hastens his thrusting motions. “You like how that feels baby?”

“Mmmmm……y-yes…p-please!”

“Please what?”

“Please….m-more…more! Please….do more….please don’t stop…whatever it is you’re doing….d-don’t….stop….dont ever stop…”

He buries his nose into your neck and kisses you with the most tenderness since having you in his grasp.The way you breathed out, with your voice echoing in his ear, begging for him to merge with you forever…it was all he wanted. It’s all he needed. It was all he lived for.

You dont know how it was possible, but he quickens his thrusts yet again, the sound of skin on skin slapping rigorously, with splats of water droplets flying all around as he continued to fuck the leakage of his essence inside you under the rainfall shower head was something you never knew you’d cherished and desired.

He goes faster…deeper….harder. “Oh fuck.”

“P-please!” faster..

“Shit…y/n…” deeper…

“Oh my God what is happening!!” you scream as you feel a rage of nerve pinching pleasure that causes you to slide against the glass. In fact, had it not been for his hold on you, you would have fallen long before when he first started pelting you with his length. You jolt upwards, yet his grip ceases you from leaping too far; he wasn’t ready to take it out, not yet. “Shh…take it baby… just like that.”

You whimper out climatic moans as your toes curl against the hard tile. What was this feeling? What just happened? What was this heated warmth that leaked out of you? This sensation? What was it that you felt filling your gut?

Your breasts squeak against the glass as you slide all the way down, He barely has the strength to hold your waist, shaking at the knees while he releases inside your walls. His groans calm to a deep whimper as he breathes against the back of your neck. He finally did it. He finally became one with the love of his life.

……………………

You snap out of the memory as you hear him enter the bedroom. He comes in quietly, giving you an adorn gaze as he removes his blouse and tosses it over the lavish seating chair. He reaches up, and unties his black tie, lids growing heavy as he looks with an endearing expression. It was a look that triggered another memory, one that occurred some time after he took your virginity and made you feel touched in a way that you never knew existed…

………..

“Crying again? It’s been months now, do you plan to cry forever?”

“Please…I just….I just want to be free again….why does it have to be this way?”

“I told you darling, you can be free from the chains when you learn to behave.”

“But….I…I dont….I can’t….Heeseung please….”

“Come on, remember all the times that I made you feel good? You like it when I do that, dont you?”

“Stop! Please, I dont want that right now. I want to be free. I want my old life back.”

“Baby…i told you. You belong to me…you are all that i’ve got…and I’m all that you have.”

You remember how his words cut you deep, causing you to cry not because of fear, but because of the truth behind them. He was right…so right.

“You lived your entire life with multiple identities to keep your lineage a secret. To protect your parents, siblings, and yourself. By doing so, you cut ties with your brothers, your father passed on, and your mother is lost at sea….you have no one, darling. Just me. And you truly love me, you just don’t realize it yet, which is why you have to stay locked up for a while.”

He rubs your hair in between his fingers, slowly raising it to his nose as he gently inhales the scent. He rubbed the smoothness of your strands against his cheek, indulging you, as always, giving you the same look…that he was giving you right now. Except now…there were no chains…no locks…no barred windows and concrete walls. There were no steel doors and sound proof glass. Now, you were a doll living in a life of silk and chiffon, dazzled by this man’s affection. You were always under his watchful eye, and forever entrusted by his top guards whenever he wasn’t present. You were his…all his. After a year of emotional and mental torment, you gave up and realized that, not only was he right about having only him, but he was the perfect match for you. An Adam…with the gift of longevity and supernatural abilities in the water, which only meant that whether it be land or sea, you were never far from his reach. He would always find you, and bring you back. You’ll never know what became of your mother, if she was still roaming the sea for you and her ancestors, and you’ll never know how your brothers are doing, because the world is no longer yours. You were a pearl trapped inside a shell, forever protected deep inside a sea of warmth and comfort, his comfort. Leaning against you, he pulls your backside against his chest and embraces you, as he does every night. Kissing your neck, he chuckles as he breathes over your ear. Faintly pointing over towards the opened cracked window, with the curtain dancing against the breeze, he whispers…

“Can you hear the ocean, my darling Siren?”

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spitdrunken · 1 year ago

Text

Cream and Ice (Candy Queen x Reader / Winter King x Reader)

wordcount: 13k, NSFW. summary: As the ruler of an entire kingdom, the Winter King is a busy man. You'll spend the rest of your life being thankful to him for rescuing you from the freezing cold as he did. Still, it does get lonely, sometimes. The Candy Queen is even more eager for company than you, and at least twice as lonely. You've been 'kidnapped' by her more times than you can count, and have grown to appreciate her company. All of the Winter King's warnings you've long since disregarded, since you've never actually gotten hurt. When, one day, you bite off more than you can chew—or, rather, swallow,—the Winter King is the only one who can save you. See the full tags on ao3, here!

The snow crunches underneath your feet, the cold wind penetrating even through the many clothes the Winter King has provided you with. The cold had never been a factor he had to consider for himself, or his subjects, but you are a different story. It’s fine, you know you’ll be leaving this place soon, even if just for a little bit. As you walk the streets of the Winter Kingdom, you feel the inhabitants’ gazes follow your forms, and hushed whispers trail in your wake.

It’s fine if they see. You can never be quiet here, and you need the Winter King to hear about your departure eventually. Otherwise, he’ll never come to pick you up. And you’ve never actually returned from Candy’s, as she’s told you to call her, home on your own.

You don’t know exactly when being kidnapped by Candy turned into something else, but it has. There’s no need for her to put you in a cage anymore, and the two of you actually chat. Sure, you have the Winter King, but he gets busy, and the rest of his subjects are… You don’t know how to put it. There is a hollowness behind many of their eyes. It’s nice to have someone else to talk to, even if her ways are rather eccentric. But, really, who are you to judge in this situation? You are not from this world, and your definition from sanity might not align with the one the Land of Ooo. Even then, the many warnings you’d received from the Winter King would suggest otherwise.

He can warn you about her obsession and unpredictability, but he never seems particularly concerned about her. Maybe you should be, as a human without magic, but being ‘rescued’ has grown into such a nonchalant affair that you can’t be bothered. She doesn’t seem much interested in anything besides the Winter King, so you don’t think she really cares about hurting you. Her mood often swings, yes, but it also isn’t hard to flip her back around.

This is what you think about, as you wait underneath the pine-scented trees. The smell is pervasive, practically too strong, when you are standing underneath clumps of them. You have to walk to the edge of the kingdom, otherwise the alarms would go off, and that would create too much of a fuss for your liking. The Winter King is busy right now. You guess he’s fiddling with something in his laboratory, or ‘fixing’ something about his kingdom that no one but him had ever seen issue with.

You hear Candy before you see her, as you do every time. Her presence is accompanied by the pounding of her legs on the thread mill, the groaning of the subjects that carry her, and bouts of laughter that ring through the air. The same time you see the contraption she calls an aircraft soar through the air, she yells out your name while waving both of her arms at you.

“Hiiii!” She says as she lowers her contraption. “C’mere, we’ve gotta go quick!”

As soon as you approach, your own greeting ready on your tongue, the arm on her machine snags you up the floor, and chucks you into the air. The yell you let out only makes her laugh harder, but she catches you in her arms without effort, and puts you on the floor, your back resting against one of the candy canes that decorate the side of the ship. She is a lot stronger than she looks. Your heart is still busy trying to escape your ribcage, and you wheeze out a breath.

“Please never do that again,” you tell her. One of your hands is firmly wrapped around the candy cane for support.

She winks at you and sticks her tongue out. “No promises, sorry! Need to get home, quick!” As she starts to run again, she keeps her gaze focused on you. You don’t know how she manages to keep an eye on you and steer the machine at the same time, but you don’t try to think too hard about it. Just as you try not to think about the fact this whole thing is made up out of living creatures. When you’d asked her about it, Candy had told you that they definitely agreed to this, they always wanna do everything for her!

“Did you get the gooooods?” She drawls out the last word as if she’s drunk, bouncing on the balls of her feet, learning over towards you. From experience, you know that she’ll start patting you down if you don’t hand them over soon enough. As she stops running, the machine stutters and loses altitude, only rising again when she lets out a ‘whoops!’ and starts running again. That’s the second time today you’ve felt the ground fall away underneath your feet, and you’d like it to be the last. Perhaps you should really start reconsidering whether these visits or worth it.

But Candy smiles wide at you, giving you her undivided attention, and even though you know she cares more about your usual company than you, you’ve still become a little fond of her. She doesn’t have anyone, it seems. If things had gone differently for you, you would have been just as alone as her.

You take a moment to catch your breath. “I’ll give them once we’re at your place, okay?” Your nails scratch at the smooth surface of your one lifeline on this ship. “You know flying makes me a bit nervous.” The wind whips past your face. Even as you are higher off the ground than you were before, it’s warmer than the one blowing through the Winter Kingdom.

Though she doesn’t agree one way or the other, Candy’s legs moving even faster are a clear indication she understands the program. “You say you’re scared or whatever, but you get on every time anyway! They say I’m the crazy one, but you should make up your mind, too!” With the back of her hand, she wipes the sweat off of her brow.

You can’t say it’s ever the smoothest ride, but it’s always a fast one. The machine lurches left and right as you land, and you cling on for dear life, as it crashes into the ground. As the groans of the banana-people, whatever their name may be, ring out, you know you’ve made a safe landing. Without fail, Candy clambers down her servants without sparing a glance or a thought towards them, digging her heel into their faces and mushing them up. You’d jump down if it weren’t too high. You’re forced to do the same, but you at least think you’re a bit more polite about it, since you apologise.

Candy waits for you in front of her door. “So? So?” Candy leans in close towards you, standing on the tips of her toes. Her eyes are blown wide and twinkle with excitement, her nose almost poking yours. It’s endearing, despite knowing the reason for her delight.

You dig around in your pockets, and her a few pictures you made from the Winter King. They are better than the ones she has adorning your walls, as those were made in secret. These weren’t. The Winter King is always more than happy to pose for a picture, and he’ll even ask you to take some if he’s made himself a new outfit, to most accurately judge himself from every angle. Perhaps it’s not the most moral thing to do, feeding into her obsession like this, but it’d continue regardless of what you did.

“Here you go,” you say, handing her the little stack.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She squeals, hugging the pictures to her chest and twirling around on the tips of her toes. A few pieces of candy shoot out from the tips of her fingers. They clatter to the floor, completely unnoticed by her. “You always get such good ones! I loooove it! Gotta put them up right now!”

She skips like a schoolgirl all the way towards her room, and you have to keep up at a brisk walking pace. Every time you enter, you try to ignore the giant cage in the corner of the room, but you never quite succeed.

“Put them in your diary, and not on the wall, okay?” She practically has a shrine dedicated to the Winter King on her wall, but you don’t need your pictures to be added to that. You have no interest in answering his questions about how she got her hands on them.

“Yeah, yeah, mom.” You can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “’S not like you gotta tell me that every time.”

You huff out a breath of air through your nose. “If he sees them, that’s the end of it. You’ll have to start taking them yourself again.”

As she walks past her keyboard, her back turned to you, she flings her fist on it. The discordant noise clangs together, loud, but harmless. “Fiiiiine. Yours aren’t big enough for posters, anyway. They’d look bad next to mine.”

Candy flops down on her bed, landing on her stomach. She reaches underneath her pillow for a diary that has become a familiar sigh to you. Pictures stick from the borders of the pages from every side, and multiple of them are stuck together with pink gum. The front has something scrawled on it that you’ve never been able to make out. You watch as she shifts through your pictures, sighing longingly at every single one of them, while kicking her feet in the air. To stick them to the paper, she pulls a piece of gum out of her hair. It’d surprised you the first time you saw it, but it’s clear it doesn’t hurt her whatsoever.

“Do you like them?” You ask, and she hums loudly in response. It really is surprising she doesn’t try to maul you over how much time you spend with her ‘love’, but you’ve come to terms with the fact you’ll never be able to follow her line of thought.

As you watch her like this, so hopelessly head over heels for someone who sees her as nothing more than a nuisance, your heart clenches. The Winter King describes her as the Kingdom’s sole and greatest enemy. He derides her unpredictability, her madness, as he calls it, and her twisted affection. But as you’ve spend time here in the Candy Kingdom, you’ve come to think that her behaviour is simply part of her species. You’ve never met a subject of hers, servant or otherwise, that acted unlike her. If that simply is the way she was born, the way she’s supposed to be, you can’t bring yourself to blame her for it. The Winter King always seems to leave her clutches unscathed, the same as you have.

You sit down on the floor next to her bed, leaning the back of your head against her mattress. The cover sticks a little your hair. You stare at the wall opposite of her bed, plastered with images of the Winter King. The sea of blue stands in harsh contrast with pinks of the rest of her decor. Without thinking, you sigh.

Wouldn’t it be so much better if she had an interest in someone else, if she pursued someone had a chance of returning her feelings? There has to be a perfect match out there for her, in this whole wide world. You just know that it isn’t the Winter King. He won’t care about her, not ever. He’s spelled it out for her so many times. But time and time again, she pursues him in her own way, and time and time again, she is rejected. You can’t grasp how she can cope with it, given her feelings are so all-consuming.

“Candy?” You crane your head upwards, and you can just barely see her legs still swishing in the air.

“Wait. I’m having a moment.” She lets out a scream that she muffles with her pillow. The whole bed bounces up and down behind as she kicks strongly into the mattress, squealing the whole time. One of her feet whizzes just over your head as she rolls from left to right. She must have found a picture she particularly likes. You’re curious which one it is, but she doesn’t let you look at them once she’s glued them to her diary. She exhales loudly, and the bed gives a final creak.

“Okay. Moment over.”

You know you are treading onto uneven ground here. One of the first lessons the Winter King taught you upon taking you in, was the look of a frozen lake that might give away underneath your feet. Now, it feels like you are jumping onto one of the exact spots he told you to avoid. To the right of your head, you see the tip of her boot peeking over the side of her bed. It bobs up and down, up and down.

“What do you like so much about the Winter King, anyway?”

Her foot stops moving. The entire bed goes still. In tandem, you start to think of escapes out of this conversation. Candy, however, only hums in response. First in thought and, after a few seconds, she makes a silly little tune out of it. She must be working on a new original. Whenever she does, she can’t get it out of her head for days, or so she’s told you.

“I dunno! That’s a mean question, ‘cause I can’t just pick one thing. I like… Everything! I think. I need us to be together, forever!” She sucks on her bottom lip, and releases it with a pop. “He’s stuck in my brain, like… A stick inside a lollipop! Part of the same thing.”

You can feel her moving, but you still jump as Candy hangs over you, all at once. Her hair is almost like a wall with the way it hangs past your sides, caging you in between her and the bed. “But why do you wanna know so bad, hmmm?” She’s still smiling, and that’s a good thing. You think. With her being upside down, it’s difficult to tell if she’s really smiling in the first place, or baring her fangs. She squints at you. “What are you trying to do? You can’t have him. He’s mine, you ding dong!”

Despite yourself, you freeze up. Those teeth of hers always look so much sharper up close. The familiar warnings, the ones that you could recite by heart at this point, ring out in your ear. Unlike the Winter King however, you’ve actually tried to hold a conversation with Candy before. You know how to handle her, in a sense, without the situation escalating any further.

Without hesitation, you stick out your finger, and press the tip of it to her nose. “Boop.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, she dissolves into a fit of giggles, her whole chest rising and falling with her laughter. You smile back at her. As she laughs harder, her whole physical form melts away into glowing, pink goo. You shudder as Candy drips down your shoulders and over the front of your shirt. Thankfully, that form of hers never leaves any residue. You’d have no clue how to explain those stains. All of her gathers up on the floor, in between your knees. You spread your legs wider, just as Candy forms back into her usual appearance.

“Boop!” The tip of her fingers finds your nose, just as you’d done moments prior. Her knees bump against the insides of your thighs, and her nose nearly pokes your cheek. With every inhale, all you can smell is cotton candy. You don’t mind the closeness. She is always clingy, albeit in her own way. “You’re so silly. I like that about you.” Candy tilts her head to the side, her smile and eyes widening. “But I was being serious.”

“I know you were,” you tell her. A packaged piece of candy dangles out of her hair, almost falling out, and you carefully push it back in. She doesn’t even blink. “I didn’t walk to talk about him, though. I wanted to talk about you, Candy.”

She blinks owlishly at you. The corners of her mouth droop, but she doesn’t quite loser her smile. She shakes her head, then opens her mouth, and starts to pick something out from between her teeth with her fingernail. Candy must have not been listening at all.

“Go on,” she says, proving you wrong. The words come out distorted, as she doesn’t bother to take her finger out of her mouth as she speaks.

“I get that you really, really like the Winter King. Like, a lot. But don’t you think you could try and get over him, to find someone who’s better for you?”

Candy throws her head backs, and laughs. And laughs, and laughs. At the sudden jerk of her head, she cut an indent into her finger. She doesn’t bleed, however. Right in front of your eyes, her ‘skin’ merely closes shut again. Her laughter continues on, and its loud enough to make your ears ring. Every breath of hers is a desperate wheeze. With how much she’s shaking, you can only pity her ribs and guts. …If she has them, that is.

She sighs loudly as she sits upright again, and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “That’s the hardest I’ve laughed in years! Better?! Lemme know when you find one!” She rests her elbow on her knee, then leans her cheek on her hand. “He’s the one I need.”

“But that doesn’t it hurt, always getting rejected?” You cannot stop the hint of desperation entering your voice. There has to be a better life for her out there, better than whatever this is. “You’re pretty, Candy. And sweet, too, obviously. I’m sure there’s someone out there, who can really appreciate you, and who is more like you. I think you deserve that. I… I want you to be happy.” With Candy, you’ve learned to spell out what you’re trying to say as literally as possible, lest she misunderstand.

You pity her, this girl, alone in her kingdom, with no one but her servants for company, endlessly chasing a man who will never give her the time of day. She deserves understanding. It has to be a lonely existence, going without it. Candy’s expression shifts, her face going entirely blank. “I can’t be. Not until I have him.” As soon as the moment comes, it’s over, and you have no time to process it. She bursts into high-pitched giggles and slings an arm around the back of your neck before throwing herself firmly into your lap.

“Candy!” You sputter, trying to turn your head away from her. As soon as you try though, she places a hand on your cheek, and forces you to look her in the eye again. Your face heats up underneath her touch. She pinches your skin between two of her fingers, and pulls on it. She ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’s at the consistency and texture of your skin. You swallow. Do you hate this? …No, you hesitantly admit to yourself. It’s definitely not the kind of message you were trying to get across, though!

Her eyes slide half-shut, her smile lopsided and soft around the edges. “Hehe. I thought you wanted to talk about me, but what you really wanted was me, huuh?” She puts both of her hands on your face, and squishes. “I’m prettyyyy, I’m sweeeeeet! You said so!” She repeats after you, before bursting into giggles again. “I’m sorry, sugar, but my heart has already been stolen!” One of her hands slowly slides down your cheek.

“Um… Well, what I was trying to say was— Mrph!” She slaps her palm over your mouth, cutting off the rest of your sentence.

“No need to say anything more, baby!” Candy laughs again. She leans forward, burying her nose in the crook of her neck, and inhaling deeply. “Hmmm, but I do like you. You’re a lot warmer. But you smell a little like him… Like chocolate milk, and pine trees— But still different.”

So many conflicting thoughts and feelings are rushing through you. Your face is burning up, and your stomach’s tied in knots. Wherever she touches you, her skin sticks to yours. Even as you squirm underneath her, Candy doesn’t budge in the slightest. You’re trapped. You gasp as you feel one of her fangs brush against your throat, and you can feel her grinning against your skin.

“Candy, you’re a bit too close…!” You squeak as you wheeze out the air in your lungs. She sticks her tongue out, and licks a stripe up the side of your neck, slow and deliberate.

Of course, it’s this exact moment that the Winter King makes his dramatic entrance, with a bang and a flourish. It’s nothing different from what you expect during your bi-weekly rescue. He throws his hair back as little pieces of ice sparkle in the air around him. His eyes are closed, one leg in front of the other. One hand is firmly closed around the hilt of his blade. All of this you can just barely make out in between Candy’s gravity-defying hair.

“Fair maiden, I have come to…” As the Winter King opens his eyes, the rest of his sentence dies in his throat. You’ve never seen him caught quite this off-guard before. The tip of his blade, that he’d just pulled from its sheath, droops and points to the floor. His mouth is hanging open. You’d spend more time burning the image into your mind, if 90% of your brain wasn’t busy wishing you could melt into a puddle on the floor like Candy could. He shakes his head, in a jerky, twitchy fashion, like he’s forcefully pulling himself back to reality.

Candy dislodges herself from your throat, smiling up at you. “It’s always a good idea to take you first! My baby always stops by, and then I get to see the both of you… If I just take him, you’d never show up!” You have to admit that she’s completely right about that observation.

“Unhand her, you fiend!” However much he’d been rattled before, the Winter King easily slips back into his character. His pose is, once again, as poised as ever. His eyes drift from yours to Candy, and back up again. “What’s the meaning of this?” He continues, his voice a lot more softer. It lacks his usual flair or dramatics and, for that exact reason, you swallow.

Candy detaches herself from your neck, and winks at you. “One moment, sugar.” She folds herself backward, landing on her hands, and looking at the Winter King while upside down. You watch with a mixture of horror and fascination. Whatever is inside her body, it can’t be a spine. She’s found the one way to look her ‘beloved’ in the eye, while continuing to straddle you.

“No meaning! She just told me I’m pretty, heehee! And sweet, too. It was really, really nice!” You can practically hear the pout in her voice as she continues to speak. “You could be a bit nicer to me, too, baby! Really, your little snowflake is a lot sweeter than you— And, since you’re my husband, that’s just plain wrong!”

“Ah. Is she, now?” The Winter King smiles and tilts his head a little to the left. He takes a step forward, and then another. His sword he lowers back down to his side. Goosebumps rush up your arms and legs from the sudden shift in the room’s temperature. When you let out a shuddering sigh, your breath forms a puff of white smoke in the air.

Right now, the Winter King unnerves you far more than Candy ever has.

Candy allows him to approach, making grabby hands at his ankles as he gets near. He remains just barely outside of her reach. Rather than pay her any mind, his focus is centered solely on you. You’re pinned down underneath his gaze. You’re not actually scared, you chastise yourself, you shouldn’t be! The knots in your stomach, and the rising of the hair on your arms, all of it is from something else. It doesn’t make any sense. You’re guilty about losing the approval of the one who has done so much for you, who took you in when you had nowhere else to go, in this world that is so unfamiliar to you. That’s all there is to it.

“I don’t know what kind of cotton candy nonsense she’s been spinning inside your head, dear, but I’d say it’s time we head home. Don’t you agree?”

Your tongue is tied. Candy’s eyes are unfocused, one of her eyeballs rolled up to focus on the Winter King, while the other looks at you. She starts to giggle, grin widening far enough to show off all of her fangs. You don’t trust the look on her face. Being around him always brings out the worst in her, without fail. Her legs tighten around your waist, the fingers that had been resting on your thighs dig into the skin. In a single, fluid motion, Candy shoots back up, and slams her mouth against yours.

“Mpphrph!” You cry out, eyes wide. Despite the unmistakable pressure of her lips against yours, it doesn’t feel like a kiss, exactly. She practically hit your lips with hers, and you feel like the skin is going to bruise. Even now, the pressure that she’s applying is far too strong to resemble anything intimate. Her aim hadn’t been quite right, either. Only about half of her mouth is actually over yours, and her fangs nick your bottom lip. She smiles against your mouth.

Taking advantage of your surprise, she shoves her tongue in between your parted lips. It’s long and smooth, without any of the ridges or bumps of a human tongue. The flavour of it is saccharine, the kind of sweetness that makes you think of rotting teeth. It goes in deep, so deep that it has your gag reflex protesting around her. Before the situation goes dire, however, the intrusion dissolves. It’s so contrary to your expectations, that your whole body shudders. Some of the thick substance, whatever it is, immediately slides down your throat. The tip of her tongue had been poking around down there, after all. You feel her smile against your mouth.

The Winter King rips Candy away from you by the back of her clothes, and tosses her to the side like she weighs nothing. She bounces twice on the floor, before lying still. She’s still laughing, so she’s fine, you think. You shiver from the cold. The floor cracks underneath the Winter King’s feet, pieces of eyes shaped like crystals sprouting from the floor like flowers. His glasses sit slightly askew on the tip of his nose.

You speak, before he has the chance to say anything. “I feel… A little weird…” You say, head lolling to one side as if you’d lost control over your own muscles. Your head feels light and loose, connected to reality only by the thinnest of threads, while your skin feels alight and sensitive. All at once, it is purely and utterly overwhelming. A drop of drool slides down your chin, though you swore you had your mouth closed.

A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitches. Still, his smile does not fade. “Snowflake, dear. Please open your mouth for me.” Your head feels woozier by the second. Where you were cold moments prior, a thrumming heat has settled underneath your skin. You giggle. Without thinking, you open your mouth wide. He kneels in front of you.

The Winter King drags the tip of his pointer finger over your tongue. It’s so cool, it’s such a relief. You sigh out at the touch, your eyes sliding shut. When you open them again, though your eyes are still half-lidded, he is staring at his finger, brow furrowed. There’s a light pink sheen over the blue of his skin, shimmering in the light. You have no idea what it is.

He sighs, heavily and dramatically. “Diagnosis: This is bad.” He places two of his hands on your face, and you shiver with delight. You let your head hang to the side, leaning into his side. For a moment, a flicker of a smile returns to his face. “You’re burning up. Okay, I know it’s going to be a little difficult, but you have to try for me, okay?” You nod. You have no idea what he’s asking for. “Okay. You’re going to try and think: Did you swallow any of it?” His fingers press hard into your cheeks.

“Um… Maybe? I think so…” A thick fog is blanketing your every thought. Pushing your way through it is like trudging through mud, or running on sand. “She kissed me pretty deeply. I remember that. I think I was about to gag.” As soon as you can, you give up your efforts on trying to be coherent, and just nuzzle into his hands.

The Winter King gives you a little pat on the cheek before letting go. “Thank you.”

He straightens up, and any calm on his expression immediately melts away. The set of his face temporarily jolts you back to reality. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and mist wafts from his fingers. Instinctively, you scramble backwards, but your back is already against the bed. There is nowhere else you can go. But none of his anger is directed at you.

Every step towards Candy Queen is a stomp. Frost forms underneath each one of his footsteps, showing exactly where he has walked. You clamber onto Candy Queen’s bed. The whole thing is a sticky mess. It’s worth it to see what’s going on. The urge to keep your eyes on the Winter King is unbearable. You feel like you fall apart the further he is away from you. Your skin itches.

“Candy Queen,” he practically hisses out her name. “I do not care how much of a nuisance you are to me. I know you will remain that way for as long as the both of us are alive. I can tolerate her being taken, as long as I can pick her up safe and sound. But this… Feeding a mere, poor human Candy essence? Making her swallow it?” He takes another loud step, and the floor cracks underneath his feet. “Do you want her dead? Is that it? The corruption levels on someone with little to no magic exposure are far too high…!” With every word, the pitch of his voice rises.

Candy lies on her back, lazily rotating her legs in the air. “You like her more than me. I thought I’d make her more like myself!”

The Winter King runs his fingers through his hair, almost tugging, and then groans. “I don’t even know why I’m saying any of this. Why I even bother with the likes of you.”

Candy laughs once again. “You’re talking to me, because you likeee—”

“Stop laughing!” His voice thunders around the room, and you shrink back. For a moment, his teeth sharpen, and his hair lifts up and moves around as if blown by an invisible wind. In the blink of an eye, Candy’s entire body is encased in ice. He breathes heavily, then laughs. “I know you’ll survive that. It wouldn’t be the first time. Your servants will thaw you out, eventually.”

Your fingers are digging into the fabric of your clothes. You feel like a block of ice has settled in your stomach. You might be out of it, you might be feeling a bit sick, but this is too intense to pass in front of your eyes without your notice. It feels like a bucket full of ice-cold water got dumped over you while you were fast asleep, a rude awakening to reality.

The Winter King takes a stumbling step back, and grabs at his face with both hands, patting down both of his cheeks. You shuffle back. For the first time, you are scared of the power that flows through his veins. It’s not something that can only create. That, in front of you, the Winter King only makes sparkles in the air, and paths for his subjects to walk on, doesn’t mean that it can’t be turned against others, too. It’s much more than the flurries of snowflakes he amuses you with when you’re bored or homesick. The further you scramble back from him, the further the feeling inside you solidifies.

He turns on his heel and strides towards you, placing both of his hands on the foot-end of the bed, leaning forward. His eyes have always fascinated you. He has an iris and pupils like you, but they are always covered in a sheen of white. Like cataract. Still, always, you could see his eyes moving beneath this troubled layer. Now, his eyeballs are empty. There is nothing there for you to see. You tuck your legs towards you, as close as you can.

“Princess!” He calls out, and even his voice sounds unlike his own. The Winter King tilts his head to the side, almost like he is hearing something far, far away. Then, he shakes his head, and blinks. Some of the light returns to his eyes. “No… What am I saying? I…” He visibly swallows. His fingers bunch up the bedsheets underneath his touch. He doesn’t advance any further towards you, and you are thankful for it.

“I’m sorry you’ve seen me in such a state today, snowflake. It’s unbecoming. But, please, don’t look at me like that, with such fear in your eyes. Wasn’t it I, who took you in, when you had nowhere else to go? Who gave you food, shelter, and company? My home is yours. If it weren’t for me…” He inhales, long and deep. “You can trust me. I’ve shown you that you can depend on me! What have I done for you to look at me so?”

“But… But you killed her.” You say, your voice trembling. Already, you can feel the adrenaline wearing off again. Your tongue growing sluggish, the ants moving underneath your skin. Barely, you suppress the urge to whimper.

“Pah!” He laughs, loud and short. “As if that could kill her. No, no— If it could, she’d be dead a long time ago. You wouldn’t be so eager to defend her, if you knew what kind of war is being waged inside your body right now, dear!” His voice goes up in pitch, desperation clinging to the words. Then, he seems to recompose himself, yet his words are more serious than you’ve ever heard him.

In between the two of you, a shimmering illusion takes form in the air, one that you have seen so many times before. Usually, it pains quaint little images, from pine trees swishing gently in the trees, or his recreation from the supposed creatures around the Land of Ooo that he won’t let you see on your own.

“As we speak, your own body is fighting itself. You can feel it, can’t you? Your skin hurts, and your thoughts are getting more and more difficult… It’ll only grow worse. That menace will turn you into a smiling, dimwitted wreck. The longer we wait, the more of yourself you’ll lose, dear. Believe me, I had every right to get upset for your sake.”

“I-is that an accurate depiction?!” You nearly squeak.

The Winter King waves his hand. “Oh, I would call it more of an artistic one! Your situation is rather unique indeed, I had to take some liberties. But, yes, close enough.”

Your head is swimming, your pulse quick, and your breaths even quicker. “Will I… Be okay?” But now that he has mentioned them, your symptoms only seem to grow worse by the second. Your skull is too heavy for your neck, your lips to heavy to keep closed. (And, somewhere inside you, the urge for him grows. You need to be near him. You need him to touch you. You need to be one with him.)

The Winter King lifts one arm into the air and flicks his wrist, almost as if he’s trying to flick your worries away. “Shh, of course you will!” He says with a sudden air of nonchalance that has your already muddled brain even more confused. “I have a laboratory for a reason! We will need to get there, though. Like, right now.”

He walks over to the side of the bed. You no longer have any urge to turn away from him as he approaches. With every passing moment, you can feel the symptoms of the illness he described to you intensifying. It’s living, breathing proof that he’s telling the truth. You can’t forget the sight of Candy, frozen in a block of ice, on the ground. Still, he really has been the only one to ever come to your rescue. Today has thrown you off-balance, but you’re more scared of whatever parasite is wrecking its way through your body, than the man who has saved you countless times over.

The Winter King reaches out to you, but seems to change his mind at the last moment. He turns around, going on one knee besides the bed, but with his back turned towards you. “Climb on,” he says, looking over his shoulder at you. “I know carrying you in my arms would be far more romantic and fitting, but I need to focus to get us home quickly.”

You shuffle over, and as your arms wrap around his neck, and your legs around his waist, you feel worse and better at the same time. Physically, you are less uncomfortable. It’s like you have found the exact spot where your itch is, with the Winter King’s natural body temperature cooling down the flames lapping at your skin. At the same time, thinking clearly becomes so, so much harder. The scent of chocolate milk and pine trees, exactly as Candy had described him, fills your nose, and makes you melt. Involuntarily, you let out a whimper.

“Poor thing,” the Winter King says as he gets up. With ease, despite the weight of you on his back. “Let’s get you home.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. Instead of walking, a pathway of ice forms right underneath the Winter King’s feet, and he skates over it with ease. Deftly, he maneuvers his way around the Candy Queen’s subjects, guards, and the machine still waiting at her entrance. As the ground underneath your feet gives away, your special path of ice doesn’t. The quickly shrinking logical part of your brain recognises that is the time for your fear of heights to kick in, but it doesn’t. Your head is just fuzzy. He is steady as ever underneath you, never losing his balance. At the same time, he has never been this quiet. You glance over your shoulder. Behind you, the ice he left behind is dissolving.

As the quiet stretches on, it becomes harder and harder to ground yourself. Your body starts to heat up once again despite the icy wind whipping around you, and the icy man you are pressed up against. Your neck loses all its strength. In the end, your head rests sideways on his shoulder, your ear pressed against him. His hair keeps brushing, or almost touching, your face. Without shame, the concept of that seems to have left you entirely, you take a deep inhale. You’re resting so close to his ear that he has no choice except to hear it. He lets out a breathy, short laugh.

Past his shoulder, you can see one of his fists closed, the other hand is open, with its palm opened towards the sky. Through half-open eyes, you stare. His hands are aglow with a faint blue light, the evidence of his powers. His powers… The thought catches in your brain, and doesn’t loosens. There’s something about his magic, something that you have forgotten but that your body remembers. Your gaze shifts without you prompting it to.

His crown sits in the middle of its head, as it always does. Its yellow colour seems blinding to you now, sparkling bright like starlight. The rubies on it gleam, reflecting non-existent beams of sun. You have to touch it. Just a little. Or maybe a bit more.

The movement of your arm as you reach out is heavy and slow. It feels as if the air is made out of molten caramel, and you are slowly wading your way through it. But with the end goal so clear in sight, and so beautiful, you cannot give up. Just as your fingers are a mere hair’s length away, the Winter King’s fist closes around your wrist. For the first time, he stumbles, the walkway underneath his feet having to veer off-course to make up for it.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the Winter King tuts. He keeps his hand firmly locked around you. “No touching that, snowflake. I’m aware that every single part of me is simply irresistible, but, please, keep your hands to yourself for now.” The rest of his sentence is mumbled, most of the words lost to the wind. “…hers, alright…”

You feebly try to wriggle your way out of his hold, though it has little effect. “’S important.” You say in return, your tongue catching on the ‘s’ and drawing it out. You clench your legs around his waist tighter, shifting your weight around.

“It’s important for you not to touch it,” he tells you in response. Tears spring to your eyes, though you aren’t sure why. They feel cold as they drip down your cheeks. As soon as they hit the Winter King’s skin, they turn into tiny, frozen pebbles.

The Winter Kingdom looms up in front of you, all at once. You hadn’t realised you’d gotten so close to it. When the sun shines on the castle of ice just right, it’s blinding to the eyes. For a moment, a memory bubbles up to the surface of your mind: How you’d wandered here in the utter freezing temperatures, looking at cute little homes with no smoke coming from their chimneys, and how the castle had awed you enough to temporarily distract you from the cold seeping into your very bones. Now, you feel warm enough that you might never be cold again.

What clues you in to your actual arrival is the crunching of snow underneath the Winter King’s shoes as he jumps down, and the smell of pine trees that hangs pervasive in the air, blanketing the whole kingdom.

“Home…” You mumble. Your face is so close to the Winter King’s ear however, that he hears anything you say, no matter how softly it may be spoken.

“Yes, dearest,” he responds, giving your wrist a final squeeze. He lets go of your hand. It’s a hesitant, slow departure, like he has to pry each finger loose with effort. As if his hand was frozen to yours, and it takes time to thaw. “We’re home, now. I expect you’ll think twice before heading off on some silly trip again, won’t you?”

You don’t respond. You hardly register what he’s saying, really. You are caught up in breathing in the cold air, filling your lungs to the brim with it, and hoping the relief will spread throughout your entire body. The layer of sweat that has settled on your skin underneath your clothes, all in different, albeit matching, shades of blue, is starting to cool off. It’s like being wrapped in a cooling blanket, and you smile. Before, all that was preventing you from clawing at your skin was the necessity of holding on to the Winter King, but now you feel no urge to scratch.

Suddenly, the Ice Scouts’ voices burst from left and right.

“Is she alright?”

“Should we carry her?”

Their voices are jarring, and louder than they usually are. They are all grace and fluidity always, and you don’t notice their approach at the best of times. Now is not one of those times. Your head pounds. You bury your face further against him, in an attempt to escape it.

“She will be alright. Yes, yes,” The Winter King says, with enough casualty to make your recovery sound assured and unquestionable. (You know that you will recover, you know that you will get better, and all that you have to do is be one with him. And never let go again, forever, and ever, and ever.) “You may take her from me, but do not venture far. I must make some preparations in the lab, and search… Ahem, find the necessary instruments.”

Though the full reality of his words should have been immediately clear to you, you only start to whimper when the slender, freezing hands of an Ice Scout come into contact with your back. You cling to him like a lifeline, nails clawing at him like a cat clawing at a scratching post. Despite this, you are still smiling, wide enough for your eyes to be nearly squeezed shut. The muscles in your cheek spasm under the strain, yet you cannot stop.

The Winter King hisses, and as he exhales, you watch the steam of his breath rise up into the air. “I hear you— Well, more like feel you, hah!” He continues, lowering his voice. “You poor thing. You must be uncomfortable enough as it is, and I would be a poor king to exacerbate it.”

With a flick of his wrist, and a rise of his chin, he dismisses his servants. “Nevermind, you two! Can’t you see the lady herself has spoken? Off with you, now.”

You blink, and an uncertain amount of time has passed. The Winter King has looped one of his arms over yours, keeping you extra steady as he maneuvers his way through his castle. The sound of his movements is sharp. A muted thought pops into your head. For once, he’s not moving around on his shoes, but he must’ve put blades underneath them instead. He’s cutting corners. It’s funny. You laugh, and you laugh, and you laugh, and even your tears are cold against your skin.

The deeper you go into his castle, the colder it gets. His laboratory is tucked away far from where the occasional wandering visitor or servant might find it. By now, your lips are stretched high enough, and your muscles are twitching enough, for your vision to be nothing more than a blur. Still, you recognise the sound of the sliding door entrance. He had taken you here when you had first arrived, poked and prodded at you for a bit, before proclaiming you a human. Your addled brain knows what to expect here. You will be put down and left alone, the last thing you want.

You whine. Rather than just your nose, you press your twitchy, stretched thin mouth against his skin. You are overwhelmed with the urge to lap and suck, your mouth latching on to the flesh of his throat. The Winter King lets out a shuddering sigh in response, before placing a hand against the side of your head, and pushing you away. Your mouth releases from his skin with a pop, leaving a darker mark in it's wake.

"Dear, you are going to make me do something very unethical, if you keep that up." He laughs, and it’s an airy, weightless sound. You find yourself laughing along.

The Winter King places his hand around your fingers, and you expect a kind, grounding gesture. One by one, he removes your fingers from the fabric of his vest. Despite protesting as much as you can, he bends your digits as easily as one does straw. He plops you down on a chair which, by the feel of it, he just manifested out of ice.

“I stand by my earlier diagnosis, as of now. This is pretty bad.” The Winter King says, the blue blur on your vision suggesting he’s hanging over you. His heel squeaks on the floor as he turns around. “Muscle relaxant, muscle relaxant…” His muttering echoes in the room made entirely of ice.

Your sutures have been removed too early. Feverish, sickening heat washes over you in waves. The current is too strong, and you don’t stand a chance. You press your face against the freezing back of the chair, but it’s not enough. It’s not what you need, not even close to it. You shift your weight around, rubbing your arms and legs against the sides.

When, on shaky legs, you attempt to get up, icy shackles click in place around your ankles with a clear snap of his fingers. You sniffle. A pitiful noise is wrenched from your throat, any words currently lots to you.

“It’s for your own safety, snowflake, I promise.” The Winter King’s voice sounds from across the room. He’s digging through drawers, shelves, and whatever else is in that corner of the room— You’ve never looked, and you can’t hold a string of thought long enough to consider what might be. Spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth. The itching has grown unbearable, and your nails find their way to your arms. Through the fabric of your clothes, you scratch, hissing in the cold air through grit teeth.

You think the whole world is falling apart you, when a cooling palm presses against your forehead. Everything’s alright again, it’s okay, it’s all fine. Your fingers slow down with each new scratch, before halting entirely.

“This will burn a little,” the Winter King warns you. He pushes your head back a couple of degrees, and then sprays something into both of your nostrils in quick succession. Your entire face scrunches up. The warning hadn’t been unwarranted, you can feel the substance burn its way through your system. It doesn’t hurt more than your exhausted muscles, however. Tears slide down your cheeks as you try to swallow a mouthful of saliva. Your chest shakes and contracts, though you can’t tell whether they are sobs or bouts of laughter.

“Shh, shhhh.” The Winter King attempts to shush you, kneeling in front of you as he wipes away your tears with a handkerchief. “It’s only going to get better from here on out.” As the seconds pass, some much-needed relaxation washes over your face. It cannot wipe the smile off of your face entirely. It remains, lopsided and unsteady. Still, you can see again.

The Winter King is sitting on a tiny stool in front of you, pen in hand and taking notes. His face is uncharacteristically serious, the deep lines in his face indicating his concentration. It’s like you’re looking at a different man.

“Dilated pupils. Unnatural facial movement, appearing as a smile…” He places one of his hands on your forehead once again, the other continuing to write. “Extremely high body heat.” Then, he moves on to place a thumb over your pulse. “Heightened heart rate.” As soon as he pulls his hand back, you reach out your arm, in an attempt to guide him back. “…And an uncontrollable urge to be close to me, it seems.” He huffs. The Winter King leans his head back, and clicks his tongue, multiple times in a row. “Well, it’s her essence, alright.” His eyes glide up and down your body. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The words are audible, but they find nowhere to hold onto inside your brain. All of the words, individually, make sense. That is where your understanding ends. There’s no way for you to string their meaning together.

“I suspected as much.” As he cups one of your cheeks in his hand, you lean into the touch as much as you can, rubbing your nose against his palm. By now, your symptoms have worsened to the point that not even his touch can cool you down. If it weren’t for the relaxant he’d given you, you’d be straining against your cuffs in order to get to him. Your brain is focused on a single pinpoint: him.

You no longer have a concept of shame. Both of your hands reach for his, grabbing onto his wrist, and dragging his palm over your face. It’s easy, there is no resistance from his side. When they come closer to your mouth, you lean forward, and take one of his fingers in between your lips, sucking on it. You try to appeal to him further, the only way you know how, the smile on your face widening. Your head is filled to the brim and light at the same time, stuffed full of cotton candy.

“Winterrr…” You slur out his name, tongue caressing his finger as you do so. The world is garbled nearly beyond recognition. Both because of the intrusion, and the fact your tongue doesn’t listen to all of your unconscious commands. Your brain feels like it’s leaking out of your ears. You are hardly in control of yourself anymore. It would have been terrifying, had you had the ability to remember you were ever in control in the first place. All you know is this moment, this exact time and place. “Pleaaase…”

Drool is pooling onto your lap. The Winter King stares at you for a good few seconds, gaze intense. He doesn’t pull away, but neither does he lean in. A droplet of water slides over his forehead. For a moment, it hangs off of the tip of his nose, before dripping down, like from the point of an icicle.

“Me? It’s me you need, snowflake? It’s me you want?” There is a breathless in his voice, an anticipation in his tone that set your nerves impossible more alight. You’re nodding. All you can recognise in his voice is a kind of desire, and you’re nodding. There’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more.

“Aaaah, can I really do this…?” The Winter King says, smiling creeping onto his face. At the same time, he’s stuffing multiple of his digits into your mouth, practically fingering you as he runs the pads of them over your teeth and tongue. His other hand finds your wrist again, and he presses down with his thumb. “It seems to calm you down.”

He takes your tongue in between two of his fingers, and rubs both sides of it at once. Your eyes grow hazy, your head lolls to the side. Full-body shivers wreck your body, goosebumps spreading absolutely everywhere. Your core throbs.

The Winter King laughs, clear and pretty as bells. “Well, now isn’t the time to suddenly grow a moral compass, is it? It’s clear what you want. What you need.” He pulls away from your mouth. Holding his fingers in front of his face, he looks at the strings of saliva connecting them, slowly pulling them further apart, and bringing them back together. “I don’t know anything else that might make you feel better, dear— And I’m only saying that, because I know you won’t remember a thing. Not with that pretty, little head of yours being as empty as it is right now.”

He shakes his head. “Haaah, I don’t even know why I’m saying any of this, anymore. But it feels nice to fill the silence, doesn’t it? I do have a lovely voice. I’m sure you’d agree, if you could.”

You squirm in your seat. Any moment without the Winter King is a moment too long, in your mind. Once again, you reach out for his hand, but he keeps it just outside of your reach. Your heart clenches.

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll give you something much, much better.”

Your knees bump against his. You spread your legs as wide as they can possibly go, and he rests his knees on the inside of them, moving the stool closer. His smile is graceful and steady, not flush on his cheeks to be seen. With two fingers, he grabs his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, folds the legs up, and puts it on a table a little to the side. It would be a great show of self-restraint. Would be, because his hands are trembling. His every breath is a puff of smoke. You might be a total mess, but he is cracking at the seams himself.

He holds your face in both of his hands, one of his fingers rubbing circles on your cheek. The Winter King leans in, angling his face just right, so his nose doesn’t end up anywhere you wouldn’t want it to be. It’s all you’ve ever read or heard about. Descriptions of kisses that feel like fireworks going off, or butterflies eating away at your insides— It’s more overwhelming than any of that. Your whole body feels as if it’s been alight at once. His lips are silky smooth, and merely cool to the touch, rather than cold.

One of his hand moves to rest on top of your hair, adjusting the position of your head just a tad. Your mouth is already hanging open. Frankly, your entire jaw is slack. You couldn’t even close it if you had tried, so little control over your muscles do you have left. His tongue slips inside you without any effort or resistance. It brushes against yours, and…

He breaks the moment. The Winter King jerks his head back, smacking his lips together. His face is ever so slightly scrunched up. You lean forward as best as you can, trying to follow the kiss and recapture it, to no avail. Instead, you settle for what you can. You lick the remainder of his touch from your lips.

“Sorry about that, snowflake,” he says, voice low. “You still taste like her. It surprised me, that’s all. It’s not your fault.” He hums, leaning in close again, and a more teasing smile plays around his lips. “Let’s change that together, shall we?”

The Winter King kisses you with renewed energy. It’s like he sets out to reclaim crevice over your mouth, his tongue running over both your tongue and palate. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes once again, and your entire body is shaking. With what limited power you have, you suck his tongue further into your mouth, as hard as you can. For the first time, Winter’s control wavers, and he lets out a muffled little noise.

This is it, this is exactly it, and as soon as you think that, it’s not enough anymore. You need him further inside you, you need infinitely more of him. Merely his spit mixing with yours isn’t deep enough of a connection.

With a bit of effort, the Winter King detaches his mouth from yours. A thick string of drool connects your mouths. He catches it on his finger, and stuffs it back inside your mouth. His eyes are half-lidded and his smile is as lopsided of your own, a dark blue hue tinting the space underneath his eyes.

“Heehee,” he laughs, out of breath. His cobalt tongue peeks past his lips for just a moment. “Oh, dear, you’re not trying to eat me, are you?”

Your head grows a little clearer, the more and more he touches you. Not enough to speak, but enough to understand what he’s saying again. You shake your head. The whole world spins around you at the motion, swirling with seasickness. Eating is not quite right.

His eyes light up at the evidence of your understanding, little stars twinkling in his eyes as he claps his hands together. He has such silly ways to show his excitement. It’s really, really cute.

As soon as the thought forms in your head, it quickly slips back out of your fingers. Your arms itch. Every time you feel release, it never lasts. It hurts. Once again, your tears threaten to spill over, and your fingers claw at the armrests of your impromptu, icy chair. They find nothing to hold on to.

“It’s not enough, hm? Of course it isn’t. You greedy little thing,” he says with nothing except for affection in his tone. “I think I know what you want snowflake. Allow me to help.”

The Winter King lowers his hands, one of them tapping in a steady rhythm on the inside of your thigh, while the other pressed against your clothed crotch. Your legs were already spread wide open for him. The coldness of his fingers radiates even through the fabric of your clothes. As he starts to rub, teasingly pulling at your waistband, before letting the fabric hit your skin again, your whole body seizes. This… Isn’t it. This isn’t making the heat any better, it’s only making it worse.

Your ankles push up against your restraints. You try to wriggle away, and put both of your hands on his arm. The Winter King immediately relents. He holds both of his hands in front of his chest, turned toward you in a sign of surrender. You close your thighs, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Well, that’s a ‘no’. Clearly. You didn’t need your voice to tell me that much.” His gaze drifts down to his hands, then back to your face. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, snowflake. I simply assumed… It’d be a lot easier if you could talk to me, but I know that’s not an option right now. Alas.”

He stands up, and pushes the stool backward with his foot. “You can understand what I’m saying, so let’s do it like this. I ask you now: What do you want?” The Winter King runs a hand through his hair, flipping it over his shoulder. “I know I love to make things about myself, but in this situation… Let’s not. Maybe try to point at what you want, hm?”

Slowly, you nod. Without really thinking about it, you reach out and press your hand against the obvious bulge in his pants, before pointing at your mouth with your other hand. All the while, you’re smiling up at him.

The Winter King lets out a sound somewhere in between a cough and a laugh, before genuinely cracking up. “Ha— Hahaha, oh, snowflake… Really, I know I should be worried about your life right now, and trust me, I am, but… Ohhh, you’re even flustering me at this rate,” He winks at you, a blue flush having spread over most of his face. “And that’s an achievement, you can trust me on that. Though I should have expected that kind of response, shouldn’t I?” He drags a finger quickly past the corner of his eye, like wiping away a single tear.

He places his hand over his chest. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll let you suck my cock, dear…! Kidding. I’d let you do that any day.” Even in your current state, you can tell he’s finding himself far too hilarious, as usual. You groan, contemplating hitting him, before your addled brain comes up with a much better idea.

You massage him through his pants, cupping and squeezing him. Immediately the majority of the smile melts off of his face, and he hisses in a breath.

“Yes, yes, dearest. I understand. Your wish is my command. Let go for a moment now, will you?”

He pulls his pants and underwear down the minimal amount, entirely dressed excepted the hard cock a little way away from your face. Underneath you, the chair made out of ice molds and changes, presenting you at the perfect height to suck him off.

All of this floats right by you. You go nearly cross-eyed while staring at his cock. It’s pretty and thick, with a bead of precum on the top. Though, at this point, you don’t care what it looks like. Your entire body is wound tight, full of anticipation for this exact, specific moment. You feel like your mouth is dry from how much you’ve been drooling, trails of saliva turning to near-frost on your skin.

His fingers lace themselves through your hair, most of his hand at the back of your head. “That’s a delicious look on you, snowflake. You should reserve it just for me, yes?” His nails tickle as he presses his dick against your lips, smearing himself over them. With no hesitation, you open your mouth and take his head in. Immediately, he lets out a sigh, his eyes rolling up.

“I’d forgotten how warm a human mouth is… I love it.” He moans, loud and unapologetic as you suck on him, tongue still too relaxed to move much. The taste of him, especially his precum, flits through your mind for just a moment. It doesn’t taste like much of anything, almost like water. “You’re doing wonderful, sweetheart.

You try to lean forward, wanting to take as much of him in at once in your feverish haze. The Winter King, however, keeps a steady hold on you, and keeps your head firmly against the back of your seat. He shushes you as you protest around him.

(Somewhere, in the very back of your mind, underneath the layers of magic you’ve been put under, there is shame. You must look like a mess right now. Unlike yourself, smiling creepily around his cock, and forward in a way you wouldn’t have been otherwise. Whatever you’re doing to him can be described as sloppy as best. You would have preferred your first time with him to be anything except for this, something stained with urgency beyond simple desire. Yet, he looks at you like there is nothing ugly about you.)

“I’m going to help you take as much of as me as possible, sweetheart. But not like that.” He pets the top of your head. “Deep breaths, deep breaths. Or…” He hums, lost in thought for a moment. His cock twitches inside your mouth. “I wonder, would that spray have relaxed your gag reflex as well?”

You don’t notice his scientific curiosity. All you can tell is that he’s given you exactly what you’d been fantasizing about, and you hum in pleasure around his dick. You’re right where you’re supposed to be, you’re one. You can’t be much more than a cocksleeve wrapped around him, but the Winter King doesn’t seem too mind. He breathes heavily, starting out with shallow thrusts in your mouth, that push beyond what your body should be able to handle without any issue. You have no urge to gag, and you smile wider.

“Ohhh, that’s so hot,” he gasps out. “You’ve given me some wonderful ideas for the future, snowflake,” he babbles to no one except himself. “I wasn’t even planning on getting myself off during this, dear, but this is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” He lets out a long groan as he bottoms out inside your mouth, simply reveling in the warm, wet heat of you.

“Mm, next time, I’ll truly make this all about you, promise.” He rubs your hair in an affectionate, soothing manner. “I don’t want this to end just yet,” he admits, laughter breathy. “But that would be awfully selfish of me, wouldn’t it?”

You stare up at him through hazy eyes that are glossy with tears. This is good, it’s beautiful, it’s wonderful, but you need him to cum right down your throat. The inside of your mouth is so cold, cold enough that you feel like your tongue might freeze to the bottom of your mouth. That he won’t be able to pull out by the time he’s done with you, and be stuck inside you for the next couple of hours. You shudder with nothing but pleasure.

Yet, this prospect is not enough to drive out the immediate need inside you, and you look at the Winter King which as must pleading as you think you can muster. You hum around his cock, running your tongue along the underside of him the best he can.

“I know, snowflake, I know,” he says and, then, starts to move once again, always keeping more than half of his cock inside your mouth. “I can tell you I usually last longer than this,” he says, starting to ramble again. “But for you, for you, I will—”

He lets out a guttural moan, pulled from the depths of his throat as his fingers twitch against your scalp. It’s your name he whines out as he cums right down your throat, his hips jerking forwards a few more times as he releases every last drop inside of you. You don’t even have to swallow to take all of it in. Without thinking about it at all, you try to speak yourself, though the words are obviously lost to him, nothing more than gurgles. (You love, him, you love him, you love him.)

Resting his hand on the back of the chair, he looms over you, breathing heavily. Droplets of water run down his face, and drip down his nose. His shoulder are slumped in bliss, his face entirely relaxed, and without pretense. Mindlessly, you continue to suck on his cock, though some of the fog inside your head is already starting to clear. The Winter King hisses and pulls out.

“A bit too soon for that, my snowflake.”

He pets your head for a few seconds longer, and with slightly shaky hands wipes the area around your mouth clean. The fact it doesn’t freeze on your skin is a testament to his amount of self-control. You rest your head against the, honestly, uncomfortable chair, and close your eyes.

You breathe deeply, in and out. The itching underneath your skin is the first thing that disappears. It’s like your whole body has been cleansed, rinsed from all of the filth. Instead of feeling warm, a complete and utter chill is wrapping itself around your body. Your teeth start to clatter together with an audible clicking sound, and you wrap your arms around yourself.

You groan as you blink, time and time again. You feel like garbage. Utter garbage, in fact. You’re shivering with the kind of cold-heat only found in illness, and it feels as if there’s ice in your mouth. Like your teeth are frozen against each other, completely stuck. That’s not even mentioning your eyelids, which are as heavy as rocks.

It’s only when you feel something wrapping around you, multiple times, in fact, that you become aware of more than your bodily discomfort. You try to move your arms and legs, but find it nearly impossible to do so. You manage to crack open your eyes. The sight of the Winter King, carrying another blanket in his arms, becomes obvious to you. You’re already swaddled in the things.

“N-no. That’s enough.” You nearly flinch from how poorly your own voice sounds. “Did you really need to use that many blankets…?” You ask, your throat sore and voice hoarse. Your memories are hazy at best. You remember going to Candy’s place to hang out, and then… Wait, uh, are you remembering wrong, or did she kiss you? You don’t have much time to ponder it, as the Winter King is immediately all over you.

“Oh, dearest!” He drops to his knees in front of you, shaking you around. “I thought you were done for, truly! All at once, you became freezing…! I really didn’t have a clue what to do, as you know, my specialty doesn’t lie in heating things up,” he continues, rambling. He’s speaking enough that you know he’s been genuinely worried. “I’m glad you’re okay, well, you seem fine enough to me! Believe me, I was about to chuck you into the hot springs.”

“Hot springs?” You ask, frowning. Since when do you have hot springs?

“Forget I said that.” He says, incredibly quickly, within a single breath. You snort, cracking up a little. Laughing, for whatever reason, is hurting your chest. “Nooo, none of that, snowflake! You’re being awfully cruel to me. I told you to forget about it, didn’t I?” But as you laugh more, his own smile widens, soft around the edges as it is.

“Tell me about the hot springs,” you say. He sighs loudly, and scoops you off of your seat and into his arms, making you sputter. As bundled up as you are however, you can’t protest at all. You must look very silly to an outside observer. It’s only then that you notice that you are in his laboratory. You really have to ask what happened exactly later.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a groan.

“Well, it’s clearly not anymore, so you should just tell me already.” The offended look on his face only makes you chuckle again.

“It’s what I’ve been working on, on and off for the past few weeks,” he says, relenting to your wishes as he exits the room. Maybe you shouldn’t be as used to being carried around like this, but you hardly think about it anymore. “I figured that you needed to have a place to warm up, for once! It’s near the mountains. I had to dig it up, all on my own! None of my subjects want to get anywhere close to hot water, can you imagine?”

You totally can, but you digress.

“So, well… That’s the reason I haven’t been around as much lately, dearest. And I guess that’s exactly what sent you off running into her arms, hm?” You pinches your cheek, a little too hard to be merely affectionate.

“Well, I wouldn’t really call it—” You protest.

“You must have been awfully lonely indeed!” He loudly continues, rubbing his thumb over the spot he’d just pinched. “But I will be honest with you, dear, you were in a dangerous situation today. Do you truly think I warned you so, so many times, merely for the sake of it? You could have died, all because of a whim of hers!”

“Is that what happened?” You ask, voice soft, nearly a whisper.

“Oh? You can’t remember?” You shake your head. “Yes, that is exactly what happened. She corrupted you, a human, with her essence, something no creature is made to handle, but especially not you. You are lucky to make out with some mere soreness, I can promise you that.” He smiles, but you can tell there’s no humour in him. For once, he is walking instead of skating, each step placed with purpose. “I think it would be better for you if you didn’t try to be kidnapped by her anymore, hm? If you enjoy near-death experiences that much, I can arrange one for you.”

You laugh awkwardly, because you are assuming it’s a joke. What else could it possibly be? “I… Yeah, I won’t go there anymore. Sorry for worrying you. I didn’t mean to, honestly.” That seals off your route to the last place you could go outside of the kingdom. He’s never let you wander far, and you can only guess he’ll be even more protective from now on.

For a few moments, he holds your gaze, and then he leans down to give you a kiss on your forehead. “I forgive you.” You feel a little less cold than before, despite his lips being far from warm. “Really though, that wasn’t your smartest decision. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you tell him. He clicks his tongue, and you move to defend yourself. “Look, okay, my mouth feels really weird, and I have no idea why! I’ve never felt anything like it. My teeth keep sticking to each other.”

He goes quiet for a few seconds, playing with the edge of one of the blankets wrapped around you. “It must be a leftover symptom from your corruption. The phenomenon is not well-documented, especially not in humans.”

Even through all of the thick blankets wrapped around you, you are starting to shiver. Winter feels it, and hugs you closer to his chest.

“It’s a good thing I was going to show you those hot springs!” He chirps, tone suddenly shifting to his usual cadence. You are happy to chalk all of your strange feelings up to the corruption you’d suffered. Of course, the reason you woke up in his lab was because he was monitoring your health. “Both of us could use a little warming up, I would say.”

There are things you have left behind. Somewhere, out there in this vast, vast multiverse, there is a home waiting for you. Perhaps with family and friends searching for you, worrying themselves sick. But if that is the case, you remember none of it. You are happy here, in the Winter Kingdom, at the side of its king. If you are happy here, and you are, you don’t think anyone could blame you for wanting to stay, could they?

The world outside of here is so, so dangerous. He has warned you about it all an infinite number of times. You really do think you would like to stay here, for the rest of the life that stretches ahead of you.

“Winter…?” You say softly, your tone bordering on questioning. He hums in response, milky white eyes meeting your own. “Thank you. For everything.”

He hugs you close to his chest, and does a little spin on the tips of his toes. You laugh. By this point, you are used to his theatrics, and know that he won’t let you fall. Little hearts made from his ice powers drift in the air next to his head, before dissolving into powder snow.

“I love you too, snowflake.” His voice is a singsong whisper, and your heart melts.

#winter king x reader #candy queen x reader #adventure time x reader #winter king #candy queen

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