#event - the two stars that fell from the sky

[sirenedusud]

once more to see you (adar x elf!reader)

decades at a time, you find yourself crossing paths with the Uruk.

AN: hey guys i was listening to mitski and for some reason (yeah sure) i was filled with yearning for adar. he intrigues me so. i need help like mentally or something.

AN II: holy moly at some point the horny evaporated from my body and i was feeling something different, this ended up becoming like 30% adar LMFAO, BUT ALAS I WRITE FOR MY OWN PLEASURE AND I CANNOT HELP IT. enjoy.

--------------------------------------------------------

Dawn swept across the great delta, the pools of sea water and grains of sand glistened like stars as the sunlight dappled through the clouds. Eärendil's plea had been answered by the Valar, and so a host of your fellow elves from Valinor arrived upon the shores of Beleriand. You followed the call with haste as you wished to be reunited with your dearest friends in exile, but now your stomach turned at the sight ahead. A looming shadow crept over the mountain range, threatening to overtake what remained of Middle Earth's western shores.

Your company had concluded setting up camp the day before. Now only battle preparations were being rehearsed repeatedly, for no one could predict when the fight would erupt. You spent the entire morning doing drills you could have done as easily in your sleep and so decided to slip away from the encampment for a moment away. The forest gave you no comfort though, darkness lingered everywhere, muffling your hyperaware senses. Still you wandered, bow clamped tightly in one fist. Minutes later, you stumbled upon a clearing in the woods, but someone was already there. Their presence made your blood run cold; you notched an arrow for good measure.

It was too late though, the figure turned swiftly and looked directly at your motionless figure partially covered by one tree. He did not draw his sword, nor did you release your arrow. You found yourself completely transfixed on him, he seemed to be an elf with long pointed ears and tresses of midnight black hair.

Whatever danger oozed from him now stopped as his own eyes captured every inch of you. You noticed tear stains on his hollow cheeks, had he been crying before you came? You stepped out of the tree's shadow without hesitation, allowing the sunlight to pour down on you, illuminating your pale blue attire and long, woven hair. He only continued to gaze at you, as if he was studying the magnificent night sky etched by constellations.

“What is something so fair doing wandering on this dark path?” he asked calmly. Your cheeks flushed, but before you could open your mouth a horn blared in the distance and you pointed your arrow in its direction, then back at the elf. He was gone. This couldn't mean well. You ran back to the encampment as fast as you could to find elves running back and forth, your commander yelling at soldiers and captains alike. The war began.

***

The black blood mucked onto your armor would not budge regardless of how much pressure you rubbed at it with. With a sigh of defeat you dropped the filthy rag and laid your head on the boulder behind you. Decades had passed and the war continued. In this moment of stillness between the two fronts, you and Galadriel had led the injured away from the desolate northern regions. Your mind wandered on the events of the past years: the countless orcs you had slain, the mountains and plains which had been ravaged, the elves and men that fell to their death beside you, and the glimpses of the dark elf from the woods passing by you on the battlefield yet never crossing your path.

"What troubles you?" Galadriel's soft voice stirred your attention. She stood before you, glorious even through the weariness of war.

"Nothing. Nothing besides the stench of those rotting Orcs," you replied without a look to her, guilt creeping into your heart. She crouched down before you and took your hands into her own without another word.

A deafening roar split through the air suddenly, snapping everyone awake. Upon the northern horizon, winged serpentine beasts flew in your direction. Men and elves alike shouted at the sight in an uproar of confusion.

"What treacherous pit have those beasts crept out of?" one man cried out, looking to his own equally mortified commanders.

"So this is Morgoth's desperate assault," your tall commander pondered, before speaking loudly for all to hear, "his forces have been expended. Do not give into fear. Do not fear!" In a blur, you part from Galadriel and fall into line with the remaining soldiers charging back into the heat of battle. The dragons devastated the front line, scalding skin off of bone, melting armor and sword, snapping arrows like twigs. As one dragon swooped down to rake through soldiers, you shot a large arrow into the beast's eye, causing it to roar in pain, but too quickly it recovered to charge straight at you. In that moment, fear paralyzed you. The cloud of flame descending upon you grew hotter by the second, and you closed your eyes. No fear.

That was until a cold metal hand yanked at you by the nape of your armor, dragging you away from the now burning spot. You open your eyes to see a black-haired figure pulling you further and further away from the fields and into a dark valley. The ground was bloodied, black trees stood completely charred. The air hung thickly here, perhaps it was from the dragon fire, perhaps it was only something between the elf and you. He finally stopped and released you, causing you to catch yourself from face-planting into the rocky ground. He paced a little ways further, keeping his back to you. The sounds of clashing metal and roaring dragons continued in the background, yet seemed to grow faint as you focused on your savior.

"Who are you?" you asked warily, a hand resting upon the slender blade on your hip, yet rather pathetically you wished nothing more than for him to face you and gaze at you like the last time. He does turn eventually, and his eyes do find yours, but they were filled with anguish so strong it drew a worried expression from your own face.

"I am..." he began, "I thought I was fighting for my children’s place in this world, but it seems I led them all to death..." Children? What children did he speak of? You knew he served Morgoth, alongside other monsters and tormented souls twisted into Morgoth's "creations,” but no children were on that battlefield. You stood up slowly, trying to navigate the elf's mood as he looked down at the ground. His scarred hand grasped his black sword tightly, but you crept closer. He looked to you again, stopping you in your tracks as electricity crackled between the two of you.

His pale face was scarred so severely that you winced at the thought of what it looked like when they were fresh, but he was beautiful nonetheless. His melancholic grey-blue eyes shone upon a set of high-cut cheekbones. His thin lips parted to speak again, but his gaze dropped down to the dark blood stained on your armor. Suddenly, his eyes darkened and he grew angry, stepping away from you. You panicked at this change in temper and unsheathed your blade.

"Forgive me," he muttered before striking you across the head with the butt of his sword. The power of his hit threw you unconscious and you crumpled to the floor. For a moment he regretted his action, but the shrieks of the dragons snapped him back into reality. He pulled you behind large rocks, out of sight from any dangerous passerby, and returned to the battle that was costing him his kin. The battle which he knew Morgoth was losing.

***

The golden forest welcomed you with a gentle breeze as you walked down the rows of trees carved into figures of martyred elves. You stood before the familiar faces, ebbs of grief resurfacing in your heart. Decades had passed since the War of Wrath ended and now you remained in Middle-Earth with numerous other elves. Sometimes you longed for the light of Valinor, yet other times a dark desire only found in this foreign land kept you chained to Middle-Earth. Now, you simply resided in the elven kingdom of Lindon.

"There you are," Gil-galad's voice called to you gently. You turned to greet him, his eyes softened at the sight of your weary face. Your heart, on the other hand, leapt briefly after taking in the sight of the golden king. Moments like this passed between the two of you before, a connection that yearned to blossom during these peaceful years spent together in Lindon, but you said nothing of it and neither did he with all his power in the world. He stepped closer to you, taking your hand into his large, warmer ones before speaking.

"I know this look. I know you regret not joining Galadriel on her...search," he began, his golden rings dazzling in the sunlight, "but I have a task for you which I hope proves to be a distraction because I do not wish to see you mourn the past, wandering here in these woods alone." His voice grew firmer towards the end. He was right, long had you spent idly in solitude, spiraling in dark memories yet also refusing to return to Aman.

"What is your command?" you asked aloofly. Gil-galad let out a sigh and patted the back of your hand, guiding you back out of the forest and towards his halls.

"I want you to go see Celebrimbor. See what he is conjuring in that workshop that keeps him so occupied," Gil-galad continued, "I'm afraid our friend is not replying to my envoys as swiftly as I would like, and thought perhaps a more familiar face would get things out of him sooner." A breeze passed through the exit of the woods, causing your lids to flutter shut and you to inhale deeply. You opened your eyes to find Gil-galad studying your face, then looking away shyly. Before entering the main hall, he turned to you, gently clasping his hands upon your shoulders.

"Take two with you," he instructed, "and allow that foul battlefield to leave your mind. Now go.”

***

The road to Eregion was short. The two elves that accompanied you found themselves immersed in the citadel's magnificence upon arrival, and so you made your way to Celebrimbor alone. Sure enough, you found him in his workshop, chipping away at a slender blade handle made of polished marble.

"Celebrimbor-"

"Oh!" he shouted in surprise, the blade snapping off of the handle before him, "Ohhh." He turned to you with a frown, but immediately lit back up.

"It is a delight to see you my dear friend," Celebrimbor stood up to come closer to you, "such a delight! We must feast and drink on this occasion...for when was the last time you graced my humble workshop,” he rested one hand on your back as he began guiding you towards the doors you entered from.

“But you see…right now I'm quite busy." You began to protest with the elf, but he swept you out of the tower quicker than you could repeat Gil-galad's inquiries. With no other way back inside, you headed out of Eregion's main gates and into the woods. You hadn't meant to go wandering again, but your body had grown accustomed to this ritual: to walk deeper into the woods, fall deeper into memories with every step, become blind to what stood before you physically as your mind filled with images of the past.

The sun began to set and you found yourself in a small clearing full of sweet scented flowers and lightning bugs floating about. Images of the dark elf's face flashed before your mind’s eye, causing your heart to skip a beat. You admitted to yourself that right now more than anything you wanted to see him once more. The softness he spoke with to you, the scars on his pale face, the agony in his burning gaze, the way those same eyes were so captivated by you in the woods; everything about him was intoxicating. It was so pathetic of you, an Eldar, to be emotionally bound to a creature of darkness. There now was an emptiness within you that he had dug there, a hollow that tore open even wider when you remembered him. You fell to your knees in a soft bed of moss, grabbing fists of your hair as you begged yourself to forget about the enemy.

"This is madness! I've been marked by some ill will. It’s a stain. It's just a trick of the darkness, not my own mind! Not mine, not mine, not mine." Your hands hammered at your head. You threw your body forward and released a frustrated scream and then, bereft of any more strength, remained in child's pose upon the soft green earth. Crickets began to chirp around you, and the sound of careful footsteps reached your ears as well. You should have looked to see who it was, but you chose to sulk in self-pity. They grew closer, stopping midway as if they had seen something, then began to head towards you before stopping mere feet away.

"Fair creature..." a low voice spoke above you. You whipped your head up to find the darkling standing before you, clad in full black attire. Suddenly, you became aware of your lack of weapons, but then fell distracted by two tears escaping your eyes. It is a strange sensation, unfamiliar to you completely. Two drops of warm water traced down your cheeks and into the crevices of your lips, the taste of salt hitting your tongue, before continuing down your chin. You raised a hand to wipe the salty rivulets away, but a thumb in a black glove found them first. He knelt before you, looking curious as ever.

"How are you here?" Numerous questions filled your head at once, but time was of the essence with someone as fleeting as this dark elf.

"I fled in the end with my remaining children, in...someone else's refuge,” he hesitated with his words. He was afraid to reveal too much, yet he yearned to be vulnerable with you because he felt that he could. You caught his hand before it dropped away from your face, and rubbed your thumb against the back of his glove. He fell into a trance again, bewitched by your beauty, the beauty of elves he could no longer recall on his own. Your heart stammered in your chest as he kept his hand in yours, your questions now forming quicker in your mind than on your tongue.

"Who are you? You left me in the mountain last we…met. Why did you do it? Why not kill me? I killed…so many of yours," you spoke frantically. His eyes grew hurt, but he did not pull away from you.

"For as long as I can remember, I am called Adar," he began slowly, "My kin and I are Uruk. Yes, you killed many of them, yet I do not know why I spared you. I know...I saw something in you that day in the woods. Something that I should have turned away from, but I gave into it in that moment, and then again in the battle." Your face flushed and it was your turn to cease the eye contact. Whatever intense desire you felt, he had felt it too, you were sure of this. All the sinners of Middle-Earth could have been pointing and laughing at you in this moment. You grew afraid, so afraid of how relieved you were to be with Adar right now, to know him a little more.

"I know what it is that stopped you from killing me," you tested your words as your mind was still tinged with a little fear of Morgoth’s servant, "I felt it too." Slowly, you pulled Adar's hand up to your heart. For a moment the two of you remained like this, then he uttered something in a foreign tongue and pushed you away. He marched away from you before turning around.

"Do not ever seek me out," he said hoarsely, "for your own sake."

***

The waves lapped at the edge of the harbor which you stood upon. You watched as elves began to slowly board the ship set for Valinor. Galadriel stood beside you, looking increasingly agitated as her time to board came closer. Her company had returned several days ago from their search for Sauron, but the elves refused to carry on, forcing their commander to fall back as well.

You turn to Galadriel and she mirrored you. You gave her a weak smile, knowing full well she did not wish to take this gift of returning to Aman.

“Perhaps you could speak with Gil-galad once, since Elrond was of no use in this,” she said with a hint of hope, but you shook your head.

“If I speak any word of this to him, he’ll put me on that boat too and be rid of the both of us,” you turned to look behind you as you spoke, catching sight of the king in the distance. He gave you a small nod, perhaps thinking you were having a heartfelt farewell with your friend. Galadriel let out an airy laugh as she glanced at the king as well.

“Well, why aren’t you coming with us?” Galadriel inquired suddenly, curious as to why you had bound yourself to Middle-Earth. You looked at her shyly but simply shrugged; if you told her the truth you knew she would have dragged you onto the ship herself.

“There is still much I want to see. Things not as troubling as well, Sauron,” you responded slowly, taking the last few steps on the dock with Galadriel before she boarded the white ship. She turned back one last time to embrace you, bringing her lips close to your ear.

“I know he is alive,” she whispered.

“I believe you,” you reassured her before releasing her. She muttered a final goodbye before turning to face the front of the ship. You watch as Círdan, Master of the Grey Havens, stepped off the ship before it made its way out of the harbor. Galadriel, nor any of the other elves, turned back. You watched until the ship became a speck on the horizon, until the sun began to set, and until Elrond reached for your arm to guide you away from the harbor.

***

Strange things brewed in the Southlands. Wishing to escape Gil-galad’s ever-watchful eye, you found yourself visiting the elves on the Watchtower of Ostirith. They spoke ill of the men in the villages below, who all felt the same way towards the elves even though they were severely defenseless without those elves. Save Arondir, who had grown fond of one particular woman. Oftentimes you wanted to advise him against it, to say that he would only be hurt if he chose to love a mortal, but you yourself chose worse things to love.

Upon one quiet morning, something had drawn you to the black forest surrounding the tower. The silence of these woods became unnerving though after walking through them for half an hour and you contemplated turning back, but you found yourself lost. You could not sense the way you came from at all. Terror split into your mind as you trekked down the path you were certain you had come from, desperately scanning the forest floor for signs of your own footprints. You were beginning to lose daylight, and prayed the woods were as empty as they sounded.

You suddenly stumbled into a thicket of webs and groaned at the white strands sticking to your hair and clothes.

“Cursed things! Spiders this close to people? Or, perhaps…I am not as close to civilization as I thought I was…” you trailed off into thought as you cut through the webs. The task at hand becoming so distracting that you did not detect one of the spiders crawling up behind you. Your ears had caught the sound of one of its feet slipping though, but before you could turn to parry its attack, you found the arachnid dead with a black arrow through its skull. It fell with a loud thud to your feet, and you stared, dumbstruck, at the archer. Adar stood there, though not as shocked as you. You scrambled out of the webbed mess and straight to him, desperate to catch him before he slipped away again.

“I caught sight of you when you entered the forest. I sensed you were lost and only followed to make sure you returned to Ostirith in one piece–“ Adar began but stopped as you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek into his armored chest.

“Please, please don’t leave! Please stop doing this to me,” you pled hoarsely. Adar dropped his bow and clung onto you as well, his one bare hand raking through your long, soft hair. He pressed his face into your smooth forehead, and inhaled your floral scent, absorbing anything and everything he could of you. No guilt or shame reached you now. It was as if no one could see you, not Gil-galad, not the Valar.

“What does an Eldar want to have to do with me?” Adar’s question finally broke your peace. You looked at him in confusion, your mind juggling between reality and its possibilities.

“You could be forgiven, you did not know what you were going to be forced to do when Morgoth had twisted you into…none of this has to be your burden,” you rambled, but Adar shook his head.

“I cannot abandon my children. They have every right to be free in Middle-Earth as anybody else.”

“Children? What are these children you keep speaking of?” you sighed as you took a small step back and planted your hands to your hips. Adar smiled down at you, but inwardly he prepared for you to finally be disgusted by him, to finally reject him and free the both of you from this tangled web of emotions.

“The Orcs,” he explained, “they had been abused by Morgoth once, and I cannot allow it to happen again. They deserve to be free, to have their own land, with no ruler above them…I wish to grant them this peace.” You stared at Adar incredulously. What madness could possess someone to pity the vile Orcs?

“The only peace you could grant them is to put an end to their treacherous existence,” you replied harshly. Adar’s eyes grew angry for a moment, but his pent up desire caused him to soften under your stern gaze. You trembled as you began to realize that perhaps he would not join you in this eternal life, the darkness had truly twisted his soul. As if sensing this, Adar grasped your chin with his hand and forced you to look into his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do…” your lip began to quiver.

“For now…be here with me,” the Uruk responded before dipping his head down to capture your lips in his. You immediately melted into his armored body, any flame of despair within you extinguished. You kissed him back fervently, your hands reaching for his neck, lips feeling every inch of his cold ones. He rocked your head gently to the side, giving himself more leeway to devour your lips. You let him slip his tongue into your mouth, a cold metallic taste filling your senses. His hands wandered down your body, slowly squeezing every bit of you from your breasts to your hips. A moan slipped out of you after one of his hands trailed back upward and gave your throat a soft press.

Twigs snap in the distance and you lurched back from Adar. His cold eyes scanned into the dark forest, his body covering yours protectively. After a minute passed, he turned back to you. His own heart, which he once thought long dead, jumped at the sight of you. The moonlight illuminated your flushed cheeks, your lips now glistening from the kiss, and the ardor in your eyes.

“We are not alone, fair creature,” Adar whispered to you between kisses on your cheek then nose then other cheek, “Your kin searches for you. Go to them.” You wanted to protest, but Adar only brushed a hand through your hair before stepping back into the forest, fading without a trace.

“There you are,” Arondir’s voice came from behind you. You turned to face the stoic elf with a dazed expression. He did not ask you why you were here, but simply beckoned you to follow him back to the tower. On your way back, you turned the cold taste of Adar on your tongue over and over again.

***

Arondir led you straight back to the tower, but before entering the fortress, he turned on his heel to face you.

“Who was with you out there?” he asked.

“Wh-what?” you stammered as the question caught you by surprise.

“Who was with you in the woods?” Arondir repeated, emphasizing each word. He took a step forward, looking down at you sternly. Your blood ran cold. Did he already know? Could you lie?

“I was lost, I was talking to myself. There wasn’t any–“

“Do not lie!” Arondir’s jaw tightened as he snapped at you. You stood with your mouth agape, feeling as if you were shrinking smaller and smaller under his judgmental gaze.

“Did you not think I could sense the darkness lingering on your flesh?” you shivered as he continued, “and to think…you succumbed to it so easily.”

“You don’t understand! It was nothing of that sort!” you pled but to no avail. Arondir scowled, turning away from you and headed into the tower.

“It is best you leave these lands. For good,” Arondir called over his shoulder before leaving you alone in the dark. You fell to your knees, praying under your breath for the night sky to come down and swallow you up from your spot.

***

When you reached Lindon, two soldiers immediately led you to Gil-galad. As you entered the king’s study, you noticed a crumpled letter on his ivory desk, as if he had read it and crushed it in his palm immediately. The tall elf stood with his back to you for several minutes, sweat began to form at your hairline. Finally, he turned to you with a somber expression.

“Do you know what I just read?” he asked, barely in a whisper.

“Gil-galad…” he raised a trembling hand to stop you regardless of asking you a question. He stepped around his desk and loomed over you. His eyes searched yours for something you could not decipher. He raised a pointed hand as he spoke.

“Tomorrow, at first light, there is a ship leaving for Aman. You will take it, and you will not have any more say in this,” he spoke seethingly. Disappointment burned in his eyes, and for once you became afraid of him. Naturally, you did not protest and without another word bowed to Gil-galad before turning to leave the room.

Hot tears streamed down your face as you made your way as far as you could from everyone. You kept your face down in shame, making your way to the edge of the city before bumping into someone. You looked up to see Elrond. His mouth parted in surprise but he quickly swept you into a tight embrace, patting your back as you stifled a sob.

“Surprised he didn’t send you off with Galadriel the first time,” Elrond joked quietly, but his voice remained solemn. He did not ask anything else of what had happened in the Southlands, even though he knew the basis of it.

“I should have left the moment the war ended.”

***

The waves were gentle as they carried your ship closer and closer to the golden rays before you. Warmth hummed within your chest as the clouds parted completely to reveal the brilliance of Aman. The welcoming light grew stronger, infiltrating every bit of your surroundings. Your senses began to buzz entirely. Any despair in your mind melted away, and the hollow in your heart filled with something soft and kind. A song from the Amanyar carried through the breeze; the chorus of silken voices beckoned you home.

[rosemxze]

gamigin x luci tears?

[gierosajie]

The Sumeru glider lore description just makes me think about how it emphasized the divine as an important aspect of Teyvat's natural law. According to all known laws of aviation, the gliders cannot possibly have the ability to glide, and yet they function through the blessing of the Anemo Archon

In Firnas' dream, the Dendro Archon tells a story where the wind tells a story within a story within a story wi- all of them follow a similar structure of (y) telling (x) a story to encourage them. Now, the story in the Sumeru glider is about Firnas wanting to make a glider without the Anemo Archon's blessing, but in the end asks for it anyway because of the looping story driving him up a wall

I find it kind of neat how in Amber's story quest where we get a gliding license, she accidentally gives us the "Wind, Courage, and Wings" storybook. In the Sumeru glider lore, the stories had someone encouraging another. In the storybook, the lesson is that "What you lacked was not wind, but courage."

I'm just throwing this at a wall to see if it sticks, but what if there's a connection between these stories regarding the wind, courage, and wings and Genshin's overarching themes. The endless stories within a story in Firnas' dream only ends when he realizes how the divine is connected to the natural law, and the birds in the storybook relied too heavily on good wind conditions to fly before risking it all and leaping off a stormy cliff

What if these two stories are a sort of foreshadowing to how Teyvat is stuck repeating its history and the only way to truly end it is through both mortals and the divine working together. Mortal engineering cannot overcome its limitations without divine intervention, the birds cannot fly on strong winds alone without taking a leap of courage first, so perhaps one day the "courage" in these stories would be enough to take the people of Teyvat into new heights and weave their own fate

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

5 Times There Was Only One Bed (and the one time there were two beds) | Bucky x Reader | One Shot - 4.7k

Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk.

Warnings: 18+ for language, suggestive situations and sexism (but not from our Bucky he would never). Also rated F for fluffy and S for snuggling.

Written for the @bucks-and-noble Valentrope event - "there was only on bed" the reigning champion of tropes!

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Fics

Your first mission with Bucky Barnes went really well, until it didn’t. 

After successfully destroying an underground Hydra base you’d returned to your transport in a less than desirable state. 

“Fuck, four flats.” You huffed, poking the tyre with the toe of your tactical boot. 

“Fuel line’s been cut.” Bucky muttered from the front, “lucky they didn’t torch it.” 

Bucky quietly rubbed a gloved hand over his face, before looking up at the admittedly stunning night sky, he seemed to study it for a moment before making a quarter turn to his left and climbing up a ridge of sandy rock. As if dazed you followed him. You could see for miles thanks to the glow of a full moon, the stars dense and glittering above you both. It was almost romantic, if you didn’t have blood on your cheek and an empty gun on your hip. 

Bucky still looked like he could sweep you off your feet though, with his structured tactical vest making his broad shoulders look even wider, his wind swept hair giving him the look of a romantic hero on the front of a paperback, especially with one foot perched on the outcrop of rock above you. 

“Let’s go.” He pointed towards a glow rising from beyond the horizon and you’d started walking, doing your best to keep up with his long strides. You could see the motel, how far could it really be.

As soon as you climbed down the motel vanished and the reality of your trek set in. 

Around hour two Bucky slowed his pace to allow you to catch up. He didn’t speak much, just what was necessary, and sometimes a hello when he saw you around the compound. But he struck you as shy, rather than cruel or rude. He had checked on you after the mission brief two days ago to make sure you were happy with the plans and, when you were left at the drop off zone, had given you a few of his spare rounds. 

You were starting to flag, your steps faltering in the dust and your fingers frozen. Without the sun the desert was so cold the tips of your ears felt like they’d fallen off. Bucky slowed too, cracking a heat pack and handing it over, swapping it for your pack. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, teeth chattering. 

He didn’t say anything, just gave you a tight smile and turned back towards the motel, growing closer with each step. 

Three hours after you’d discovered the flat tyre, you fell through the door of the dingy motel room, exhausted, cold and starving, only to be met with the sight of one queen size bed and a single chair by the window. 

“I’m gonna sleep,” you slurred, unable to manage more than zipping off your tactical vest. You fell onto your back and tried to toe off your boots but they were too tight. Your eyes slid shut and you felt the sensation of Bucky sitting on the other side of the thin mattress, making you roll towards him slightly. His weight shifted and settled, the warmth of his body behind yours comforting after everything you’d seen that evening. 

He smelt nice too, despite the blood and sweat and gunpowder, he smelt like sandalwood and the desert air. It was all you could think of as you drifted into a deep sleep, how much you wanted to press your face into his back and breathe him in. 

The  next morning you woke to find Bucky already showered and dressed, pushing his damp hair back from his face and brushing his teeth while he called Torres for new exit plans. 

Your boots and socks were off, arranged neatly by the door, a coffee steaming on the bedside table.

Despite all the changes a new team had brought, Bucky liked working with you. You were quiet too and didn’t mind when he was silent for almost a whole mission. You were efficient and skilled, but empathetic, always stopping during the fall out to ensure the team were together and protecting civilians whenever you could. 

So it was no surprise to him when you offered to share the bed at the hotel. Sam and Joaquín had long since retired to their room, but you’d both stayed at the hotel bar, silently emptying a bottle of red wine while Bucky continued his 100 Books to Read Before You Die list and you scrolled through your phone, catching up on everything you’d missed during the five day - “phone’s off, and yes, I mean you Agent” - mission. 

As soon as you retired to the room you knew there’d been a mistake. 

“Ah, shit.” You’d dropped your bag to the floor by the door and Bucky had almost walked into your back, peering over your shoulder at the very neatly made double bed. The only bed. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch.” Bucky had sighed, resigned to a night of lumpy, uncomfortable sleep. 

“There isn’t one.” You pushed your bag further into the room with your foot and Bucky brushed past to survey the space.

“The floor then.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, the bed’s big enough for two, we can share.” 

You’d said it with such easy grace that he’d felt almost insulted that his chivalrous offer was so easily deflected. Then you’d returned from the bathroom smelling like mint and almond oil, your loose pyjamas hanging off one shoulder and just like that, he gave in. 

By the time he’d change and brushed his teeth you were already asleep, holding a pillow close to your chest with your leg well over onto his side of the bed. Carefully he moved you back to your side and slid under the cool sheet next to you. 

He woke first the next morning to find you still attempting to occupy the majority of the bed, your face relaxed and mouth slightly open. Bucky indulged in a moment of quiet comfort before getting up. You wouldn’t want him staring at you, you’d be embarrassed that you were trying to cuddle him and it’d ruin the fragile bond you were forming with each mission. 

By 9am you were both making fun of Joaquín’s terrible hotel bookings over pancakes and coffee. 

“Why can’t we just ask for directions?” 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” 

“Yes?” 

“Because we just crossed a border illegally, we have no papers, no passports, we’re lying low.” 

“They’re hardly going to ask to see our passports, Bucky.” You sighed, hitching your bag higher on your back. 

You’d been walking since 5am that morning, crossing through a forest trail to avoid borders and rendezvous with Torres in a village that should have been a few miles away so that you could evac together. 

5am seemed a long time ago now that the sun was setting. You’d stopped briefly to heat up a can of beans, a “late lunch, early dinner” Bucky had called it, smiling at you over the steaming mess tin you were sharing.

The scalding heat had dissipated now though and you were tired. The memory of his hand touching yours as you ate still lingering. 

“We’re not going to find him tonight, we should stop.” Bucky suggested, “I’ll find a good place to camp.” 

Suddenly you were grateful that Mr Overprepared had packed a tent. 

“Good idea.” You agreed, rubbing your hands together. 

“Well, I will be, you didn’t bring a tent, did you?” He said, walking deeper into the woods, running his foot over the ground, looking for somewhere flat. 

Your heart sank, he was right, you’d laughed at him when he’d attached it to his already full pack and he’d said you’d regret it, a teasing look in his eye. Well. You were regretting it. It had started raining a few minutes before, gentle rain drops that got heavy in each gap between the canopy. You had no doubt it’d be heavier soon though, and with the sun setting you didn’t relish the idea of being wet and cold out in the dark. 

Bucky stopped and turned, lowering his pack to the floor between two large trunked trees and those twinkling eyes made butterflies take flight in the pit of your stomach. A boyish grin crossed his face as he got to work. 

Ten minutes later and the tent was up, strung between the trees and extra protected with some fallen foliage. 

Bucky unlaced his boots and placed them between the inner and outer tent before climbing in, when you didn’t follow he poked his head back around the flap of the tent, patting the unrolled sleeping bag next to him. 

“C’mon, you really think I’d make you sleep out there?” He was almost laughing, and the sound was so welcome, so stupidly content despite your situation, you could barely stand it. 

You squeezed in, using the inner fleece layer from your coat as a blanket. Bucky lifted the side of his sleeping bag. 

“C’mon,” he mumbled, eyes already closed, when you hesitated he tugged you closer until you were tucked against his chest. He rearranged your coats on top of you both until you could feel your fingers again. “Warmer?” 

“Yeah, thanks, Bucky.”

He didn’t respond, his breathing heavy and even, beneath his sweater you could hear the steady thump of his heart as it lulled you to sleep in his arms. 

Bucky hated these stupid events, he’d only been persuaded to come because you’d done those big round puppy dog eyes and said it’d be no fun without him. Joaquín had asked too and, although Sam had joked that it’d be more fun without ‘Mr Grumpy’, Bucky knew he’d only been teasing. 

But it was you that had convinced him. It was those eyes, the way your voice had gone up a little and you’d pouted in that silly way you did when Joaquín took the last doughnut at mission briefings. He couldn’t resist. And he had no idea what to do about it. 

Behind him he could hear another team talking about you, how they didn't understand why you were always working with ‘that asshole Barnes’ so much. 

In the anonymous dark they joked about you, about him, as if you were a reward for a guard dog. A babysitter for his more violent tendencies. Worse, disgusting, accusations about how you'd come by your place in the team. He suddenly missed his mother, she'd have washed their mouths out with soap.

He felt sick. 

Bucky took a long swig from his beer and chased it with a shot of whisky, anything to stop his teeth from grinding. 

They were wrong on so many counts. You were skilled and fearless, soft and fierce at all the right moments. But you didn't care about him, or Sam or Joaquín for that matter. Not in the vile, disrespectful way those men imagined. You didn’t men like them - him - messy, unpredictable, unstable. You didn’t really need anyone. 

But Bucky - he took another swig, trying to stop the swirling feeling in his chest - he cared for you. He couldn't stop thinking about you. And as angry as he was at what he heard, he was equally ashamed for wishing that you did want him. 

He’d been watching you dance with Joaquín and one of your other agent friends for more than an hour now. Your body swaying and rippling in time to the music, your dress ghosting over your hips in a way that made his mouth dry. It was one thing to work with you in army fatigues or go to meetings with you in your casual jeans - the stealth suit had been really pushing his patience recently so he didn't want to think about it - but he could at least keep himself under control while your skin was covered. Then you arrived wearing this dress. The neckline alone made him want to sink to his knees in front of you. 

Joaquín danced away with your friend, you winked at the lieutenant and smacked his ass as he passed - you were definitely drunk. 

Alone you swayed to the music, still in your own world.

“She’s so fucking drunk -” 

“Absolute embarrassment -” 

“Can’t believe they let her in -” 

Bucky slammed his drink down on the bar top and grabbed his leather jacket, stalking across the dancefloor like a shadow, the lights skimming over him. 

You were facing away from him and he couldn’t resist, his hands finding your waist so naturally, his body melting into yours, matching the slow roll of your hips so he could lean into your ear. 

“I think it’s time to go,” he whisper-shouted above the pounding music. 

“Bucky!” You exclaimed, completely ignoring his suggestion, “dance with me!” 

You span in his hands, leaning up and into him, your hands around his neck, twisting into his hair. The little tug you gave sent pleasure shooting down his spine. God he was weak, his body moved without his say so, slipping a leg between yours and - fuck - you were grinding against him. He was lost. 

The song ended, fading into the next as the lights flickered and he regained enough of his faculties to remember you were drunk, very drunk. 

“C’mon, doll, let’s go, I’ll get you some water-” 

“You still here, sweetheart? Don’t you think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.” 

Was he still here? Fucking asshole. 

Bucky rounded on him, keeping you close with a hand around your waist. 

“You boys having a good night?” You grinned, unable to hear their cruel words over the music. 

You were just so - good, so kind, even when these pricks were trying to tear you down, your first instinct was to be friendly - he couldn’t stand it. 

“I said -” the agent grinned, dipping down, placing his hands on his knees and levelling his face with yours, that patronising glint in his eyes, “are you still fucking here you stupid bitch?” 

Bucky saw red, tucking you under his left arm, pushing you behind his back as he had so many times during missions, and smashing his right straight into the agent’s nose. 

“Didn’t your Ma teach you to speak to ladies with respect?” 

Blood dripped onto the dark dance floor, a circle forming as the other party goers backed away. 

Bucky gave the man one last disapproving look and then his attention was solely focussed on you, leading you out past the crowd until you were outside in the freezing air. He draped his jacket around your shoulders and watched as you snuggled inside. Was he dreaming or did you inhale deeply when he did it? 

“M’sorry, Buck.” You hiccupped, leaning into him, eyes half shut. 

He took your weight gladly, “s’okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, it was those idiots in there.” With staggering steps you made it to the next street over and Bucky said nothing as he unlocked the door. 

“Where are we?” You slurred, your ankles twisting in your heels with each step. 

“My place, I thought you could sober up here while I call you a cab to get you back to your hotel.” 

He settled you on the couch and tried to walk away, but there was a hand hooked in his belt loop. 

“F’got you live in Neewww York,” you closed your eyes, resting your head against his hip as you continued to mumble about ‘the big apple’, he willed himself to breath deeply, he was struggling to keep his body under control. 

“Yeah - what’s your hotel called?” 

“You called me ‘doll’,” you giggled, your fingers closing around his belt.

“I did, sorry, it just slipped out. Your hotel?” 

“Dun worry, I liked it - can I stay here? I sleep here.” You let go, only to curl up on the sofa, your dress sliding up your thighs. 

“Sure.” He sighed. 

Bucky scooped you up again and nudged the door to his bedroom open with his hip, the duvet was still rumpled from the night before. Another night of no sleep, at least it was because of you and not another nightmare. And now you were here, nose pressed into his chest, ready to sleep in his bed. 

“Okay, I’ll be out here if you need me, g’night.”

“Stay.” 

“I’ll be right outside if you need-” 

“Stay.” 

And it was those puppy dog eyes again, the pout, the voice, the hand on his belt. 

Even though he knew you’d sleep like a log, hogging his duvet and encroaching on his space, even though he knew you’d be embarrassed in the morning, probably hungover as hell. Even though, come the morning, he was right. He still had the best nights sleep he’d ever had since he bought the place. 

You hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time, you were sure if you stood up you’d simply melt into a puddle. Sun warm skin, the buzz of a few too many afternoon beers in your system and the sound of laughter as Sam, Joaquín and Bucky continued to try and catch a single fish had lulled you into a half sleep, dozing on the deck of the Paul & Darlene 

“Hey, you want another beer, doll?” 

Bucky’s voice drifted over to you and you cracked one eye open. He’d unbuttoned his shirt half way down his chest, the white cotton sticking to his sweaty, sunkissed skin. He hadn’t been able to drop the nickname since he'd had to rescue you at the gala. Although you'd done your best to keep yourself away. The way his eyes burned into you when he turned your way, the memory of his body imprinted into yours, his leg pressing against you, the shadow of a hardness that made your mouth water. 

He'd been the perfect gentleman, of course. Had made sure you were safe and comfortable, even escorted you back to your hotel in the morning after a huge home cooked breakfast. 

He was a gent. And you were an embarrassment. It ate away at you until you couldn't even look at him. 

“Hmm?” 

“Beer?” He asked again, holding out the bottle, the cap already popped off. 

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” 

He flopped down beside you on the deck, the last of the day fading beyond the horizon and leaving you bobbing in the inky abyss where the sky met the water. 

“You feeling okay?” He took a swig and you watched the condensation on the bottle trickle over his fingers. 

“Oh, yeah, fine.”

“You look dazed, that's all, don't want you getting sunstroke on us.” 

Bucky looked genuinely concerned and you figured, from the sudden sick feeling inside, that maybe your heart had skipped a few beats or flipped over or something. 

“Uh -” Fuck, did he have to leave his shirt open like that? He asked a question, what was it? 

“Are you okay?” He used the back of his right hand and placed it against your forehead, “you feel really hot. Maybe you do have sun stroke.” 

“I’m fine, honestly.” You shrugged him off, but went looking for a bottle of water anyway. 

As the boat made its way back to the dock you watched the lights of Sarah’s house flicker on in the distance. Sam had invited the three of you to stay, taking up all of Sarah’s space and the room on the boat, while her and the boys went into the city for the night. It was a generous offer, one that you couldn’t say no to after months of hard work without a break. 

In the pitch dark you all stumbled back up the driveway, only to find Sarah on the porch. 

“Sarah -” Sam jogged to reach her first, concern written on his brow. 

“I’m alright, Sam, don’t fuss. It’s just Cass, ate too many beignets and threw up so I thought we should come home. He’s upstairs with AJ. Sorry we messed up your plans.”

Bucky took the suitcase from her hands, “it’s your home Sarah, you haven’t messed up anything.” 

She threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him sideways, a familiar gesture you’d seen her make before, but for some reason your tummy twisted, jealousy stirring. 

“Means we’ll need some rooms back though, I know I said you could all stay but-” 

A chorus of voices filled the air, refusing to let Sarah apologise, before you started to get organised. 

“Well Cass needs his own bed, that’s a given.” You said, worried that the young boy might be ill as well as over excited about his food. 

“Of course,” Joaquín agreed. “Sarah, you’re obviously taking your room too. We wouldn’t ask you to give that up. I’ll go on the couch in the sitting room.” He smiled. 

You looked between your other two colleagues, but Bucky spoke first. 

“Well if Torres’ taking the couch I’m not going to argue, I’d rather be in a bed even if it is on a boat.” He ruffled Joaquín’s hair affectionately and the younger man shoved at him. 

Sam looked at you, “you can take my bed, if you want, I can change the sheets -” 

“I’ll sleep on other sofa -” 

“You’ll share with me, right doll?” 

The three of you spoke at once, and Sarah raised her eyebrows then her hands before opening the front door, “I’ll be in bed, you kids figure this out yourself.” 

“Bucky -” Sam started. 

“Sam - we’ve shared before,” there was a glimmer of hope that glowed inside of you when Bucky stepped closer, his shirt fluttering open again in the breeze, revealing his toned chest and that dusting of dark hair, creeping under the buckle of his jeans. “Besides, wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made us share, would it?” Bucky joked, nudging Sam as they went to collect more blankets and bedding, “what about that hotel-” 

His voice faded until all you could hear were the crickets in the distance, you’d forgotten about Joaquín until he walked past, turning backwards at the last moment so he could see you again, “if you don’t want to share with Barnes…” he let the offer hang in the air and you were torn.

Really, you should protest and ask for your own space. But then you’d missed the sound of his steady breathing beside you, the weight and warmth of him when he turned over into your space. In fact you’d missed him completely, even if you’d been avoiding him on purpose. 

Secretly you hoped the bedroom on the boat would be cooler now the sun had gone down, perhaps he’d hold you like he did while you were camping. 

Sam let you back onto the boat, making sure you had enough blankets for two distinct sleeping arrangements if you wanted. 

Bucky slid into the cool cotton sheets in only his boxers and, shyly, you followed. Expecting to sleep alone you’d packed shorts and a vest, revealing more than you really wanted to considering he clearly didn’t return your interest. 

Bucky kept politely to his side of the bed, his arms awkwardly stiff at his side when he turned away from you. Unable to stop yourself you turned too, watching the strong line of his back relax as his breathing evened out.

The boat bobbed gently, lulling you to sleep. You were vaguely aware of a strong arm tugging you closer, the smell of Bucky’s shampoo and sun cream and the weight of a bed rising to meet you. 

Everything went perfectly, again, until it didn’t. 

Intelligence? Secured. Exit? Executed to perfection. Adrenaline fueled burger stop where Bucky wiped a drop of sauce from your lips exactly as you planned? Complete. Motel booking? Perfect?

You and Bucky stared at the two motel beds. 

In the entire time you’d been working together you’d never really managed it. There were either no rooms, the room was wrong or there was no room at all, just whatever you could find. And now there were two beds and you felt sick and your head hurt and after everything you’d seen and done today the last thing you wanted to do was sleep alone. 

“Doll?” Bucky placed a hand on the small of your back and reality came screeching to a halt around you. 

“Sorry, Buck, I must be really tired, I’m going to shower and get in bed. Do you mind if I go first?” You were already half to the bathroom, the zip down on your tac suit, were you imagining Bucky’s eyes dropping down to where your skin was revealed? 

“Of course, whatever you need, I’ll just be…here,”

After a perfunctory shower consisting of a dribble of hot water that quickly turned into a freezing cold torrent, you returned to the shared room. 

Bucky hurried past, his body brushing against yours in the doorway, firm and muscular, yet you knew that being held by him was soft and warm. You tried not to feel too sad that there’d be no excuse for getting close to him again for the rest of your trip. 

By the time he was finished you were tucked into bed, trying to read the paperback you’d found in the draw because the television signal was terrible. 

He stood in the window, a shadow against the light filtering in through the thin material of the curtains, ruffling his wet hair with a towel, his sweatpants so at odds with the man who’d been by your side just a few hours before. This was a rare sight, one you were privileged to see. 

Bucky tossed the towel onto the chair by the door and then sat on the end of the other bed, watching you read from the corner of his eye. You knew because the last three paragraphs had become a blur of words, your focus solely on Bucky. 

“Maybe we should go to sleep, we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.” 

“You’re right.” 

You both slid down into bed, separately, and you’d never felt so alone. 

In the darkness you could see the shape of him, facing the door with his hand tucked under his pillow, and somehow the darkness made you braver. 

“Would it be weird if I said I missed you?” You whispered. 

Bucky rolled over, but put his hand back under his pillow, no doubt he had something hidden under there, he usually did. 

“I miss you too.” 

You shuffled back, letting the sheets fall further down the bed, “I know you have your own space over there and you probably don’t want to be all cramped up with me, but if you wanted to share still -” 

Bucky was out of his bed before you could finish, slipping under the sheets. He’d taken off his sweatpants before getting into bed, his legs bed warm against your own and you bit your lip, trying to focus on his face and not on his almost naked body just inches away. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, doll.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me that.” 

“What if I want to?” 

He was so close, his breath minty when it ghosted over your lips, his nose touching yours, his long eyelashes making his crystal eyes look brighter. 

“What if I missed you being in my bed? What if I always want to share with you?” He reached his hand out, cupping your cheek. 

“You do?” 

And then his lips were on yours, so soft, his tongue slipping past yours as you gasped. One cool metal hand and one callused, drawing you closer, a leg between your thighs, your bodies rolling together and - “oh, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth, letting him tug you into him. 

“I - I want that too -” you squeezed out between kisses, “I wanna always - always - be in your bed - I - I always hoped we had too.” 

“You did?” He pulled back, stroking a thumb down your cheek and over your kiss bitten lips. 

“Uh huh, I did,” 

“You been sabotaging us this whole time, baby?” He laughed, his eyes sparkling. 

“No,” you laughed too, turning your head to kiss the pad of his thumb, “maybe I should’ve though.” 

“Maybe,” his hand left your face to cup the back of your neck, drawing you down for another languid kiss. 

“How long?” 

“How long, what?” 

“How long have you wanted -” his question trailed off into another series of featherlight kisses. 

“Since, ugh - Utah?” You offered shyly, embarrassed to admit that you’d been head over heels from the start. 

With a groan he rolled you over, slipping his body between your open legs, his hips settling just right against your own. “Fuck,” he dropped his forehead to yours, “we could’ve been doing this the whole time.” He admitted, lifting his head to smile down at you. 

“Well then I guess we have some making up to do,” you linked your hands behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

“I guess we do, doll.” 

[clip-the-simp]

A Logan Holiday

Ao3 Master list

Pairing: Logan Howlett // Wolverine x mutant!fem!reader

Word count: 2,536

Cw: slight proofreading, fluff, slight angst, winter holidays, language, alcohol, talks of war (?), this really is just kinda fluffy.

Summary: The reader tried to find Logan to celebrate the winter holidays. She finds him isolating himself from the festivities but doesn’t allow him to sulk in peace.

A/N: I got the writing bug and it’s for Logan. 7 year old me should NOT have been so down bad for this man but she was. But I guess that’s what happens when you have raging parental issues. Enjoy this very out of season dribble.

The air had chilled from the winter that settled in during December. Snow dusted over the grounds of the Xavier Institute as it fell softly from the sky. Most of the children had gone home for the winter break but there were always a few that stuck around the mansion. However, even with many of the school's inhabitants gone, the halls were still lively with the holiday spirit.

Gambit along with Rouge were busy in the kitchen whipping up treats for everyone to enjoy. Their laughs could be heard from the hall as you passed which filled your heart with warmth.

Jubilee tasked herself with the responsibility to run through the mansion halls and decorat to her heart's content. She had nearly ran into you multiple times from not paying attention but it was understandable. Her and Kurt had challenged one another to see who was the better decorator. And from the look of things Jubilee was going to win this one.

Jean and Scott were busy putting up a pine tree in the massive living room. The tree towered over everyone who stood near it but that just gave ample opportunity for decorating. Scott of course took the lower branches while Jean used her abilities to fly to the top. Presents laid under the tree for everyone who stayed for the winter and it brought a smile to your face as you thought about all the love that filled the school.

Leaning against the door frame, you couldn’t help but think about how much you would enjoy spending this time with Logan but he was nowhere to be found. He had run off that morning and you couldn’t track him down. You knew he didn’t like the holidays but you wish he wouldn’t run off like he did. There was a hand suddenly on your shoulder that forced you out of your thoughts. Startled, you jumped around and found Ororo behind you. She looked just as shocked at your reaction as you were.

“Wow now it’s just me.” She reassured you with a smile. Having taken her hand off your shoulder, she returned it to her hot coffee mug that was in her other hand. You let out a sheepish chuckle as you caught yourself.

“Sorry Ororo. Been a little in my head this evening.” You leaned back against the door frame and continued watching as Jean placed the star at the top of the tree. Ororo hummed an understanding note with a nod.

“You’re worried about Logan, aren’t you?” She questioned as she took a slow sip from her drink. You gave her a weak smile at her acknowledgment. Everyone knew you were close to Logan, but no one knew just how close.

It was a one sided kinda love. The two of you had lived through the same worldly events. With every war you had found your way back to him. Although he never had noticed you. Your role was always that of a medic and since Logan never needed medical attention he had never taken notice of you. Sure there were many occasions he would bring a fellow soldier back from the battlefield, bloody and barely holding on to life, but he never stayed long. Through every war you had been there to watch him and his brother fight both on and off the field. When a war would end the two of you would part ways for the time, but war never changed and it always brought you back.

During the Vietnam war however was when you thought you lost him forever. After Logan’s brother Victor had killed a commanding officer they were sent to be executed. You knew it wouldn’t work but there was still a pain in your chest from knowing you wouldn’t see Logan again. That was until many years later when Scott had hauled Logan’s limp body into the institute which caused your heart to seize in your chest. But even with Logan being so close now you didn’t dare confuse that love you still felt for him. Not only because of your cowardice but also due to his lack of memory. There was no chance you would pursue what only you could remember of him.

So you decided to build a new. Scrubbing your memories of the old Logan for ones to make with the one standing today. He was still mostly the same gruff man you knew, but he no longer remembered what all had happened to him. With those thoughts floating though your head you shook them away to bring yourself back to the moment. Ororo looked at you with a soft smile and gentle eyes.

“How did you know?” You asked jokingly as you crossed your arms over your chest. Your smile became more stable as you straightened your posture. “You haven’t seen him have you?”

“Not since this morning. But Charles may have better knowledge of his whereabouts.” She offered before stepping through the large doorway. You watched as she settled herself down on the couch in front of the fireplace. The fire crackled and kept the room warm despite the large windows that covered most of the walls in the room.

Deciding to take Ororo’s suggestion you went to find The Professor. If you remembered correctly he and Hank had settled into the library to play chess while reminiscing on the past. Making your way there you bumped into Kurt who teleported right in front of you causing him to run into your chest.

“Oh, sorry! Gotta run! Can’t have Jubs beat me!” And with that he was gone in a flash. A chuckle left your lips as you made it to the library where you found Charles. The men sat at a table with a chest bored in front of them, but as you entered both raised their heads to look at you.

“Hello professor, I’m sorry to bother you but have you seen Logan?” Your words came out more rushed then had been intended but you were starting to get antsy. He couldn’t have just dropped off the face of the earth. All the vehicles were still in the garage so you know he was here somewhere.

“I haven’t my dear. But we both know how he gets around the holidays.” The Professor informed you with a wariness in his voice. Charles was the only one to know of your history with Logan and understood your care for the man. You let out a sigh as another attempt to find Logan failed.

“I know. But Thank you Professor, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. See ya.” You bid farewell to the two chess players before walking to your room. It was almost driving you mad trying to find Logan. Deciding to take a break you went to your room to change and grab the gift you had for the Wolverine. You had been walking around the mansion in your sweatpants and a festive long sleeve shirt but decided it was time to take the search outside.

As you finished changing into your jeans and put on a jacket over your long sleeve you looked out the window. When looking outside you’re immediately greeted with the pond, but if you look farther you can see some of the trees that scatter the grounds, limbs bare of leaves. In one of those trees you had spotted a shadowy figure amongst its branches. There was no doubt in your mind who it was. So in a quick fashion. You laced up your shoes, grabbed the gift off your night stand, and ran out the door as you tucked it into a large inner pocket of your jacket.

The air bit at your exposed skin as you stepped out. The snow was still falling steadily to the ground as you found yourself outside. Not wanting to get your shoes to wet you formed a small disk of light particles and jumped on.

Your mutation allowed you to manipulate atoms on a subatomic level which you used to your utmost advantage. But you never used them in the ways a villain would, only ever utilizing them for shield defense or healing small injuries on others.

Maneuvering the disk under your feet you made your way over to the tree Logan resided in. It didn’t take long before you were at the base of the tree. Dissolving the light you had used leaving you standing in the snow behind Logen, you stared up at him.

Logan’s face was lit only by the full moon that hung high in the sky, casting a glow over his features. His brows were furrowed while deep in thought as he slumped over the tree limb he was perched on. You couldn’t help admiring him even if he seems upset. Taking a moment to clear your throat you began to speak.

“Mind if I join you?” You heard a grumble from the man as he registered your existence. Taking a moment to unslouch his shoulders he looked down at you .

“I just can’t seem to lose you can I?” Logan gruffed as he watched you summon another disk to lift you up into the tree. His eyes trained on your every move as you plopped down beside him on the sturdy branch.

“You have no idea.” You retorted as you let your legs swing back and forth. He raised his eyebrow at that remark which caused you to pale slightly. “Why don’t you come inside? It’s a lot warmer and you wouldn’t be alone.” You quickly changed the subject back to your mission. A slight growl left Logan’s throat as he slumped back into his previous stance.

“That’s why I’m out here, kid. I want to be alone.” His eyes became fixed on the vast yard that laid before him. The snow was building steadily over the grass as the temperature continued to drop.

“Well that’s too damn bad.” You informed him which only caused his brow to furrow deeper. His leather jacket tightened against his back as he inhaled. Logan knew you weren’t going to just leave him. No matter how mean he got or how unsavory, you stayed. He never understood why and figured he never would.

“But since you’re not going to come in,” you opened up your jacket to pull out the present. He turned his attention back to you and his eyes widened just a fraction. “here. I got you a little something.”

It wasn’t wrapped due to its odd shape but you figured he wouldn’t mind too much. As you handed it over he took a moment to examine it. On an overnight mission in Ireland Logan and yourself had found a local pub. He wasn’t too picky when it came to his whisky but you couldn’t help notice the way he enjoyed this particular brand.

So on the last day of the mission you had wandered back into that same bar and bribed the bartender to sell you an unopened bottle. You were lucky to not have been caught with the liquor on your way back into the institute.

It clicked in Logan’s head instantly as he turned the bottle over in his hands. The Amber liquid sloshed steadily around the glass as he turned it. You watched as he examined it, slowly starting to become self conscious of the gift. His silence wasn’t helping either. The cold had started to bite through your jacket causing you to pull the zipper up your neck. Your gaze fell to the ground below as you started to ramble.

“I saw how you enjoyed it while we were in Ireland so I just thought-“ you were cut off as Logan pulled you into his side. His hand rested on your waist as he brought you closer. The warmth he radiated through his own jacket soothed the chill that had begun to settle into your bones. You looked up at Logan a bit astonished and found he was already looking at you.

“Thank you.” He said simply. There was a genuine appreciation in his tone which caused your face to warm. He was so close which sent your system into overload. Your body grew hot as a spark shot up your spine from the contact.

“No problem.” You replied with a slight shake in your voice. Logan’s grip on your waist disappeared as he shuffled beside you. Too focused on the loss of contact you were startled when his jacket was draped over your shoulders. The smell of his cigars and a lingering scent of pine filled your nose. You couldn’t help tucking yourself further into the warm leather, pulling your arms through the sleeves.

“Thank you. Guess my jacket wasn’t as thick as I thought it was.” You sheepishly admitted. Logan let out a chuckle before placing his arm back around you. His other hand still gripped the bottle of Whisky.

“You should get back inside before you catch a cold.” He warned, his thumb slowly rubbing your side. You let out a chuckle before poking at his shoulder.

“I’m not leaving without you.” A smile bloomed across your face as he let out a sigh. He knew you weren’t lying when you said that. There had been many occasions you had done it before, he both loved and hated that about you. With a grumble he removed his arm from around your waist and jumped down from the tree.

“Come on then.” He said before placing the bottle of whisky in the snow and reached a hand up towards you. A look of skepticism passed over your face as your head tilted to the side.

“Are you going to catch me?” You couldn’t help but ask. There was no doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t. Logan never deliberately hurt you, except for a few times during training. But you had asked him to not hold back, so he didn’t.

“Always.” Logan reassured you with a smile across his face. The branch wasn’t too high up but it would still hurt like a bitch if you landed wrong. So with cautious movement you pushed yourself off and within seconds you were against Logan’s chest. Your arms wrapped around his neck and he held you flush to his body.

You didn’t want to let go. It felt so right being this close to him in his embrace. However you knew that moment had to come to an end. He put you down so your feet were on solid ground before turning to pick up the whisky bottle. Your grip tightened on Logan’s jacket as he began to walk toward the mansion. You summoned one last disk before gliding beside him. Hovering off the ground you were now eye level with Logan.

“I knew you’d come around.” You leaned in to elbow him, he was so easy to tease. Sure Logan had a bad temper and an even worse past, but even with his gruff exterior he was a sweet guy underneath. As much as he didn’t want to admit it. He looked over at you and placed an arm across your shoulders. Hand resting on your shoulder and giving a slight squeeze.

“Shut up.” He grumbled.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 23

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; a tad bit of angst; smidge of illness; all the pregnancy woes in the world; some suggestive dialogue A/N: There's some serious fluff in this. I tried so hard to keep Daryl in character while having him offer all he could to a person doing something precious for him. I hope I succeeded. The explanation of midnight blue is a little bit of self indulgence. It's my own favorite color and the reason why. I know I skipped the nursing home scene but I took the liberty of adding into the timeline somewhere as a mention.

The events of the day before had ended in the most amusing way, with you nearly inviting Carol in before getting dressed.

“She knows what tits and a vagina look like, Daryl.”

“She don’t know what my dick looks like, Y/N!”

“Touche, sir.”

All ended well and Carol saw no genitalia that fine day.

You had officially worn one another out. After the Tylenol and Carol’s snickers and knowing smiles, you and Daryl fell onto the pillows and slept until the next morning. The fever remained, albeit burning less and less hot each time the old man would look him over. His lungs were sounding better. Hershel removed the IV when the archer proved he could keep up with hydrating and promised to take it easy. Of course, he would. He had you as his warden. 

The next evening, after a bowl of hearty stew with the venison you had brought back,—two bowls for Daryl—you laid in bed. He wasn’t complaining, for once, and actually seemed to be close to falling asleep. It had been a relief to watch him eat well, even if he did try to share the second bowl. You were feeling a little nauseated, sharing that knowledge honestly when you turned down his offering. Your condition had definitely improved, the severity of the occurrences much less concerning. Things were actually okay. 

“Daryl?” You licked your suddenly dry lips but continued drawing patterns on his bare chest from your spot against his side with his arm wrapped around you. He hummed, his usual reply, eyes remaining closed while his thumb swept back and forth over your ribs. When you didn’t answer right away, he pulled you a little closer. It was unclear if it was intentional or not.

“What?” He cleared his throat, his voice still gravelly. 

“Can we—I’d like to know more about you.” Your timid request must have snagged his attention because he was shifting your bodies to lie face to face, one hand below his cheek and the other rubbing small circles just over where the baby had finally stopped tap dancing. He was giving you that look, the squinted eyes that scrutinized someone for any indication of dishonesty or hidden agenda. He should know you better than that by now, but you remained quiet.

“Whaddaya wanna know?” He finally queried, his hand going still but remaining where it was.

“Anything. Everything.” You shrugged your available shoulder. “If we’re gonna do this—be an us—then we need to know one another, don’t you think?” He started tapping a finger against your abdomen.

“S’your favorite color?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, scrunching it with a smile. “Midnight blue. What’s yours?” He pulled a face, curiosity shining through.

“Why midnight?” He asked with a sniff, shuffling around a bit on the pillow.

“Because even though I know it isn’t, I like to think that’s the color of the night sky. Not black, but dark blue and full stars. Black is nothing, it’s lonely, but to think of it as blue. It’s a little more comforting.” The archer gave you a thoughtful look, the corner of his mouth ticking upward so minutely that anyone else would have missed it. Not you. “Now, what’s yours?”

He mimicked your earlier shrug. “Dunno. Don’t really got one, I guess.” Your silence beckoned him to explain. After moving his hand from below his cheek to chew on the side of his thumb, he eventually elaborated. “Grew up learnin’ to ‘preciate all’a ‘em. House was—it was always dark, ‘specially after mama died. When my old man—I spent a lot’a time outside. Noticed things. Blue sky’d turn a bit purple before it’d snow, even if it was just a lil’. Grass—it’d be green but have those brown pieces where I’d walk all’a the time. Creek looked muddy unless ya stood in it. Then ya’d see the bottom an’ how the water’d catch the light. Sometimes it’d be blue, sometimes kinda green. Just depended on the day.” His gaze had dropped away from you at some point, focused on the miniscule area of bed sheets between your bodies.

You were glad for it because your eyes had started to fill and shine. You were granted the opportunity to blink back the tears before he looked up. Daryl was so much more than anyone had given him credit for, than anyone had been willing to learn. Carol had told you a story about an exchange with Andrea, when she had taken a jab at what she thought was his limited vocabulary.

“Get a dictionary. Look it up. Observant.”

“D’ya like dogs or cats?” He asked so suddenly that you nearly flinched, realizing that you had just been staring at some point past his head for an undetermined amount of time. There was no way he hadn’t noticed.

“I like both, but I’m a dog person.” You frowned. Having a dog would probably be something your child would never get to experience. “You?”

“Dogs. Cats ain’t trustworthy.” It was such an amusing thing to say with such a straight face. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, I need to hear this.” You caught him staring at your lips, maybe watching you laugh or maybe he wanted to kiss you. Both? You pretended not to notice. 

“Dogs’re smart but cats’re calculated. Make ya think they’re all innocent when they ain’t. Always up to somethin’.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re afraid of cats.” You smirked, absently reaching to run your fingers through his hair. Daryl made a disgruntled sound and shook his head to stave off your attempts.

“Ain’t afraid’a ‘em. Just don’t trust ‘em.”

“Right.” You nodded, face falling into feigned seriousness before it became real, your next question burning inside your chest, just below the fear you’d need to surpass to ask. He was likely to shut down the session, maybe even close off completely. You could always hope he’d begun to trust you enough to open up, even if only a little, but the prospect suddenly seemed so far away. “Daryl.”

“Ask.” He was looking right into your eyes with a hint of determination you’d seen before when the circumstances were different, dire even. Was that how he saw this? A dire situation that could result in you being gone in some way?

“Who—what happened?” You let a single fingertip press gently against the deepest scar on his chest, your eyes lingering on it for but a moment before you contradicted his intensity with tenderness. Not pity, but a gentle curiosity. A request to allow you to understand.

“My dad—he was never a good man.” He swallowed hard. “Got worse after mama died. She drank. Fell asleep with a smoke, burned up in our house.” His fingers were plucking at the small space between you, a fine tremor in his hand. He pulled it out of your reach when you reached for it. “Didn’t know what to do with us, I guess. Me an’ Merle—my brother.” The brother that Rick had left behind in Atlanta, the brother who was likely dead. Yet another relative your baby would never know. “Merle tried to—he’d take the beatin’ when he could, did his best. Booked it outta there when he couldn't take it no more. Joined the army.” His eyes were wet, but he sniffed and cleared his throat. “Wasn't nothin’ standin’ between me an’ the old man then—between me an’ the belt. The cigarettes.” He fell silent, clearly finished with talking about his parents.

“Tell me about Merle?” You ventured, shot down with a shake of his head against the pillow.

“Ain’t your turn.” He sniffed again. “Your mama—tell me ‘bout your mama.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more of a soft demand; an it’s only fair. You didn’t mind. You’d accepted her abandonment long ago. You had been content with the amazing father with whom you were gifted.

“She booked it. We didn’t have a lot of money, and she never really wanted me in the first place. Tucked tail and ran the first chance she got.” You shrugged, unbothered beyond the twinge of guilt you felt for being so okay with the hand you had been dealt while Daryl struggled to even think about his past. “I didn’t even miss her. I mean, it sucked at first. I always felt bad, watching daddy struggle. So, I learned to help and that was that.”

He was so obviously jealous, yet another emotion that he didn't know how to process. You saw the anger flare before he doused it, returning to a solemn state of silence. He was awaiting your question, wherein you found a dilemma. Did you push through the conversation about his family? Or did you switch to something else, give him a break? 

“Thank you for trusting me.” When you reached for him then, he didn’t pull away. His mask cracked and a few pieces fell away, but he held the rest steady. “That’s enough for now, okay? If you have more questions, I’ll answer them. Gladly. But you’ve shared enough, okay?” When he studied you, you didn’t let him proceed with his usual scrutiny. “It’s fine, Daryl. We can talk more when—if—you ever want to again. You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

He accepted the out with a long exhale and a nod, his gaze falling away. You embraced the silence and its discomfort, just touching him while he was in a place to allow it. You stroked his cheek, the stubble thicker than usual with his confinement to the bed. You smoothed his hair, scratched gently over his scalp. Finally, you scooted closer and pulled him toward you to meet in the middle. Tangling your legs around his, you guided his head to rest under your chin. He let you without complaint or denial, a testament to how he had silently endured when he needed comforting.

The two of you laid there, his breaths evening out to the point where you thought he had fallen asleep. Then, breaking the silence, he cleared his throat. “Why me?” You pulled back just enough to angle your head and look at him.

“Why you what?”

“Why ya settlin’ with me? We can raise a kid together without you givin’ up a chance with someone better.” He took a deep breath, keeping his head down. “I won’t hold ya to it if ya change your mind later—if someone shows—”

“There’s no one better.” You nearly snapped at him, your tone harsher than you’d ever meant for it to be. He flinched and you instantly hated yourself for it. You’d seen someone’s quick movements earn that reaction before, but words hardly affected Daryl physically, not like that. “Daryl.” You silently pleaded with him to look at you, but were left disappointed. “There’s no one better.” You repeated, so softly that it was almost a whisper, your breath disturbing his hair. “I want to raise this baby with you. I want to be with you. I love you. That’s not gonna change.”

He simply hummed, the sound reverberating against your throat. You wanted to throttle him, but none of his self-deprecation was his fault. You hated people you didn’t even know for it. “Don’t deserve all this.” Your brow furrowed deeply at his words. “Feel like m’gettin’ somethin’ meant for someone else. Like m’takin’—” The words died on the tip of his tongue. What could you even say to that? You could tell him he deserved the world—the fucking universe—but he’d never believe it. You’d just have to show him. It would take time and patience that would likely be tested over and over, but he was worth it.

“You’ll see.” You settled back against him, let silence fall between you again. After a while, he actually did fall asleep, the tension you had noticed in him finally melting away into a restful state he so desperately needed in order to continue getting well. A kiss was pressed into his hair. You never fell asleep yourself, simply lying there with him. Your heart ached yet it was full. With your fingers traveling up and down his back in gentle motions you hoped were comforting even within his dreams, you told him again. “You’ll see.”

Daryl was coughing strenuously by the time you reached the truck, his hand pressed hard against his chest. The cold air, the rush of grabbing up all the bags, the running from the herd—it was taking its toll on his still healing body.

“Keys.” You demanded. “I’m driving.”  You could see it on his face that he was going to argue, but he doubled over in another fit of coughs and deep, wheezing gasps. Digging in his pocket through the ordeal, he tossed you the keyring. The bags you two were responsible for were tossed into the back next to the bike. It took the archer two attempts to pull himself onto the bench seat, which required the effort of both your bodies to move back in order to accommodate your 30 week bump. Just as your door closed, a discolored hand slapped against the window, startling you into a shout.

The van was already moving when you pressed the gas to peel out behind it, mowing down at least three walkers. Dark blood splattered onto the windshield, smearing but mostly washing away when you used the partially frozen fluid and wipers. Daryl’s forehead was against the dashboard as he fought to catch his breath in the chilled air. You were fumbling for the temperature controls when he smacked your hand away.

“Just—just drive. I got it.” He rasped, the warming air filling the cab a moment later. His back thudded against the seat, shaking it slightly, his head falling back against the headrest with his eyes closed. He was finally sucking in gulps of air into irritated, partially healed lungs. When you reached a point that was safe enough to pull off, you would make sure the group remembered his state of health and didn’t travel for too long before finding anything suitable and safe enough for a stay of at least a few days. “Quit your worryin’, woman. M’good.”

“Just don’t, Daryl.” You argued quietly, desperate to keep the peace between the pair of you that you’d managed to create. “Let me worry. If you don’t fight me on it, I’ll be less likely to do something stupid.” You glanced over, finding his head rolled toward you, his jaw set but he relented with a jerk of his head.

“Fine. Just have ‘em find whatever. S’long as it keeps your ass right here beside me.” 

You smiled and silently celebrated your victory, even as he noticed and grumbled beside you. When you placed your hand, palm up, on the seat between you, only a heartbeat passed before you felt him squeezing your fingers.

Roughly eight weeks left, though Hershel said you could safely deliver if you made it at least four more weeks. You were actually becoming slightly miserable. The nausea would come and go, though you actually vomited less and less. Your ankles were missing completely under the puffy skin. Your belly felt so heavy that even just standing was becoming a chore. Lori was sympathetic, constantly giving you advice. Not only you but Daryl as well. You had seen her whispering to him, watched the way he would go completely still, not looking at her but listening intently. Rick could give him all the advice in the world but Lori’s input was crucial. She knew exactly what you needed.

The archer argued with you less and less, though you could see the restraint it took for him to bite his tongue, sometimes literally. He let you hunt with him because you were restless. Lori had said it was because of the urge to start nesting, which you had found amusing, but Daryl already knew about it because of the damn books he continued to snatch up on runs. Why it frustrated you that he was willing to go that extra mile was beyond your comprehension. Maybe because he knew more about what was going on with your body than you did? You should have been grateful, but all you wanted to do was kick him in the shins.

“Can ya just—nevermind.” He grunted from behind you while the two of you tracked some turkeys. You knew they’d be in the trees for the cold weather so you kept your eyes upward, irritating the hunter when you would nearly trip or run into something. Still, he kept his cool, which was admirable for your hot-headed partner. Daryl didn’t like the term boyfriend, you’d discovered during a brief conversation where you’d found your tongue looser than normal and spilling out questions you’d otherwise never ask. The two of you had settled on being partners, though you didn’t feel it was enough to describe your relationship. He had simply shrugged.

You couldn’t hunt with a gun. He’d all but forbade it. Too loud, would draw walkers. So he found you a bow. Not a crossbow but a traditional one. It didn’t take much practice. You only needed to become familiar with the tension of the string, how far to pull for the trajectory and speed needed. Aiming came naturally.

“Shut up, Daryl. I’m fine.” You snapped, instantly muttering an apology. It was but wasn’t his fault you felt so crappy. It took two to make the baby whose little foot or hand or whatever was always pressing into your ribs. You were just as responsible and tried to remember that even when it was you and not him that felt like absolute shit most of the time. As if the world was hellbent on fucking with you, the toe of your boot found its way beneath an exposed root and you nearly faceplanted. If not for Daryl’s constant observance, you surely would have.

He snagged your bicep, dropping his crossbow to reach across your chest and grip your other shoulder. All you needed was a dislocated shoulder when you were already so beyond miserable. He made sure you stayed on your feet, nearly stumbling himself, but saying nothing when you found his irritated but concerned gaze. The weight of it instantly brought on the sniffling you knew was about to lead to a breakdown.

Over the course of only three weeks, the archer had memorized the signs and adapted, learning how to soothe you even at the expense of his own comfort. He immediately pulled you into his arms as close as he could with your ever-growing belly between you, shushing you and rubbing your back. 

“S’alright. I won’t letcha fall.”

Noble as his intentions were, that only seemed to stir up even more guilt. “I don’t know why I can’t just listen when you tell me I should stay behind! Why do you let me just do whatever I want even when you know it’s the wrong choice?!” You rubbed your wet face against his button up, leaving a dark spot and not for the first time.

“Cause you’re hard-headed an’ feelin’ like crap. Only make ya feel worse for me to argue with ya.”

And just like that, the switch flipped. “I’m not hard-headed, Daryl! I’m fucking capable and everyone wants to treat me like I’m gonna break!” You pushed him away roughly and stomped forward, sniffling harder than necessary. You heard a sigh from behind you, the sound of him picking up his crossbow and before following at a distance.

When you shot down the turkey, even beyond the pride you felt carrying it back, something told you that he saw it first but didn’t even raise his weapon.

Carol had heated some water for you so you could wipe down, feeling like your skin was crawling after being in the woods all day. It was a foreign feeling for the leaves and cool, fresh air to feel like it stuck to your flesh and needed to be scrubbed away. You were a mess. Your body hurt and you constantly needed to pee. You were irritable. You’d want Daryl to fuck you one minute and then shove him away the moment he touched the slick apex of your thighs. You were torturing the poor man who didn’t have a clue how to provide the type of comfort you needed when he couldn’t even process how to overcome his own lack of it growing up.

You didn’t hear him enter the room as you bowed over the small sink in the dusty bathroom, your skin still damp beneath your long sleeved shirt and flannel sleep pants. You had washed your hair to the best of your ability, the wet strands forming a curtain around your face that blocked your view of the door. You didn’t startle when you felt the heat of his body behind you. It was familiar at that point in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl.” You whispered, the syllables of his name coming out as a soft whimper. His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing nervously.

“S’okay.” He stepped closer and you fully expected to feel his erection press against your ass, but that wasn’t the case. There was only the firm safety of his body, your human security blanket. “Wanna—can I try somethin’?” His voice shook beside your ear but his hands remained steady, digits still squeezing and releasing. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, his exhale warm against your neck.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t his warm palms sliding beneath your belly and lifting with more gentleness than you were aware a human being could possess. The absence of the weight pulling down was an instant relief, your muscles turning to jello. You leaned back against him and he kept you upright, silently offering you comfort and succor that your body didn’t even know it needed.

“Fuck.” You breathed, eyes fluttering closed and head laying back against his shoulder. The tears came when his lips pressed against your temple, wordlessly expressing his gratitude for what you were enduring. “Thank you.” Your own appreciation trembled over your lips, whether toward the man at your back or a god you weren’t sure you believed in for putting him there.

[m1d-45]

a break in routine

summary: wishing for sethos and alhaitham, sagau edition

word count: 2.7k

warnings: minor spoilers for alhaitham story quest, minor spoilers for alhaitham/kaveh lore, author knows nothing about sethos, obvious favoritism is obvious

-> gn reader (you/yours) and unspecified travelled (they/them)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

it was an ordinary day in sumeru city.

the streams bubbled across water-worn rocks, dusk birds flew lazily through the skies. shroomboars wandered from field to field, and scholars studied their craft. workers honed their trade, merchants sold their goods, and all was normal for the average citizen.

for two certain vision wielders, however, the sun high above seemed to taunt them. it, and the large clouds drifting by, hid the stars from view. there was no way to watch the constellations shift across the sky, to try and pinpoint the moment where the existing ones fell and new ones rose in their place.

but they had jobs to do. they couldn’t afford to be so distracted. so they breathed, forced their hands from their vision, and took another step forward.

in the desert, anxious feet paced around camp, the crackling fire lighting up the tents as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon. the sand had yet to start cooling, but there was a blessedly strong wind blowing through. not enough to be worried about, but enough to wick away sweat, making such repetitive movement bearable.

he couldn’t help it, really. in all his time with his vision, sethos had never once seen his constellation in the sky. he never expected to, having never met you in person, but tonight was different. tonight, gourd and god were falling from the skies, and his heart raced. static electricity had clung to his skin all week, shocking anyone who tried to touch him if he didn’t let it discharge through his vision first. it had become habit to tap the frame before trying to touch anyone else, but the symptoms weren’t the source of his concern. what was important was the source. he wanted to know the reason why his eyes seemed to be attached to the heavens above, the reason for his unnatural restlessness and the irritating feeling that he was waiting for something but being unable to determine what.

a skim of local chatter and a run-in with a rtawahist scholar had mostly answered his questions. he’d never heard of the stars shifting being such a personal experience for vision-wielders, but even the scribe was in a strange mood lately. if he was affected, level-headed and known for his cold logic, then it made sense that sethos couldn’t seem to sit still, right? right. it had to be.

he looked up again, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the last of the sun’s rays. the clouds were moving unnaturally quickly, clearing the way for the first stars to shine through. it still wasn’t quick enough.

he dropped his hand and head, huffing a sigh and continuing his patrol around camp. it was too tight to be of much use, but his mind was wandering enough for his body. the scraps that he remembered from the scholar were looping in his head, over and over with every beat of his feet on the sand and his heart in his chest.

the name that had popped into his head when he received his vision. its meaning, decrypted using books older than the archons. the thin lines of electro shining through the gold casing. an hourglass, forever bleeding sand, a clock forever counting down to some event.

an event that was rapidly drawing closer. something that prickled beneath his skin and stole his breath, something that he couldn’t prove but couldn’t ignore. the few clouds were clearing, letting him see the stars above. they didn’t mean anything to him—he could pick out the wayfinding stars with ease, the tail of the lesser lion and the ear of the hare guiding his travels, but everything else was nonsense. rtawahist dedicated itself to documenting everyone every constellation that rose and fell, but he didn’t even know how to pick them out. he’d pulled up his vision at some point, tracing the seal of the temple with his thumb like it would help him find what he was searching for.

he didn’t see the first star fall. all he saw was a flurry of shooting stars, each shining a bright blue. one was violet, his hand tensing around his vision at the sight.

that annoyed him. he searched himself for a reason as to why—you had cast down stars into the city before, so why did it hurt now? he was uneasy, dragging his eyes away from the sky in favor of easier motions. he didn’t understand the sky, but he understood his camp. he knew the tents he walked around, knew the dunes he searched for scorpions, and that was enough. he didn’t need to understand anything more than this, no matter how much he might want to. he was just sethos, and that was okay.

for the rest of the night, he paced with a vendetta. he wrapped his vision in cloth to keep his hand from seeking it out, pacing the same loop around and around. tent, rock, different tent, different rock. occasionally he would see the shimmer of something too blue to be a regular sky, but he always turned away. he didn’t need more distractions.

it took him until dawn to realize that the lines of his constellation were sparking with electro.

in the city, the grand scribe had long since readjusted to his old position. his routine was strict and with no room for error, his feet guiding him out the front doors the moment the bells rang. anything happening before his shift wasn’t his problem, and anything that happened after for someone else to deal with. he knew this regiment well, and had long-since familiarized himself with the routines of those around him. it made things easier.

kaveh returned to the city just after dusk, when all the usable light had fallen from the sky. tighnari was never away from gandharva ville after dark. cyno could be a wildcard, but even he stuck to a (loose) curfew. when he didn’t, he often had good reason.

this system worked well for alhaitham. he knew where everyone was with some non-zero degree of certainty, and if he couldn’t find them then he knew who to ask. there was always variability in human behavior, but with enough back-up plans this could be easily accounted for. some required more than others, some none at all, and some…

some liked to disobey all of his observed trends for little apparent reason.

he pushed through the front doors of the akedemiya, seeing the usual crowd of scholars. some were preparing to leave, others had just returned, and he didn’t care about either group. straight ahead, standing beside the railing, was kaveh.

he wasn’t waiting for him, or else he’d have turned around by now. he was dressed in formal wear, stitched together scarves draped over his shoulders like a cape. he lowered the sound dampening on his headphones as he approached, chatter and windsong filtered out. kaveh was standing with his hands on the railing—not currently acting as a vessel, but still under some sort of control. that’s the only reason he dressed up like this.

red eyes found his, then looked away with a smile. hm.

alhaitham had asked the traveller more than his fair share of questions about divine possession. he’d only experienced it once before, when investigating siraj, but rumors had carried much more details than what he’d experienced. realms of stars and invisible floors, even varying levels of presence and control, which he hadn’t thought possible. sure, the distance between your world and teyvat was likely farther than he could comprehend, but why would you be able to specify exactly how someone moved one moment and then be a mere spectator the next?

the traveller, expectedly, had little to share. what could they know of a god’s motivations? all alhaitham could do was speculate, blindly waiting for something to change and give him more information.

it was somewhat unnerving, seeing kaveh like this. it was always obvious when a vessel was being inhabited, but they were typically doing something. they never stood still for long. shopping, talking, fighting, anything was preferable to… this. kaveh was an explosive who’s fuse was far too delayed, leaving him on edge. he was still breathing, so it wasn’t as if alhaitham had been pulled into some other dimension. he’d heard from tighnari how disorienting it could be being pulled into the sky—a “banner,” he’d called it, though he didn’t say why—for the first time, and was thankful it didn’t seem like that had happened. then again, kaveh was also clearly under your control….

…for the first time in a confusingly long while—when had the sky turned dark?—alhaitham tore his eyes from kaveh’s, looking around. everyone had left.

no scholars chatted about their problems. no guards stood by the door. no birds chirped in the trees, not even when he removed his headphones entirely. the clouds had frozen in the sky. no breeze disturbed his skin, not even slightly. it was as if he and kaveh were in a private bubble of time, frozen in place.

“just wait.”

he looked back. kaveh had snapped out of his trance, evidently, his hands shaking from the force with which he gripped the railing. alhaitham put his hand on his back to steady him, not missing the feverish heat to his skin.

“are you okay?” he asked cautiously, trying to match what he was seeing to what little knowledge he had on hand. his heart was racing, trembling as if the non-existent wind could blow him over at any second.

“it’s… been a while.”

“…” was that possible? sure, the first time had certainly rattled him for a few days, but he’d assumed that it got easier with time. then again, even the traveller needed a few seconds to adapt whenever you left, and it wasn’t as if alhaitham knew everything about being a vessel. a few trial runs in a few chance domains didn’t make him an authority.

he set that aside for now. “what are we waiting for?”

kaveh waved a hand up, towards the sky. “wait.”

he looked up, searching the gaps between the rapidly clearing clouds. they didn’t drift away, instead turning more and more transparent, letting him see the shapes beneath. his heart twisted as he recognized his own, a bird drawn out in barely-there lines of green so thin he wasn’t even sure if they were real. he’d always had strong elemental sight; was that it?

he waits. eventually, nine random stars light up blue, shining brightly before burning out. one glows purple, growing larger and lingering for a little longer.

a starshower. kaveh had been brought here as witness to the stars falling, and alhaitham had probably just been caught in the bubble of time around him. he inches a little closer to him at the thought, selfishly wanting to watch.

another batch lit up, and the purple one fell out of the sky. it dropped over the south-eastern horizon, likely landing in inazuma. another, north towards mondstadt.

another. the blue paled in comparison to the bright light from his constellation, the six stars flashing in turn. lines of gold shot along his vulture’s silhouette, the light coalesced into one single star. it was a pinpoint that rapidly blossomed and grew, overtaking the stars around it. he could feel his heart begin to race, watching and hoping as it drew closer and closer.

he didn’t know what this meant. he didn’t know the difference between blue and purple and gold, he didn’t know if there was a significance to his constellation shining, but he wanted it. he couldn’t understand what it was, couldn’t rationalize a reason to, but he wanted that star. it was his, and he’d fight to get it.

it was easier than that. he didn’t have to do anything but watch as the light grew and grew until it enveloped his whole person, striking all the breath out of his chest.

so this was what it felt like. light danced across the surface of his skin, filling his vision with a mixture of green and gold. he could feel his heart beating in his chest, every pulse of blood pulling more energy into his soul. it wasn’t the same as the brief moments before, in the cave; to compare the two would be like claiming a drop of water was the same as the sea itself, simply because both were blue. “disservice” didn’t begin to cover it.

he understood kaveh’s disorientation now. if he ever got used to the feelings of love and joy and pure adoration poured into him, he’s not sure he’d like whoever he became.

“alhaitham?”

all at once, the world came back into place. the wind wicked what he belatedly realized were tears from his face, birds and insects too loud to be comfortable. he’d grabbed onto kaveh’s shoulder at some point, which he now released.

he coughed, finding it unusually hard to breathe. “apologies. let’s leave.”

kaveh laughed, dramatically hooking his arm around his shoulders. to any bystander, it might have just looked like he had zoned out for a moment, but kaveh knew. kaveh was there in that private hollow of time, and was the only one here with him now, the only reason he could put one foot in front of the other.

the ramp down from the akedemiya was longer than he remembered, though the streets were appropriately empty. it was the one normal thing that had occurred in the past… however long he’d been trapped in time, and he clung to it as a lifeline.

kaveh is the one to unlock the door, both of them ducking inside. he sinks into the familiar couch, barely bothering with his boots or coat. his fingers slip on the clasp holding his vision to its chain, fumbling for far too long. he doesn’t blame himself.

it was largely the same as the last time he’d seen it. a pale gold frame wrapped around a shining green crystal, the sigil of dendro glowing within. but when he turned it over, the outline of a vulture shone brighter than before. dendro energy flowed freely, barely restrained by the glass. he didn’t consider his control over the elements to be weak by any means, but even a fool could see that something had changed. it was more than training, more than what could be achieved by practice alone. for the first time, the power lent to him by his god was his to keep.

“it looks like you owe me one,” kaveh jokes, holding out a thick mug. he isn’t usually one to drink coffee, but for now he makes an exception. it’s as bitter as it is dark, clearing some of the fog in his head.

“…why would i owe you anything?”

he smiles. it’s soft, genuine, and rare. “i may or may not have been told i was joining a team of ‘the grand scribe’s favorites.’ if i hadn’t been there, you might’ve missed it.”

that’s ridiculous. the idea that a mortal could have any leverage on where the divine cast their light was laughable at best and pathetic at worst. so why had he said it?

kaveh’s presence didn’t alter your actions, but it certainly changed his. normally he’d have gone straight home, entirely missing the time bubble caused by his presence. sure, arguably the star would have found its way to him all the same, but he would have missed the meteor shower.

“…fine. i’ll pay you back later.”

his words were stiff and he had to force them out of his mouth, but it didn’t matter.

kaveh laughed.

[cordeliawhohung]

As You Wish

knight!Price x fem!princess!Reader - part of @glitterypirateduck 's october writing challenge!

In order to save your people from a long lasting and brutal war, you are sent to the neighboring kingdom of Draewen to marry their prince. Sir John Price is tasked with ensuring you get there safely, but the forest of the mountain is wild and unpredictable. In a terrible twist of events, you learn the exact difference between the brutality of nature, and the brutality of men.

challenge story elements: Alternative Universe | forest/wooded area | bodyguard/protector | "Look at me."

masterlist

warnings: canon typical violence (brief descriptions of violence/blood), Price only calls reader Princess, attempted kidnapping, non-sexual nudity, a little too much world building, a little cuddling, a dash of hurt/comfort, a drizzle of very slight mutual pining

wc: 8.9k (sorry)

In two months, you would reach the kingdom of Draewen where you would spend the rest of your life as a trophy. It was a land said to be cloaked in vibrant green valleys and rich, winding rivers. When the Draewish messenger arrived in the great kingdom of Venaca to talk with your father, The King, about your marriage to their prince, he had arrived with pressed flowers that grew in the valley that laid right at the mouth of their kingdom. They were beautiful, and perfectly preserved, and it gave you a little hope for the scenery you knew you would be stuck staring at for the rest of your life. 

As the Princess of Venaca, your father bestowed upon you one duty: marry the Draewish Prince so that they would lend their strongest soldiers in the fight against the Neshevian Army. You loved your kingdom. You loved the fresh fruits that grew in the orchards around the basin, and you loved the fresh spring water that ran off from the towering mountains that scared off most intruders. You didn’t want to leave. But if you wanted to save that scenery, save your people, then you would marry that prince. 

You left at the end of spring when the white tips of the mountains that enveloped the basin melted away and the soil was rich with water and greenery. The crisp air of the mountains filled your lungs with a chill, even in the enclosure of your carriage. Golden rays of sun bled through the thick foliage overhead, and you had never heard the birds chirp so loudly in your entire life. 

When night fell, and your caravan would stop to make camp for the night, the height of the mountains brought you so close to the stars you swore you could reach out to kiss them. Your lady-in-waiting, Eilra, would look at the stars with you, and point out vague ideas and shapes of what she could remember of the names of constellations. 

“Zekral,” she said, moving her pointed finger in a circular motion. “God of War. His shield lies here.”

Though she pointed it out so clearly, you could hardly make out the shape, but you nodded anyway. “I wish I could look at the stars all night. I would name every single one of them,” you claimed. 

“You would run out of stars,” Eilra laughed. 

“I would sooner run out of names,” you retorted with a grin. 

“Illasi,” someone interrupted.

Both you and Eilra turned to the new voice that spoke up beside you. The orange blaze of the campfire illuminated the features of a tall man with a sword strapped to his side. His arms were crossed lazily over his broad chest, and his eyes stared up at the sparkling sky just like yours had been. Faint scars littered his arms, but his bearded face remained completely intact despite the ruggedness that was evident throughout his body. 

Sir John Price. He had been The King’s personal guard and military advisor ever since the previous man had been ousted as a traitor five years prior. Your conversations with him back in the kingdom had been short and quick, but you remembered him at the head of the table in the War Room. Stoic, leading, dangerous. Your father trusted him enough to put you in his care as you traveled to Draewen. Every single soldier and servant in the caravan answered to him. 

“Is that a recommendation for a name?” you asked as your eyes carefully studied the man. 

Looking away from the sky, John took a few slow and careful steps towards you. Though his height may have been intimidating to anyone else, you had only ever known the man as an ally. So when he crouched next to you, nearly joining both you and your lady-in-waiting on the log you found yourselves seated on, you weren’t scared. 

“Illasi is the Goddess of Harvest and Blood,” he explained as his eyes looked back up to the stars. After a moment of searching, his hand raised into the air, fingers outstretched towards the vastness that swallowed the sky. “You can see her knife here.” 

You did your best in attempting to follow his guiding hand, but the stars were too thick for you to really make out any solid shape. Really, you weren’t sure how anyone could look up at that void of stars and attempt to wrangle them into silly constellations. John seemed to notice your blank gaze, and he let out something that sounded like a breathy laugh as his hand fell away from the sky. 

“Higher, Princess,” he said. 

His fingers carefully brushed against the underside of your chin as he tilted your head up. Despite the chilly air that swaddled the mountain and her forest, his skin radiated heat. 

“Do you see it? A single sided blade, one used for cutting meat?” he asked.

Suddenly, it all fell into place. You could see the stars lining perfectly to create a knife truly fit for a goddess. A strong point, a deep belly for the blade, and a strong and sturdy handle. This knife was one meant to draw flesh from bone. 

“Looks like a hunting knife,” you noticed while John’s fingers withdrew from your chin. You hummed slightly as you broke your gaze from the sky and turned to him. “I didn’t take you for a stargazer, John.” 

He looked down at you for a split moment before pushing himself back to his feet. For a man who was strong and dangerous enough to protect The King, he had such kind, almost soft, eyes. 

“The earth, seas, and skies are the only thing that unites every human, Your Highness. Their stars included,” he responded simply. He then gave a curt and polite bow of his head while his hand lazily rested on the hilt of his sword. “Goodnight, Princess.” 

You smiled. “Goodnight, John.” 

The crackling of the fire only grew louder as he wandered off into the darkness of the woods, certainly to scout the perimeter or something military-like. You brought your gaze back up to the stars, and you found it odd how your eyes seemed drawn to Illasi’s Knife, like you couldn’t look anywhere else. 

“Princess,” Eilra spoke up. She said the title softly, yet with an odd tone. It was the questioning tone she used with you whenever you confused her. “Why do you call Sir Price by his first name?” 

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips as you looked at your lady. “Because Sir Price sounds a bit too much like surprise. A fitting name for a knight, perhaps, but not for any man. I believe everyone is human first before their title.”

Eilra repeated his name and title slowly as if she was feeling the exact way her tongue moved, and she grinned. “Is it not rude to ignore his title?” 

“Titles mean nothing,” you defended. “And neither do names, really. I would respect him all the same even if he were called by any other name.” 

It was always difficult for Eilra to hide her disapproval of your ideologies. She was a proper lady through and through, bound to the rules of The Royal Family ever since she became your lady-in-waiting. But she also knew better than to speak too far out of turn; not in fear of your non-existent wrath but in fear of not upholding any lady-like values. 

That night, you fell asleep under the stars next to Eilra, and awoke early the next morning to pack up camp and return along your journey. The days were long as you sat inside your carriage, and attempting to rest as you traversed the uneven trail was impossible. Conversation could only cure your boredom for so long, and you had already finished the two books you had allowed yourself to bring. 

But things only got worse as a second winter hit. 

Not even a full two weeks into traveling, a bitter wind tore through the caravan around midday, and snow followed shortly after. The soldiers and servants muttered amongst themselves when the first flakes hit the soil. Some said they ought to turn back for Venaca while they still could. Others claimed the snow would vanish as quickly as it appeared. 

You tried not to concern yourself too much with the new events. Fighting against nature was a futile battle, and you knew that you would just have to take things in stride. But when the caravan stopped, you couldn’t deny that sinking feeling that settled deep within the darkness of your stomach. 

“Perhaps we are making camp,” Eilra rationalized. “It would be unwise to push forward in these conditions. If we wait out the storm, we can continue when better weather comes.” 

You moved the maroon curtains that obscured the small window on the door and peered outside as best as you could. The warmth of your bodies and breath had fogged the window, and you took the sleeve of your dress to wipe the moisture away. Only an expanse of trees was there to meet your vision, their fresh green branches turned pale with powdery snow. 

It came as sudden as the flapping of a bird's wing and as violent and unstoppable as the water of a raging river. First was the sound of a dull thud, and then a shriek from one of the servants. You tried your best to peer out the window, to press your ear firmly against the wood of the door to make sense of the commotion as it grew louder. Metal clanking together, barking shouts and gurgling yelps, a cacophony of pain that you had never been subjected to previously. 

It wasn’t until a streak of red as rich and dark as the very color of your curtains stained the thin window of your carriage that you fully understood the danger of the situation. Nature wasn’t the only threat in the wilds. Man could kill just as quick and as violent as the earth could, and with a hatred that even the God of Death himself would look away from. 

You didn’t even have time to cower away from the gore or scream in fear before the door opened with such force it nearly broke off its hinges. A strange man in leather armor and a dark blue cloak peered into the carriage with wild eyes, glancing back and forth between you and Eilra. The three of you were frozen as if the mountains had sapped you of all your warmth already. This man - this wild animal of a man - was trying to make a decision. 

Cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist with a grip so stern you couldn’t help but cry out as the man yanked you out of the carriage. Your knees hit the frozen ground with a harsh pop, and your shoulder screamed as the man attempted to force you to your feet by pulling on your arm.

Eilra’s voice was raw when she called your name. Your true name, the name your mother or father would mutter to you in private when they held you in their arms. The name they used before sending you to some distant land. She called you by your name and it was the last word that passed her lips before it was cut off with a sickening gurgle. 

Even if you wanted to, you weren’t able to look back at the carriage before another pair of hands grabbed you. Both men worked together in securing you with harsh rope that dug into your skin and a ragged cloth that obscured your eyes. Your knees sunk further into the fresh snow as you struggled pitifully against those barbarians, but your cries and pleas were drowned out by the chaos that raged around you. 

“Are you sure she’s the princess?” one of the men asked. 

“Who cares. She’s a girl, isn’t she?” the other barked. 

They spoke your tongue but their tone was wrong. There was a certain lilt to their speech, and their words sounded too detached from one another. Neshevian you thought. They were from the very kingdom your people had been warring against since before you were brought into that world. The whole reason you were traveling to Draewen was to unite armies to fight against them, and they had come along to slaughter your caravan in retaliation. 

“So was that one!” one barked. “Yet you ran her through like a pig.”

“This one has a nicer dress,” another retorted.

“If she is not the princess, then we lose our advantage over the Venacians you bastard!” 

They continued their bickering while they bound rope around your wrists and ankles. The harsh wind tore at the skirt of your dress, exposing your stockings which did little to ward off the cold. A violent hand shoved you down, and without the proper use of your hands, your shoulder broke the fall. Snow flung into the neck of your blouse, and your skin tensed as it soaked into the fabric of your dress. 

The men had stopped their arguing and instead began to shout at someone. What they were saying was lost on you. Blood gushed through your body and it felt as cold as riverwater, and was just as deafening. You heard what sounded like more shouting, a single roaring yell, and then nothing but nature. The wind whispering in the woods, a bird calling to a lover, the huff of horses. 

Then there was the sound of footsteps. Thick, heavy footsteps that were accompanied by a metallic clink. You willed your heart to still, your breath to slow, because you refused to show fear in the face of the enemy despite the fact that it coursed through your veins with the warmth and raging fire of the sun. 

Large hands held onto your wrists, still bound behind your back, but they were more gentle than before. You felt the cold metal of a sword or knife brush against your skin, and you cursed yourself for the way you jumped. Not a single drop of blood left your skin as the blade sliced through the rope and the rope alone. 

Though you had free use of your hands, you stayed there on the ground, lying on your side as the ropes around your ankles were cut free. The blindfold remained around your eyes for a painfully long time as someone got on their knees in front of you. Gloved hands gripped your shoulders, urging you to sit up, and you obeyed so quickly you felt your own head spinning. 

“Princess?” It was John. His voice was hushed as if he were trying to hide, but you knew from the overwhelming crescendo of nature that there were no men left alive; friend nor foe. 

With a trembling lip you brought your hands up to your face and slipped your thumbs underneath the blindfold. You pried the cloth away from your eyes only to be blinded by the brightness of the dazzling white snow around you. Those hands remained on your shoulders even as you blinked away the light around you. 

“Look at me,” John spoke. 

His face was the very first thing your eyes were able to focus on. With eyes as rich as the deepest waters of the ocean, and as soft as the grass you used to play on as a child, you almost didn’t notice the blood smeared on his cheekbone. You saw the splatter on his skin, and the way it soaked into the cotton of his shirt. In his travels, he hadn’t worn his armor and yet he was still unharmed. But your eyes began to wander further. Away from him and to the gore that laid behind him.

“Look at me,” John said again with a small shake of his head. His hands moved from your shoulders and came to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. It was a gesture you should have reprimanded him for, something a knight should have never done to someone of your status, yet you said nothing. “Look at me, and only me. Don’t look anywhere else.” 

You swallowed hard, and it felt like there were riverstones stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to look anywhere other than him, but you felt that you needed to; you needed to see the violence. How vibrant blood looked upon freshly fallen snow, what eyes looked like when they lost their light, or what a body looked like slumped on the floor of a carriage. Nature demanded that you looked upon the mess that came with the burden of being a princess. 

Instead, you nodded your head as you kept your eyes on John and nowhere else. His hands fell from your face and took your hands instead as he pulled you to your feet. He led you away from the main road and towards the forest. The path he took was odd and not at all straight, and you pushed the idea out of your mind that he walked so strangely to avoid tripping over bodies. 

John brought you to a towering pine tree only a handful of paces from the road where he told you to stay. He left you briefly to scrounge up as much food and clothing as he could before returning back to you with a loaded horse. He swaddled you in a thick fur cloak like a mother would wrap her child in a blanket before aiding you in sitting on the horse. He settled in behind you, pulling your back snug against his chest before taking off deep into the forest. 

You weren’t sure what he had planned, but you were too defeated to even ask. There was no turning back or pushing forward in weather like that. Perhaps he was trying to find a good place to put the two of you to rest. 

While John’s eyes meticulously scanned the forest for any further sign of danger, yours welled with tears. You wanted to go back for them. For every single soldier and servant that laid slaughtered on the road. At least dig them a grave, no matter how shallow. You’d bury them all and then bury yourself with them. 

“Neshevian,” you finally spoke. It felt like you had been traveling for days, though the sun remained as high in the sky as ever, despite how muted it was with the clouds. “Why were they in our lands?” 

“You already know the answer,” John replied. He didn’t say his answer outright, as if he refused to even entertain the thought of your death or capture. But he was right. Those men had made it all too clear why they were there. 

“They killed Eilra,” you said, voice on the verge between whisper and sob. You wanted to cry, or at least, you felt like you should have. It felt wrong to sit on that horse and wander off into the frosty woods while their bodies turned to frozen statues behind you. But you couldn’t. You drew breath, and they couldn’t, and you still couldn’t cry. “Are we really the only two left?” 

For the first time since you had met the man, John hesitated. “I’m sorry, Princess.” 

You didn’t need him to explain any further. 

As night grew closer and the forest became more dense, the wind and snow picked up with a vengeful fury. It howled from between the tree branches above your head as if letting out the anguish your body refused to let you feel. Flakes of snow nipped at the skin of your nose and cheeks, and you pulled the fur lined cloak over your mouth in an attempt to protect yourself. 

If John was cold, he didn’t show it, but the harsh breaths of the horse proved its exhaustion. There was no caravan, no carriage or bonfire to warm up next to. There was only you, John, a horse, and the wild woods of the mountain. 

“Can we make camp?” you asked, unable to hide the slight chattering of your teeth. 

“We’ll die if we rest here,” John retorted. 

“We’ll die if we continue,” you whined. 

He didn’t bother with an answer, and you didn’t bother with another complaint. A thin layer of snow covered the both of you, clinging to clothing and hair alike, and your legs felt frozen in place on either side of the horse. Perhaps you weren’t far off from sharing a grave with Eilra. 

“There,” John suddenly pointed out. 

You squinted in an attempt to peer through the relentless bombardment of snowflakes. Off in the distance not too far away was a small hut or cottage of sorts. It appeared to be built by the very same wood that covered the area and was hardly any larger than your bedroom back in Venaca. Snow sat in heaps on top of the thatched roof, and it nearly blocked the windows in full. 

“We’ll rest there,” John said, kicking the horse into a gallop. 

Dust and dirt settled heavily over every item inside of that cottage; the small, worn table, the mantle on the fireplace, even the blankets that covered the bed. Whoever the home belonged to had long since abandoned the building. It was warmer in there, but perhaps it only felt that way because you were no longer being ravaged by the stabbing wind. There were no rooms, only one large living area, and the only thing that offered even a slight bit of privacy was a large, wooden divider that stood near the foot of the bed. 

Darkness swallowed the room when John shut the door, and you felt around the room blindly until you found the fireplace. You got on your knees and continued feeling around until you found a pile of old, dry wood that laid in a small heap next to the hearth. 

“There’s wood here,” you breathed as you struggled to grab a log. “Perhaps we can start a fire, lest we freeze to death.” 

“No. No fires tonight,” John said as he gently tossed a small pack onto the floor next to you. “The smoke might attract someone.” 

You ceased your attempt at pulling the logs from their stack and slumped forward with a heavy sigh. Every muscle in your body was tense and numb with cold, and he was denying you a fire? 

“Who would travel through a storm like this over a fire?” you asked, a bit more bite to your words than you intended for there to be. 

The shuffling next to you paused, but only for a short moment before John continued with his blind pursuit of whatever items he attempted to retrieve. “Desperate men hunting down a very important woman.” 

Of course. 

John’s hand brushed against your shoulder, and you jumped at the touch. His hand didn’t retract from you, in fact, it began to trail down your arm until it reached your hand. Even in the stark cold that bound itself to your body you could feel your skin heat up. 

“What are you-?” 

Your question was cut off when you felt his other hand push something into your palm. Once he was sure you had a good grasp of the item, he let go of you as if he had never even touched you in the first place. 

“Dinner,” he said simply along with something that sounded like a chuckle gone sour.

Huffing, you brought the item up to your nose to give it a quick sniff. It was rugged, and smelt of pepper and herbs. Jerky; your people had been packed with plenty of it for your journey. Delicious, yet the thought of eating after everything you endured that day made your stomach turn. 

“I’m not hungry,” you said softly as you lowered the dried meat. 

Even through the darkness you could feel John’s searing stare, and you had never felt so ungrateful in your entire life. This man had saved your life and dragged you through half the mountainside just to protect you. He tried to nurture you, and you denied him all because the guilt was eating too heavily at your stomach for you to fill it. 

“I’ll feed you by my own hand, if I must,” he said, and it sounded dangerously close to a promise. 

You didn’t respond, but the sound of your teeth ripping off a chunk of the meat seemed to satisfy him enough. He continued to dig through the pack before pulling out another item. It was a blanket, you found out, as he wrapped it around your shoulders. The fabric was cold, but between the cloak and the blanket, you would be warm enough for the night. 

John rose to his feet and carefully slid along the wall of the cottage where you heard the faint sound of wood scratching on wood. A chair, you realized. He was dragging a chair from that small dining table you had caught a glimpse of earlier. He placed it not too far away from where you sat on the floor, and it slightly creaked underneath his weight as he sat and finally allowed his body to rest. 

“Get some rest, Princess,” he said softly. “It’s been a long day.” 

At that point, you knew better than to tell him that you couldn’t, so instead you pulled the blanket tighter around your body before laying on the stiff wooden floor. That night, there was no laughter beside a hearty campfire, or Eilra’s giggles. There were no stars to blanket you, or a moon to whisper a lullaby. There was just the steady sound of John’s quiet breathing and the whistling howl of the wind. 

Morning dawned before you knew it, and it felt like you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Your body screamed at you as you pushed yourself off the floor, knees and arms still sore from being dragged around. You looked around the cottage. Small streams of cold light cut through the air, giving the dull and dusty room an ethereal glow. 

John still sat in that chair next to you, his eyes lazily focused on you as you stirred awake. He wore his cloak and he had folded a blanket to rest over his lap. Even with the cold his hands rested on top of the blanket for what you assumed was to keep easy access to the sword that rested against his thigh. 

“It’s still early if you’d like to sleep longer,” he said. There was a certain deepness to his voice, one that you remembered feeling in your own throat when you were tired. 

“I’ve slept long enough,” you answered. 

Keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, you stood to your feet before walking to one of the windows. Snow had piled up on the windowsill, but if you stepped on the tips of your toes you could peer out over it. The wind had stopped, and the cottage felt warmer, but flurries of thick snowflakes continued to smother the once green forest around you. 

“Have you slept?” you asked while turning back around to face him. 

John stayed silent for a moment too long before saying; “I’ve gone longer without sleep.” 

“So, no,” you concluded. You took a few steps closer to him before gesturing to the spot on the floor you had spent the night on. “Sleep. You won’t be any good with that sword if you’re hallucinating shadows from exhaustion.” 

Like a curious dog, John tilted his head at you as his hand slowly, almost absentmindedly, reached for the hilt of his sword. Not in a threatening manner, but almost as if it was his only comfort. Out there in the wilderness, with no one but you to watch his back, it probably was his only comfort. 

“I appreciate your concern, Princess, but I’m fine. Truly,” he assured. 

That wasn’t good enough for you, and you knew it was the furthest thing from the truth he had ever told you. Two weeks worth of travel was already bad enough, but fighting off those men, killing them, was no easy feat. Skipping sleep was unacceptable, and it would catch up to him before long. 

So in one last attempt, you pointed towards the ground as you kept your eyes locked onto that stubborn knight. “Sleep. That’s an order.” 

Despite your words, there was a heavy lack of authority in your tone, and it came off as another request rather than a demand. Being embraced by a thick blanket and fluffy cloak didn’t give you the aura of a leader, either. Nothing but Venaca’s darling little princess, too kind and soft-hearted for her own good. 

You didn’t realize how close you stood to John until he rose from his seat. Despite the proximity, you refused to move, even when you swore you could feel his breath fan across your face. With sword in hand, and blanket tucked under his arm, he gave you a slow nod, the dark azure color of his eyes didn’t leave you for a moment. He gave you a small, tired, and perhaps half forced smile. 

“As you wish.” 

The snow didn’t stop falling until it covered your knees. Three days worth of winter left the vast forest feeling small as you and John were mostly confined to the tight space of the cottage. He still refused to make a fire, which meant the two of you spent most of your days sitting on the floor together huddling for warmth as best as you could. 

After a week of being trapped in the cottage, John ventured out to hunt. Apparently he was just as good, if not better, with a bow as he was with a sword, and he returned back with a rabbit and a tail feather from a capercaillie. That was the first time John allowed a fire, but he built it small with nothing but bark shavings. You enjoyed the warmth while it lasted before he snuffed it out once the rabbit cooked, and though it wasn’t seasoned, you were just happy to have something other than chewy dried meat. 

John still refused to sleep at night, and would sit in that old, creaking chair with his sword across his lap, and would sleep for a few hours during the day only after you woke. On the nights that you couldn’t sleep, either from the anxiety or the cold, he would tell you stories. Ones that he would make up, or tales from his childhood. The dark baritone of his voice was comforting, and you found yourself sleeping better on those nights. 

In the daytime, he would take his hunting knife and carve gentle lines in the wood of the floor to mimic constellations he knew. Everything from fruit, to swords, he stuck those crude drawings into the cottage as a permanent reminder that despite Neshevia’s attempts, you were still alive and well. 

“Onme’s Necklace,” he said softly after carving what appeared to be a simple circle with a bump at the bottom. “The Goddess of Love and Fertility.” 

You reached out a hand and used the pads of your fingers to trace along the wood. It felt faint and hardly there, yet it made your heart race all the same. 

“Do you think the Prince of Draewen will gift me a necklace for marriage like our people do?” you asked, eyes still trained on the floor. 

John shuffled as he sheathed his knife and placed it on the floor next to him. Though your eyes were focused elsewhere, his were only on you. 

“Difficult to say. I’m not familiar with Draewish courting customs. But you would deserve nothing less, Princess,” he said, voice still soft and low. 

All you could do was hum as you pulled your knees to your chest. With the wind gone, the cottage grew warmer, though you were still ages away from being able to continue your journey through the mountains with the snow settling so heavily along the lands. Or maybe it felt warmer because John, against his better judgment, allowed himself to be closer to you physically. 

“I hope he is kind,” you said suddenly. 

“And if he’s not?” asked John.

“Then I will marry him anyway. It is what is required of me to join our armies, to end this blasted war,” you answered without much thought. But then, you did. You paused to think, and every single thought spewed from your mouth in an unstoppable wave. “I will marry him, even if he isn’t kind, and I will bear his children, and I will be his queen. I’ll spend my days looking out over the green valleys and rivers they say cover their lands, and I’ll think of the orchards that I used to roam as a child as I do. I think that might be my last thought before I either die an untimely death due to his boredom with me, or of old age after being overshadowed by his mistress for the second half of my life.” 

Not even the gods themselves would have thought about breaking that suffocating silence that followed your words. There was still so much you wanted to say, rotting feelings that infected your chest, but they were ideas that you pushed aside because you could not afford to depress yourself with those thoughts. 

“You are a princess,” John spoke, daring to break that quietness, “you deserve better.” 

“I deserve nothing more than anyone else,” you quickly retorted, your eyes glued to the carving of the necklace on the floor. “Besides, no one gets married because of love. The oath is just to make the necessity seem sweeter, but it’s poison all the same.” 

“Don’t speak of yourself in such a way,” John said. It was the closest thing to an order you had ever heard him speak, and you weren’t sure of what to think about the fluttering in your chest that followed his words. “You hold a power that makes nations tremble; one that has men scrounging the mountainside for you. Thimme would look upon you and weep until the oceans flooded the earth.” 

Thimme. Had he dared to compare you to the Goddess of Beauty Herself? You tore your eyes away from Onme’s Necklace and planted them on John instead. It was then that you realized he himself wore no necklace. You didn’t like the way your heart hummed at that realization. Something started to grow inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to smother it. 

Cabin fever. That’s all it was. 

You should have said something, should have reprimanded him for saying such a thing. Instead, you found your heart reveling in his words as your throat grew tight with the thought of asking him for more. You laughed in disbelief as you looked away from him, unable to say anything that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

Whatever words that were unsaid between the two of you were silenced by the sound of creaking hinges and a blast of cold air. Your eyes were drawn to the door where three shrouded figures slithered inside with snow covered boots and frosted cloaks. John rose to his feet with the quickness of a wolf, his sword already unsheathed and at the ready before you could even comprehend the danger. 

“Our quarrel is not with you,” one of the men barked. His accent was strange. It wasn’t ugly like the Neshevian accent was. It was more flowing, and gentler in a way, but you couldn’t quite place where it was from. But he was a threat all the same. “Hand us the Venacian blight and we’ll be on our way.” 

John strengthened the grip on his sword as he raised it higher. “I’ll have your head for that.” 

The three men seemed more like monsters than human; more akin to bears than any other earthly creature. They had broadswords for claws and thick woolly cloaks for fur. The only thing human about them was the way they looked at you as you huddled on the floor behind John; not with hunger, not with a need to survive, but with a malice only humans could comprehend. 

No other words were wasted from either side before swords started to clash together with sickening screeches. Flashes of silver iron moved in a blur as John kept up with each of the men. In a way, he had the advantage in that small cottage. The intruders couldn’t use their full range of motion without risking injuring their comrades, and John used that to his advantage as he slowly pushed them to the far side of the room. 

You had never seen him in action before, and you had prayed to the gods that you never would have had to. The only thing you could think of was impressive. There was no flourish to his movements, and there was no showing off. Just simple, precise, and deadly strikes and slashes that left superficial cuts along their skin. But no amount of skill could save someone from fighting three monstrous men; even a man as talented as John Price. 

If he wanted to even the playing field, he would have to incapacitate or slay one of the men. In order to do that, he would have to focus his blows on one man, or get lucky and hope one of his defensive moves would knock them away. But if he focused too much on one man, it left him open for the other two to attack. 

You had to draw one of them away. 

You grabbed the knife John had left on the floor and slid it out of its sheath. It was a well kept blade that glinted dangerously in the little light that bled through the cottage windows. With shaking knees, you pushed yourself to your feet and threw the leather sheath at the intruders, which caught one of them off guard, allowing John to land a fair slash against the man's ribs. He howled in pain as he backed up, body hitting the wall behind him. Hiding the knife underneath your cloak, you ensured your feet hit the floor as loudly as you could manage as you dashed out of the cottage. 

John’s horse huffed at you, certainly out of hunger, as you scurried through the snow as fast as your legs could carry you. It neared dinner time, and the sun slowly fell towards the horizon, casting an orange blaze across the sky in its wake. Had you been in Venaca, you would have enjoyed the view. But not then. Not with the frigid air lining your lungs with frost. Not when you ran for your life. 

“Zekral,” you prayed breathlessly. “Zekral, give him strength. Uvral, let him live.” 

Like you had expected, one of the men managed to break away from the fight with John. It was not the man that had been wounded, but you could hear his snarling gasps behind you while you fled. You didn’t dare glance behind you because you knew you would freeze if you caught sight of the monster that chased you. Instead, you kept your eyes straight ahead as you weaved between trees and slick thickets. 

A glittering stream snuck up on you so carefully you nearly tossed yourself into the water before you realized it was there. The orange hue in the sky reflected off of its crystal-like waters, almost making it seem warm and inviting. Despite it’s beauty, you realized it cut off your escape route. 

It forced you to hesitate. 

A hand grasped the hood of your cloak and the clasp caught your throat as you were yanked back into a chest so firm you could have sworn it was stone. Suffocating arms wrapped around your chest, and you found a scream escaping your throat as the air was squeezed from your lungs. 

“Vodrir smiles on me this day!” the man claimed triumphantly over your cries. 

You didn’t know why, but in that moment you thought of home. So far away, and yet you could feel the greenery on your feet, and taste the fresh apples from the orchards. You could smell the breeze as it drifted through your bedroom window, and feel Eilra’s hands as she braided your hair. 

Was this death? Was this Uvral comforting you before silencing you forever? 

With whatever strength you could muster and a shout that only a dying animal could make, you took the knife hidden underneath your cloak and blindly stabbed it over your shoulder. The man howled as the blade sunk into the flesh of his chest, but his arms only tightened around you as his muscles tensed from the pain. 

Just as quickly as the man's arms tensed, you felt a little slack as his arms fell off of you. A gasp filled your chest as you were able to take a proper breath, only for that breath to get pushed out of your lungs as the man shoved you away from him. 

You tried to catch yourself, tried to regain your balance as you stumbled forward, but it was too late. Every single muscle in your body seized as the icy water of the stream enveloped you in a soul snatching embrace. Any thought that had been in your mind before was erased as your body laid in the bed of the stream as if you were resting. It didn’t even feel cold anymore, it just hurt. Like every soldier in Neshevia had run their blade through you at once.

Maybe that was what you deserved. But you refused that fate. 

Thrashing in the water, you came to your senses and pushed yourself to your knees as your head broke the surface of the stream. Your gasp for air rang throughout the forest like a lone bell in an abandoned city. Sharp rocks dug into the flesh of your palms as you coughed and sputtered while you dragged yourself to the bank of the stream. 

A pair of hands landed on your shoulders, and it was like you had fallen into that stream all over again. You let out a pathetic excuse for a war cry as you attempted to push the man off of you. You would not be the enemy’s pawn. You refused to be the blood that fed and enriched the soil beneath your feet. 

“Princess, look at me,” a desperate voice pleaded. 

It was a voice you knew well. One that had comforted you with strange stories as you slept. One that taught you the constellations. It was a voice you wanted to drown yourself in. 

“It’s me, Princess. I’ve got you,” he said softly.

John held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Fear flooded his eyes as he took in the sight of your chattering teeth and trembling body. Water soaked straight through your clothes and clung to your body with no intention of letting go. You tried to speak, tried to do anything, but your muscles shook and convulsed with such strength your body was rendered nearly useless. 

He wasted no time in relieving you of your cloak, which had grown heavy as it was weighed down from the water. Not even grunting with effort, John lifted you into his arms, holding you close to his chest as he marched back towards the cottage as fast as his feet would carry him. You closed your eyes when you caught sight of the man that had caught you, who now laid in the snow with a piercing wound through his stomach. Your arms curled in towards your chest, and it was then that you realized your hands and feet felt too light. As if they had floated away from your body long ago. 

In order to reach the entrance of the cottage, John had to step over two bodies. Their blood tainted the snow in a similar fashion to a child who had spilled paint over their bedroom floor. But even with the mess, it was like nothing was there, no gore or death or bodies, it was just you and him. 

John shoved the door open where the splashing of water falling from your clothes became obvious on the wooden floor. Inside didn’t feel any warmer than outside, but at that point you couldn’t even register temperature. All there was, was pain. Nothing but a numbness of pins and needles skewering your skin. 

He attempted to set you on your feet, but they felt so detached from your body you stumbled onto the floor instead. His hands caught your waist, preventing too much damage being done to your knees, but then you felt him roam. Your corset loosened, and you felt his fingers dip underneath your dress as he yanked the soggy fabric off your body. He didn’t stop there, either. Your slip, your stockings and undergarments, if there was a piece of fabric on you that was wet, he tore them off until you were completely exposed on the floor underneath him. 

You didn’t even have the energy to ask him what he was doing or to protest. The only thought that consumed your mind was to live as you drew breath after shuddering breath. It almost sounded like you were crying, and maybe you were.

John left your side for only a moment before he returned with the blanket the two of you had huddled under before those men had attacked. He wrapped it around your body before lifting you once again in order to set you closer to the hearth. You laid on your side and watched him with stinging eyes as he piled logs into the mouth of the fireplace along with kindling and other scraps. It was only then that you noticed his shirt had gotten wet too, most likely from carrying your soaking body back to safety. 

In minutes, John had built the largest fire you had seen since the night before the caravan had been slaughtered. Its flames reflected off of the stones of the hearth, slowly filling the cottage with a heat your body was almost too numb to feel. As you laid on your side, you watched as he slipped his own shirt off over his head, tossing that damp garment in the same heap your own clothes sat in. If you weren’t struggling with each breath you took, you might have gawked at the hair on his chest or the faint battle scars that decorated his skin. Instead, you stayed silent as he vanished somewhere behind you. 

Moments later, he returned with another blanket in hand. He settled on the floor behind you as he threw the blanket over both your bodies. The warmth of him soaked into your back as he pressed himself against you, trapping in any heat that attempted to escape. His hand settled on your arm as he quickly rubbed up and down, attempting to create any friction on your skin that he could. It sent a painful sensation ripping through your skin as your body finally started to regain feeling again. 

“Talk to me, Princess,” he spoke, his breath hot on your neck. 

You attempted to speak, but it came out as nothing but a whimper. Every muscle in your body twitched painfully, and it only got worse when you tried to stop shivering. 

“Fi-re,” you were eventually able to choke out. “Sm-o-ke…” 

John continued to rub his hands along your body as he did everything within his power to warm you. No one had ever touched you in such a way, and no man had ever gazed upon your bare body before. But in that moment, you didn’t care. 

“If it draws anyone in, they’ll fall before they lay another hand on you,” he swore. 

It was stupid, and you would have told him as much if you could have gotten your teeth to stop chattering. He had said it himself that smoke would attract those with ill intent towards you, which is why you had spent countless nights huddled alone on an unforgiving floor. But he risked it to save you. John was a strong fighter, that much you knew, but he couldn’t hold off an entire army. 

After a while, John’s hand stopped rubbing against your arm and instead settled around your stomach as he held you tightly against him. Despite his height and broad shoulders, he fit against you so perfectly. His knees settled against the back of yours, his chin rested softly on top of your head, and gods he was warm. The feeling in your body returned, and you felt your skin defrost as the fire melted the ice from your veins. It was like you were back in the basin, sitting on the soft grass and clovers as the spring sun warmed your skin. 

It was like you were back home, and not nearly dead in a cottage in the wild forest of the mountains. 

“John?” you spoke up. Your voice was more fluid, and less tense as the spamming of your muscles stopped. 

“Yes, Princess?” he responded. 

“Those men… they were not Neshevian,” you said, and though you hadn’t framed it in such a manner, it was certainly an unspoken question. 

“They were not,” he confirmed. 

You sniffed some as you felt the snot in your nose start to run. It felt like you had a head cold, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you had gotten sick after your quick dip in the wintery stream. 

“Where were they from?” you asked. 

John’s arm tightened around your center as if he was afraid you’d slip out of his grasp. “They were Draewish.” 

You swallowed the sinking feeling in your stomach. “Then they have betrayed us.” 

For the first time since the night before you left for Draewen, you wept. Your tears soaked the carved up wood of the floor, and your shoulders shook not with cold, but with sorrow. You cried for the loss of your people, for the death of Eilra, for the war you weren’t any closer to winning. And most of all, you cried for yourself. You cried for the stupidly optimistic Venacian Princess. 

Your tears ceased once the flames of the fire diminished to embers, and it was the first time John made even the slightest movement to leave you. He left his blanket covering your body as he knelt next to the fire, his bare back exposed to you. Two more logs were added to the fire, and he sat back on his haunches as he watched the flames devour the wood. 

“When the snow melts, we’ll set off for Venaca,” he said, voice tired. 

Nodding your head, you pulled your blanket tight under your chin as you curled forward. Night had fallen by that point, and you hadn’t even realized it since the fire had provided an unfamiliar light. It was the first night you had seen in weeks where you weren’t miserable. 

“The city will fall within months without Draewen’s help,” you said. “Sooner if they choose to aid Neshevia.” 

“Then let it fall,” John said gruffly. “They can burn it to the ground, but no one will lay a hand on you again, Honrul strike me.” 

The determination in his voice almost made you believe him. You shifted slightly, your bones crying out from the harsh floor that offered no padding for your body. 

“John?” you asked again. 

At the sound of your voice, he turned so that he no longer faced the fire, but instead looked to you. Even in the dark shadows that casted on his face you could still make out the softness in his eyes. 

You wondered if that softness was only there when his eyes were on you. 

“Yes, Princess?” he answered. 

“Lay with me.”

His eyes didn’t leave you for a moment, but you could feel the hesitation roll off his body. Maybe there was something unseemly about your request. Underneath your blanket, you were utterly naked and completely exposed. John had only laid with you before to warm you, and you were no longer in danger of freezing to death. It was improper, something both of you should have been reprimanded for. 

“Is that an order?” he asked, shifting slightly. 

“It’s a request.” 

He froze for a moment, and you thought he was going to deny your request. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. Maybe he should have. Instead, he crawled on his hands and knees along the floor as he shuffled behind you once more. With careful hands, he moved his blanket off of you, still letting yours stay wrapped securely around your naked body to keep your modesty. 

His chest pressed against your back and his legs bent with the curve of yours while he laid the blanket over both of you. A different and new bloom of warmth blossomed in your chest as his arm settled around your center again, holding you close. Never before had someone held you like that. Never before did you feel wanted for anything other than your status. 

“Thank you,” you managed to choke out. “Don’t… don’t go.”

At your words, he buried his face into the back of your neck. You could feel the slight tickle of his facial hair, and how cold the tip of his nose was. When he spoke, you swore you could feel his lips ghosting against your skin. 

“As you wish, Princess.”

ah!!! i was so excited to write this once i got the idea i finished it in three days (cringe) but i'm so happy to finally share it with you all! price is unfamiliar territory for me, but i tried to get the vibes of a tired dad down lmao knight!price is going to be rotting my brain for awhile, though.

thanks again gpd for doing this challenge! and everyone, make sure to check out the other entries!

[glossgojo]

prince treatment

bradley “rooster” bradshaw x AFAB reader | 5.7k words

summary: you’re hell-bent on treating bradley like a prince after the events of top gun maverick, but you’re still his princess…

cw: 18+ MDNI, no seriously p0rn with some plot, fluff, fingering, big rooster c0ck (hehe), blowjobs, shower head, oral fem receiving, pussy drunk bradley, AFAB reader, p in v sex, MATING PRESS, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, possessive bradley, use of “girl” as a pet name, pet names, some degradation towards the end, breeding <3, cervix fucking, i went a lil feral with this one

as soon as you got the call that the mission was over you were hauling ass in bradley’s baby blue bronco. you’d been staying at his place while he was on the mission, keeping it clean and waiting for him to return. you hadn’t even thought to change out of one of his baggy army shirts and instead slipped on biker shorts and sped to the base. phoenix had called and told you that Mav and bradley were resting up in the infirmary but they were okay, she also told you how hangman had helped, knowing you were not fond of the blonde pilot. you choked back a sob as you thanked her letting you know and rushed to get there.

both of the pilots were asleep and you made out bradley’s expression in the dim light of the room. he didn’t look injured but you didn’t hazard touching him, only placing a kiss to his scarred cheek. even in his slumber, he was the most handsome man you’d ever known and your heart swelled knowing he was peacefully asleep in front of you. you tried your best to stay awake in the chair next to the hospital bed but ultimately your eyes shut as you fell asleep to the sound of your boyfriend’s breathing.

bradley woke up to see you curled up, in a position that hardly looked comfortable, in one of his shirts. at first he thought he was dreaming, the sunlight shining down on your hair made you look like an angel. it wasn’t until he heard your soft exhale that he realized he was very much awake and the love of his life was here. you had only been dating two months but bradley had known the first night you were it for him. you talked like you had known each other your entire lives and bradley felt like you were always within him. like you were a bone he just discovered could be broken and healed within the span of a night. you had looked at him like he put the damn stars in the sky but bradley was convinced for the better part of your early days that you were too good to be true. you were so kind to him, so loving it didn’t make sense. it still didn’t make sense, but he let himself be selfish, let himself be cared for. he watched the way his shirt dipped off your shoulder, how the material swallowed you whole and how damn good it felt knowing his girl was dressed in his clothes.

you stirred as bradley moved off the bed, sitting up and pulling on his boots. you always were a light sleeper, waking up to kiss him goodbye every morning no matter how early. your body unfurled, you clutched your neck as you stretched it, sore from its craned position. when your eyes fluttered open you took in your boyfriend staring at you lovingly as he sat across from you. you instantly sat up, your feet moving towards him.

“morning sweetheart.” you didn’t respond, just threw your arms around his neck. you’d missed his voice, it had only been a few weeks but you were terrified the entire time. you didn’t realize you were crying until his strong arms pulled you a little closer when tears wet his back. “hey, it’s okay i’m here.” he rubbed your back, rubbing his nose against the length of your neck, inhaling your scent. you smelled mostly of him, his shirt attributing to that, but there was still a hint of that warm floral smell that he could never get enough of. when your tears seemed to subside you pulled back to look at him, you had missed his eyes.

“hey handsome.” you said, your voice a little groggy still but he laughed nevertheless, and you were content with the smile on his face. you wanted to see him happy all the time, you wanted to care for him, he had been through so much not just in the mission but the past few months. “let’s go home.” home, bradley liked the way you said that about his place. you had only been there a couple times since you started dating, he usually stayed at your place but it seemed you had gotten comfortable at his apartment. the thought alone made the blood rush in his veins.

bradley threw his arm over your shoulder, you tucked into his side and pressed a kiss to his hand since you couldn’t reach his face without some tiptoeing. bradley thought you might just be the sweetest girl in the entire world. in the hallway outside the room you saw hangman sitting down and waiting, you couldn’t believe it but you remembered what phoenix said. he stood up and clapped a hand over bradley’s shoulder, they nodded at each other a whole conversation taking place in silence. you weren’t so adept in whatever that was so instead you just hugged him, bradley letting you go for a moment. you thanked him as you did it, and hangman let out a breath it felt he was holding for a while. you turn back towards bradley, seeing the small smile on his face.

“i know you would’ve killed me, and probably mav if anything happened to him,” jake joked, clearly uncomfortable with being appreciated, and you let him return back to his norm. you knew that in his own way, jake cared about rooster and mav and all the other pilots. he’d just never admit to it.

“you know me so well.” you looked up to bradley who had been watching you throughout the whole conversation. he was struck by how protective you were of him, the fact that you’d fight for him was enough to make his heart beat out of his chest. how had he never noticed this before? you were always barking back at hangman, or telling maverick off. he just never pieced together that it was all for him. he was a fool.

your voice shook him out of his thoughts as you bid your goodbyes to hangman and made your way to the parking lot. bradley could spot his car from a mile away but his eyes were on you. you pushed away from his hold, dangling the keys in front of his face. “i’m driving, you need to rest.” bradley couldn’t protest when you looked like a vision leaning back against the truck bed. he nodded, stepping towards you his hips against yours as he had you pressed against the truck. his arms circled your waist and yours circled his neck, one hand raking through his hair. bradley had to stop himself from groaning at the feeling of your nails scraping his scalp.

“i missed you so much, bradley, i’m so glad you’re safe. you’re a hero, you know that?” the adoration in your eyes was too much for him, bradley thought he might just prove how much he loves you in the bed of his truck, but you didn’t deserve that he wanted to tell you slowly, show you over and over again until you could only think that one thought, bradley loves you.

“i missed you too, before hangman radioed all i could think about was how much i wanted to come home to you.” you didn’t want to cry again, but you could feel tears pricking your eyes. you looked down, head hanging low as you realized what he was saying. when he was scared for his life, he was thinking about you.

“look at me, let me see those pretty eyes.” he nudged your head up, his hand cupping your jaw as he lightly pinched your chin. finally you gave in, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. he watched you blink, wiped the tears that strayed and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“bradley, you can’t-fuck i can’t lose you.” bradley knew that you loved him, you’d already made it clear in your actions and now even though he could his reflection in your eyes he could still see that raw desperation and need that he recognized so well. you were just waiting for him, waiting for him to accept the love.

“you won’t.” he promised it with a kiss to your lips, letting you pull him closer, his half hard dick pressed against your stomach and you gasped, giving him an opening. his tongue traced the seam of your lips before delving deeper and tasting you. you kissed him back just as fervently, desperate for him. you pulled back for air first, bradley still pressing kisses to your mouth as you struggled for air. it was then that you realized you were still on the base. you reminded bradley of the fact and pushed him off, you had plans to cook him dinner and curl up in bed, it was high time to head home. bradley, reluctantly moved away from you pressing one last kiss to your lips before moving to the passenger door. you wished your boyfriend wasn’t so irresistible the taste of his lips lingered and you wanted so much more, but you could be patient.

you stuck the keys in and drove off towards bradley’s place and bradley couldn’t help but notice how good you looked driving his car. his shirt still hanging off your shoulders, his. you were his and the thought alone made his hand inch towards your thigh.

“hey that’s my move! you’re the passenger remember.” you pouted, shooting him a playful glare at a red light.

“i beat you to it, not my fault you look so pretty driving my car.” your heart skipped a beat as his hand inched higher, his voice dripping with want. you couldn’t look at him, you knew you’d lose all focus on your goals at home.

“i like taking care of you.” you murmured and bradley didn’t miss it. he couldn’t help but moved his hand higher, long fingers curling under the waistband of your shorts and finally you looked at him. your flushed cheeks and wide eyes drove bradley a little crazier. you didn’t stop him as his fingers grazed your flesh, a whine crawling up your throat. you looked back at the road, driving as well as you could as his thick fingers grazed your clit. his fingers dipped further, stopping as he felt just how wet you were. you squirmed and he huffed out a laugh as he collected your slick, his fingers coated in it. one of his thick fingers slipped into your heat and you bit your bottom lip to hold in the moan, he slid in easily all your arousal easing his movement. his finger curled and found the spot he was well familiar with, making you clench around him.

“so tight baby, ease up.” bradley couldn’t believe just how easily worked up you were, maybe you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you. your arousal probably soaked through your shorts, he should’ve known. he watched as you abused your bottom lip, plump and raw from your teeth. he wanted to hear your pretty noises but he could wait. just as you felt yourself grow close, he slipped his finger out, grazing your clit making you tense, as his hand left your shorts. you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him as he licked your essence off his fingers, looking at you hungrily. the eye contact and the lewd sound of him slurping made you clench again, wanting to be home so badly.

“you taste like heaven sweetheart, can never have enough.” his words alone made you sure you had wet his leather seats. this was the longest drive home ever.

finally after feeling bradley’s eyes on you the remaining drive home you pulled into the driveway. bradley made his way to your door before you had finished collecting your things and opened it for you, you blushed as you looked up at him. it was only minutes ago that the same hand holding the door open was touching you. you made your way inside bradley’s house, setting your stuff down and bradley kicked his shoes off. his place looked the same. there were only a few changes, it smelled like coffee and there was a bouquet on his dining table. it looked fresh, like you’d gotten it just before he came home. was it for him? no surely it was just coincidence.

“it smells so good in here what did you do?” you smiled at him, interlocking your hands as you crossed the space to the dining table. it’s not like it smelled bad before but it was just apartment smells, like pinesol and faint hints of his cologne.

“i just brought some of my candles over. these are for you, i was too frazzled to bring them so i popped them in a vase.” you motioned to the bouquet of peach roses and babies breath. bradley was stunned by you once again. he didn’t know what else to do but pick you up by your waist and pull you into him.

“i don’t deserve you.” he kept his arms wrapped around, his head nuzzling into your neck as you ran your hands through his hair. your bradley was home and you wanted him to know just how much you appreciated him, how much you loved him.

“yes you do, we deserve each other. you’re a hero roo.” you press a kiss to his head, he’s filled with emotion you can hear it in his voice and you’re no better, you’d do anything for him and you hope he knows it. finally bradley let’s you go from his grip, placing you down carefully, pressing a kiss to your fingers that are still interlocked with his own. you feel your heart flutter, set alight by his gentle adoration of you.

“i wanted to cook for you, are you hungry right now or do you wanna wait?” bradley doesn’t know how much a man can take, you’re too good to be true. he nods dumbly watching you saunter into his kitchen, watching you as he takes a seat at the island.

“let’s eat baby.” you shoot him a smile, you had already started getting ingredients out. you knew bradley, he’d eat if there was food offered. bradley felt for the second time like he’d woken up in dream. you moved around his kitchen like you knew it like the back of your hand, and maybe you did but something about you here in his kitchen, wearing his shirt after driving his car home made bradley painfully strain in his pants. you were cooking for him, taking care of him and you looked so damn good doing it. his eyes never left your body as you moved, eyeing you up and down. when you turned towards him he realized you’d said something to him. you held back a laugh as his eyes trailed from your legs to your face. “hmm?”

“i was just saying that kristine at work is getting married, she invited us.” bradley responded to you, and tried to keep himself from getting distracted by you. you decided to be a bit mean by bending down to grab a pot, you could’ve easily grabbed a different one but where was the fun in that? bradley barely finished his sentence as he watched his shirt ride up and show off your ass. he would have to buy you more of those biker shorts, they left nothing to the imagination. you couldn’t help but laugh this time, turning around to look him squarely in the eyes. “cat got your tongue?”

“you’re killing me baby.” he groaned, getting up and coming around the counter to stand in front of you. you could see his bulge as soon as he stood, your cheeks flushing but you kept your bravado all the same. his hands came to your waist, finding their home easily and you placed your hands on his annoyingly firm chest.

“we’re having dinner bradshaw no funny business, take a cold shower.” you teased, bradley groaned and pouted. he probably did need a cold shower, but parting with you was not an option in his mind

“come with me?” you wish you could be the bigger person, not give into the feeling in your stomach you’d been ignoring since you saw him when you woke up, but as he wet his lips and looked at you with his big hazel eyes your resolve dissolved.

you nodded, letting him clasp his hand around your wrist and pull you away. “wait! let me put the lasagna soup on simmer!” you had enough time to shower and be back to finish off dinner, bradley waited like an impatient puppy as you moved the pot, his hands back on your waist, his chest against your back. you could feel his hard-on and you bit your lip to stop yourself from brushing back on him. bradley didn’t think any amount of cold showers would help him scratch the itch that you had implanted within him, all it took was seeing you walking around his house like it was yours too to make him lose his mind.

you followed bradley to his room, grabbing a pair of pajamas which was quickly replaced by one of his army shirts and underwear. bradley watched you strip in the bathroom, his eyes not leaving your bare frame as he turned on the shower. you giggled as you watched his cheeks redden and you felt particularly evil as you pressed up against him and lifted the hem of his shirt up, urging him to take it off. bradley looked down at you, your hardened nipples pressing against his chest and he didn’t know if you were trying to kill him but his heart was

beating out of his chest. you counted down in your mind, 30 minutes to shower, you could do a lot in that time. maybe you’d let bradley work up an appetite.

he pulled off his shirt, his pants next and boxers. you stepped into the shower, beckoning to follow. you pressed at his shoulders to sit down on the bench within his shower, wanting to wash his hair. bradley’s mouth was slightly agape as he let you do as you pleased. you lathered your fingers with shampoo, tilting his head back, and got to work. he could feel your nails scrape against his scalp lightly, your fingers working in the shampoo and making sure to keep the shampoo out of his eyes. his breathing was only quickening as he watched you adamantly take care of you. he couldn’t remember the last time someone took care of him like this, well he could but it hurt to think of. he’d only known you a few months but the way you looked at him, the way you cared for him made him want to propose to you right now. overcome with emotion and a guttural need to make you feel his love, he pressed a kiss to your arm, drawing your eyes to his. you looked at him curiously, clearly so focused on his hair that you didn’t notice his growing emotions. you pressed a kiss to his lips before moving out of the way and grabbing the shower head to wash out the shampoo, your fingers wracking through his hair and making sure it was all washed out.

“can i get up now?” he said as he watched you grab the body wash. you placed the shower head back and turned back to him

“hmm? oh no, you’re getting special services lieutenant bradshaw.” you squeezed some body wash on your hands and bradley’s brain short-circuited. he could take your hands on his head, but your soft small hands on his body would surely end him. he quickly stood up and grabbed you by the waist to push you down.

“you know this could be classified as torture, pretty girl.” you were now in eye-line with his red throbbing member, unable to ignore just how desperate it looked for attention. you swallowed down before looking up at your boyfriend. you lathered the body wash on your breasts, looking up at him innocently as you pushed them together and a small groan left his lips. after your little show you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock. bradley was big everywhere so unsurprisingly you had a hard time taking all of him into your mouth. you had been successful a couple times, with his help. bradley shuddered at the feeling of your soft lips against him. he clenched his fists as to not pull you onto him. your hands went around his hips and pulled him closer, he was standing between your spread legs and you moved closer on the bench, to get as close as possible. you brought your hands to rest on his thighs as you licked a stripe up his length, feeling his veins pressed against your tongue, pressing another sweet kiss to his tip, making him twitch against your mouth.

“mm roo, can you fuck my mouth?” you looked up at him sweetly and bradley swore he could’ve came just from the sight alone, but he quickly realized he’d rather do that down your throat. without a second of hesitation he grabbed your hair into a ponytail and pried your mouth open with his other hand, slowly sliding his heavy cock in until you adjusted. you felt his tip brush against your throat, struggling to breath as you felt like you were choking on him. your jaw ached as you adjusted to his girth and your tears stung from the intrusion, you could feel his veins against your tongue and the hair at the base of his shaft tickled your nose as you struggled to breath. after a few moments as you regained your breath you tapped on his thigh, signaling for him to move and then bradley snapped out of you and fucked your throat, filling you even deeper than before. he was brutal as he set the pace, you moaned and gagged on him, spit and cum collecting around your mouth and dribbling down your chin as the shower head sprayed down his back and left you feeling filthy. tears were streaming down your face and you dug your nails into his thigh. bradley was close, you could feel him twitching down your throat and his grip loosening, you forced yourself all the way down his length, making it hard to breathe as he filled your throat with his cum. you gagged as it kept coming out, more and more and he pulled you off, the remainder painting your mouth and face white. you wiped it off with your hand and brought it back to your mouth to swallow and bradley thought he might need another round right away. he pulled you up on your shaky legs and pressed a kiss to your lips, tasting himself there. you felt so warm from making him cum, making your bradley feel good. he washed you then, returning the favor from earlier. after showering he dried you off and you did the same for him, letting your hands trail on his abs a little longer than intended. bradley gave you a warning sign and you looked at him with false confusion.

dinner went by quickly after that, both of you having worked up an appetite. “that tasted damn good darlin’” he wiped his mouth and you clenched your legs together where they were crossed. seeing him eat always made you a little needy.

“glad you liked it roo,” you watched as he carried both of your plates to the sink and cleared the table, sticking the dishes in the dishwasher after rinsing them off. your hungry eyes never left his, the kitchen light reflecting off his dog tags, making your head spin.

“my baby’s treating me so well, i would kill for some desert though.” he stood in front of you, pulling you gently to stand and you watched him curiously. he hauled you up, your hands immediately going around his neck and your legs around his waist. before you could ask what he was doing he set you down on the dinner table, kneeling in front of you. his large hands rested on either knee, looking at you silently for permission. you groaned as you looked at his hungry expression, nodding weakly as you felt your arms shake from holding your body up. when his hands parted your legs and pulled down your underwear you fell back, losing any control over your body that you had. “been dying to taste you again, my sweet sweet girl.” he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, murmuring sweet nothings to your core and you wanted to press your legs together to release some of the tension but his strong grip kept you in place. “patience doll.” you whined at his slow kisses between your thighs, never quite where you needed him. you felt so hot and you were sure you were about to drip onto your wooden table if he didn’t touch you soon.

“please roo, i-i can’t.” another whine crawled up your throat as he pressed a kiss to your clit, his mustache grazing your soft skin.

“you can, you’ve been so good all day right? you can be good now.” your hands went to his hair, tugged at the strands there, he just laughed at your attempts to get him where you wanted him. finally after what felt like hours, he pressed a thick finger against your entrance feeling just how wet you were. he felt his dick twitch in his pants at how easily you could take his finger in, so wet and ready for him. he brought the finger to his lips, reminding you of earlier today as he swirled his tongue around it, humming at the taste of you. without warning he pulled you towards his face, your bare ass sliding against the wood as he licked a stripe down your core. bradley felt dizzy at the taste of you, you were so fucking wet, all for him, all because of him. the thought and the addictive taste of you, caused him to dive his tongue into your soppy hole. you whined out his name at the feeling of his tongue moving inside you, scraping your walls, making you gush onto his tongue. the sounds of his tongue fucking you and your whines filled the room. his left hand moved from where it pushed at your thigh to instead thumbing at your clit. you tugged at his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer and he hummed at the sting, using his other hand to slip a finger into your hole, both his tongue and finger relentless in drawing out more of your ichor. you clenched and he pushed another finger in, removing his tongue entirely and moving to suck your clit as his thick fingers found the spot that made you scream his name. “brad-please i’m so close”

“give it to me pretty girl,” he curled his fingers up, his tongue going back to your hole to catch any of your slick before it plopped on the table, his fingers and mouth driving you to your orgasm and fucking your through it. you were jerking in his hold as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, not letting any of your release go to waste.

“roo, too much.” you whined as you weakly pushed at his shoulders, the overstimulation becoming too much to bare. he pulled back and you leaned up to see the lower half of his face and mustache glistening in the light. you sat up, clambering to pull him towards you, wanting to taste yourself on his tongue. bradley smiled as he kissed you sloppily, letting you explore his mouth and you whined at the feeling of his hard-on pressing against your core through his sweatpants. as if you weren’t overstimulated minutes ago, your boyfriend being so turned on from eating you out made your core tighten, “want your dick, want you to fill me up.” you whined into his mouth as he pulled back and pressed a kiss to the tender spot beneath your ear. bradley didn’t speak as he picked you up, his hands under your plush ass as he hauled you to the bedroom.

“can’t just say shit like that baby, you’ll drive me crazy.” he growled into your ear, his hold tightening on your ass and pulling you closer against his hard chest.

“s’true though.” you mumbled as he set you down on the bed, pulling your shirt clean off as to you watched him hungrily stare at your body. he leaned over you then, his hand coming between your legs and your eyes widened as you realized what he was doing. “no please-i can take it please roo, it’ll fit i-“ you were begging, desperation and desire clawing at your sensibility and bradley wished he had photographic memory so he could memorize the look on your face and the whine to your voice. you were so gone for him, but he was no better your taste was still branded on the back of his teeth and yet he wanted more.

“desperate little slut, you’ll regret this you know that right?” bradley rarely spoke to you like that, he didn’t really like it, but he could see you clench on air at his words, could see the way your chest moved a little faster.

“i-i can take it.” and he nodded moving up, plunging deep into you before you started begging again. the stretch stole the air from your lungs and the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix made you tense. but then he was moving slowly out and back in, letting you adjust and the burn gave way to pleasure as you clenched around him and felt your arousal mixed with his make the movement easier. you could feel his heavy thick member shaping your walls to fit him, every vein every ridge imprinting inside you. every slow thrust made him kiss your cervix, a ring of cum collecting at the base of his shaft and your arousal pooling down his balls. you wanted more, wanted to burn, barely wanted to walk tomorrow because of him. you clawed at his back, whining as you begged for more, “harder please please.” bradley gave into your pretty little pleas.

he pulled your legs over his shoulders and tilted towards you, his cock dipping into you and hitting a new angle that made his go deeper and strecth you out even more. he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head as he lifted up and pounded down into you, and then again and then until he was pounding you so hard and fast that your head was banging against the headboard. your mind went numb at the overwhelming pleasure, you dug your nails in to ground yourself as his tip bruised your cervix and he hit the spot that made you babble and cry for more. bradley was fucking you like it was the only chance he had, his hips snapping into yours and your cum dripping down your thighs and his. the room smelled of sex and sounded pornographic. “this pussy is mine, you’re mine.” he growled out and you clenched around him, loving the sound of that. you had been his since the moment you met.

“i’m yours.” you gasped between thrusts, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck, biting and sucking at the skin there. you cried out as he pulled back to look down at you, his hand cradling your jaw and then he slipped his thumb into your mouth and you felt yourself grow close. bradley was filling you up and now his fingers were in your mouth, keeping you stuffed. you slobbered around them sucking and whining as the moved down your throat, fucking you there too. all you could think about was him filling you up.

“need your cum,” you managed as you pulled his fingers out, saliva trailing behind and connecting to your lips. bradley almost came at yours words alone, he pulled his drenched fingers and flicked your clit, massaging it slowly in contrast to his brutal pace. you were sure your cunt would be bruised if that was possible.

“gonna fill you up, watch you walk around my house. in my clothes. drive my car with my kid inside you. you’re fucking mine forever.” he babbled, angling himself until he was kissing your cervix with each thrust, punctuating his words and then finally his resolve snapped. he dipped his hips to connect to yours one last time before he was filling you up, his cum overflowing from your small cunt. you gasped and cried at the feeling coming with him and seeing white as you arched up into him, clawing down his back and leaving red marks in your wake.

you felt so warm and when he pulled out you whined at the feeling of his cum gushing out, threatening to run down your thighs. but bradley was quicker, he was fucking it back into you, making sure it stayed in there. you clenched at the feeling and cried out his name. you knew you were on birth control, bradley knew it too but the way he fucked you like he wanted to breed you made your head spin. bradley pulled you on top of him as he moved to lay next to you on his back, enjoying the weight of your body on his. “for the record, you’re mine forever too.” although it wasn’t i love you it was damn near close and the way bradley fucked you, you weren’t sure those words were needed any more.

[calypso707]

Can I request a Druid tav x Astarion? Where over time and a ton of talks about it Astarion allows tav to try different ways to flatten his scars on his back? Different lotions/creams and massages? Not necessarily making them disappear but flattening them enough so their not as raised and angry.

That’s a good one, i hope you'll like it, it was a bit more challenging but I enjoyed writing it. I've done it differently, though. I preferred to write the first time they treat his scars. Please don't hesitate to send me feedback ! Enjoy ! (๑˘︶˘๑)

OS - Astarion x Gn druid reader : On your skin.

Since you were a child, you had always imagined that you'd spend your life in the Circle, at the service of nature and protecting the balance. But recent events had completely turned your life upside down: your kidnapping by mind flayers, the crash of their nautiloid, the victory over the goblins… Not to mention the roommate you had in your skull. And these events, however improbable, had driven you to create the strangest alliances.

Your favorite time of day was when you returned to your camp in the Wilderness. You enjoyed the calm that settles all around you as soon as night fell, you liked to hear the wood creak under the fire, you loved to gaze up at the sky as if to interpret the messages left by the stars, you even caught yourself listening for the animals prowling nearby. Oak Father, you loved those quiet moments. You knelt at the edge of the shore, not far from your tent, your eyes closed and your breathing stilled to the rhythm of the waves undulating in the wind. You allowed your mind to wander, you were surrounded by strange companions and you had permitted your heart to fall in with the most unusual being of all.

Astarion.

A vampire.

If your Circle were to find out… For many, vampires were an abomination of nature, but for you, he was just a magistrate with immoral tendencies and a liking for blood. You did not know if the feeling was mutual, and you did not particularly want to find out. Astarion cherished his freedom and it was just as meaningful to you. He had spent much of his spawn life in the service of a cruel lord who had submitted him to all kinds of vices. You thought back to the inscriptions carved into the flesh of his back and how he must have suffered.

A throat-clearing sounded above you and you opened your eyes. Speaking of the devil.. You did not even hear him coming. Astarion was standing in front of you, looking… Unsure?

"I've been thinking about what you said. About my… Scars."

You stood up to face him properly, inviting him with a nod to continue.

"I would like you to treat them to make them less, well.. Noticeable," he added. "They do not, of course, affect my beauty, but if you could make them more pleasing to the eye, I would not say no."

You rolled your eyes at his words. The two of you had discussed this several times. You simply offered to help, you had no wish to erase them because they were part of him. You just wanted to make them less sensitive so you were waiting for him to give you permission. "All right, I will take care of it. Let's go to my tent, so we can have some privacy"

You gestured for him to follow you, which he surprisingly did without protesting. You entered the tent, which was large enough for just one person. On the right was your paillasse, surrounded by books of various subjects. On the left, a huge solid wood table held all your herbs, elixirs, ointments and recipes. You invited him to sit on a wooden stool beside you.

"Let me have a look"

Astarion seemed to hesitate for a moment and finally removed his shirt before tossing it onto your bed. He seemed almost… uncomfortable. Yet it was not the first time you had seen him half-naked. You stood behind him and slowly brought your fingers to his scarred skin.

"May I?"

"Yes," He replied in a breath, his unease was palpable. He seemed vulnerable.

You gently ran your fingers over his upper back, cautiously brushing his scars. You felt him flinch slightly at the warmth of your skin, which contrasted with the coldness of his. It was the first time you had seen them so closely. The Language of the Hells had been carved into his flesh two centuries ago, and you could still guess the pain he must have felt. According to him, it was a poem, a very strange poem. The cruelty of the act made your heart ache and your stomach twist. How could he have survived such pain?

"It was a surprise. As you can see, Cazador's surprises are never good ones," commented Astarion.

You looked up at the mirror in front of you, and although his reflection was not visible, you could see you touching his invisible skin as delicately as possible, his face was turned to the mirror, examining your every move. You detached yourself to search through your ointments and took one you had prepared earlier. It was a derivative of Silvanus' elixir, based on boiling theriac and mugwort bundle. Returning to stand behind him, you took a generous quantity of the mixture with your fingers before applying it delicately to the marks. Astarion twitched again, looking over his shoulder at you.

"I am sorry" You said.

"No, it is cold. But it feels… Nice"

You slowly knelt behind him and carefully applied the ointment, making sure his skin properly absorbed the treatment. The effect was almost instantaneous, and the scars seemed less vivid to the naked eye. It would take several applications for it to be fully effective. You ran your fingers along the long lines that ended at the lower part of his back and noticed that a shiver ran through his body. This moment was different from the others you had shared, even more intimate because he had allowed you to get closer to that part of his past he hated. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of you.

"Do you feel any difference?" you asked, looking up at him as he swiveled on the stool to face you. You wiped your fingers on a clean cloth.

"Hm.." He made a move as if trying to stretch his skin. He seemed a bit surprised. "I used to feel them, itching. I no longer feel that discomfort"

"It will require repeated application for it to be more effective, but it is a good start"

"Oh, are you offering me private sessions for massages?" questioned the vampire, a mischievous smile on his lips.

You smiled at his question and, as you stood up, he grabbed your arm to pull you towards him. He wrapped his right arm around your waist and his left hand slid down your forearm. This embrace took you by surprise, but you did not push him away, on the contrary. He took your hand in his and brought your fingers to his lips, softly. He half-opened his mouth as he slid your index and middle finger over his lower lip, revealing his fangs. A shiver of excitement ran through your body.

"It means a lot, you know, what you do for me. I will never forget it."

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to have a look at my other writings on Astarion ! Love ya !

Astarion x gn druid reader : On your skin (pt.2)

Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree

[2af-afterdark]

Paradise Lost is the Safest Kingdom in Hell and That's Absolutely Terrifying

After playing The Two Stars that Fell From the Sky event, I have come to the conclusion that Paradise Lost must be the safest kingdom in Hell. That is amazing as it is virtually untouchable, but it is also completely and utterly terrifying.

We all know that Paradise Lost is home to the healers who can treat seemingly any injury or ailment, but with the introduction of Gamigin we know that also includes death.

Make no mistake. Marbas, Morax, and Buer were dead. They died at the hands of the angels that were attacking them, but Gamigin was able to bring them back. In Paradise Lost, death is practically if not completely non-existent. The devils of Paradise Lost have no fear of death, so they are willing and able to take actions that endanger themselves with a relaxed nature.

When these events happened, they were listening to Lucifer recall the tale of how he became a devil. They were already injured and being attacked, but they did nothing to protect themselves or defeat the angels because they deemed Lucifer's tale more important, despite the fact that they were actively dying.

Lucifer and Gamigin seem to also have this mindset, since Lucifer doesn't have much of a reaction to his nobles dying other than realizing he's been talking for too long and they all need to go home. He knows Gamigin will heal them and Gamigin knows he can bring them back.

And once the nobles are up and operational again, they are a force to be reckoned with in a way that other kingdoms cannot compare. Because they are all healers, they are able to heal one another while also fighting. They are an impenetrable, undeafeatable force when they want to be.

Paradise Lost has no sense of death or fear of death. They don't seem to even fear getting hurt. The way they think of and address one of the most universal aspects of existence is... terrifying. I don't have the proper words to describe how eerie it is that they don't see death as an issue.

That's before you also take into account that Paradise Lost itself is impenetrable due to Lucifer's command. All those that try to cross into Paradise Lost will die because Lucifer ordered it so.

This make Paradise Lost the only kingdom we know of that angels cannot enter. Add on the fact that everyone is healing every injury, and Paradise Lost really is the safest kingdom, completely separated from the tragedies of war or the consequences of living within its walls.

It's a land separated from 'existence' so to speak. Truly terrifying.

[rosemxze]

⚠️ gamigin event spoilers

lucifer and the three seraphim

lucifer was the first seraph and he made himself fell by removing his wings

the three seraphims actually respects and admire lucifer other than god. that's a surprise since i thought they'd be jealous instead.

here's michael with both his original eyes intact before lucifer gouged one of them out and some screencaps of michael simping for lucifer

[lychniis]

⚘ ― EVENFALL ! ( valentines day event ).

( # )ㅤ evenfallㅤ —ㅤ twilight ; dusk. the period or the light from the sky between full night and sunrise or between sunset and full night.

syn. a valentines day / white day event inspired by hozier lyrics ( and also seconding as my 1000 follower event i suppose XD ). feel free to drop by and select a prompt from the list below alongside a flower / genre. you could always opt for more flowers. however please note that minors are not allowed to request for / interact with nsfw works. please note that the maximum character limit is three.

this was more of a last minute bout of silliness, but i'd love to write some requests for you guys after supporting me and my bs for nearly two years now XD. so hey hey, my inbox is open to be raided! i'm currently taking this event for genshin impact and honkai star rail!

prompts. the prompts and flowers available are listed below. you can request a single prompt + one of more flowers of your choice! you could also add some additional suggestions if you'd like, say a setting or an au or a scenario! requests close by the 20th of febuary. i'll start posting on white day, march 14th.

daisy — fluff.

hyacinth — angst.

tulip — crack / humor.

orchid — smut.

i. ❛ there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. ❜

ii. ❛ no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her. ❜

iii. ❛ you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜

iv. ❛ some like to imagine. the dark caress of someone else. i guess any thrill will do. ❜

v. ❛ honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes. i feel like a person for a moment of my life. ❜

vi. ❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜

vii. ❛ honey please, try to love me. my love will never die. ❜

viii. ❛ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty, oh my sunlight. ❜

ix. ❛ you don’t understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❜

x. ❛ idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword. ❜

xi. ❛ honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. ❜

xii. ❛ i'm so full of love I could barely eat. ❜

xiii. ❛ honey you're familiar, like my mirror years ago. ❜

xiv. ❛ i know who i am when i’m alone. i’m something else when i see you. ❜

xv. ❛ there’s something tragic about you. ❜

xvi. ❛ there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. ❜

xvii. ❛ still my heart is heavy with the hate of some other man’s beliefs. ❜

xviii. ❛ i’ve known the warmth of your doorways. through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you. ❜

xix. ❛ screaming the name of a foreigner's god, the purest expression of grief. ❜

xx. ❛ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now.

xxi. ❛ the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you. ❜

xxii. ❛ i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. ❜

xxiii. ❛ i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me. ❜

xxiv. ❛ honey please, try to love me. my love will never die. ❜

xxv. ❛ i had been lost to you, sunlight, and flew like a moth to you. ❜

xxvi. ❛ it’s not my arms that will fail me, but this world takes more strength than it gave me. ❜

xxvii. ❛ i need you to run to me, run until you feel your lungs bleeding. ❜

xxviii. ❛ i will not ask where you came from. i will not ask and neither should you. ❜

xxix. ❛ be still, my foolish heart. don't ruin this on me. ❜

xxx. ❛ honey, i wanna race you to the table, if you hesitate, the getting is gone. ❜

( all the dialog prompts presented here are taken from songs by hozier. i own none of them. )

EVENT WORKSㅤ •ㅤ ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

[gardens-light]

Shooting Stars

Since breaking into K.S.I, more questions than answers were being raised. It seemed like things were becoming more unclear, than they originally were. And in the midst of all the chaos, the secret (or not so secret) romance between you and Optimus begun to build. With your heart and his Spark, yearning for one another. The pair of you slowly got to a point, where you could only resist temptation for so long...

Content: Course Language. Events takes place in Transformers- Age of Extinction (no spoilers.) Fluff followed by NSFW smut. (This chapter is basically pure smut, as my head has been in the gutter for the past week.) Optimus Prime x F/Human reader.

Inspired by the song: Airplanes- B.O.B

Word Count: 2,800.

Sparkmate Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 (End)

Two Days Later

With the nights growing colder, the thin blankets that Cade found only did so much. The stained-glass windows of the cathedral no longer seemed beautiful- but more of an annoyance, as the chill air would sweep through the cracked glass.

And in addiction of Cade's snoring, sleep seemed impossible to come. A heavy sigh escaped your lips, eyes rolling a little as you grew bored of staring up at the ceiling, for who knows how long by now.

Sitting up and rubbing your temples, trying to allow your eyes to adjust to the dimly lit darkness. As you carefully exited out of your sleeping bag, trying to disturb the others as little as possible. Hands running along the cold brick walls, while you made your way towards the main hall.

Nerves crawled up your back, as a low rumble echoed through the main hall. Your breath hitching slightly with each step, stopping whenever the low rumble slightly peeked in volume. Moonlight lazily shined through the windows, as the overcast sky slowly cleared.  

It’s just Hound. Your thoughts assured, while a suttle sigh of relief left your lungs.

The muscles in your body slightly relaxing, as the sight of the Autobot snoring away teased a smile upon your lips. Tip-toing towards the makeshift table and quietly making a protein shake. A steady breath returned to you, as the dim darkness soon grew on you, making your surroundings somewhat more comfortable.  

While taking a few sips from the drink, your head tilted to the side a little, as a familiar shadow fell across the table from outside. Curiosity stirred your thoughts, causing your body to carefully tread towards a large hole in the wall.  

“I thought it might have been you.”  

Optimus’ optics fell onto you, a small smile spreading across his faceplate. Watching you carefully climb over the lose bricks, with your drink in hand. You approached the mechanical giant, as he sat upon the ground. Leaning against the solid wall of the cathedral. 

He felt your eyes study his features, “are you alright, Optimus? You look tired.” 

“I’ll be alright, Sweet Spark.” His soothing voice assured, “you do not need to worry about me.-” 

“But I do, Optimus.” You shyly admitted, walking towards the gazebo, that still had string lights and fairy lights surrounding it. “Especially what you said earlier.”  

You watched his optics quickly avoid your questioning gaze. His helm lowering slightly, as guilt played on his processors and slightly squeezed his Spark. You wasn’t supposed to hear that...      

“’What did you mean? ‘You’re done fighting for humans.’ You didn’t mean that... did you?” 

“Y/N...” Optimus sighed, hesitating before looking back at you. “How many more of my kind must be sacrificed to atone for your mistakes?” 

“What do you think ‘being human’ means?” you questioned. Another arrow of guilt struck Optimus’ core, as his audio receivers detected the underlying hurt within your voice. “That’s what we do, we make mistakes. But sometimes the most amazing things comes from those mistakes.” 

You softly bit your bottom lip, fingers playing with the cup as you took a moment.  

“When I fixed you... it was for a reward.” The words tasted like poison upon your tounge, as regret slowly squeezed your heart. But at the same time, a sensation of relief washed over you. Like a long bottled-up secret could finally break free. “That was it. That was the only reason why. For the money.” 

Optimus slowly turned his attention back onto you, his expression softening as his optics watched a single tear roll down your cheek.   

“And that was me making a mistake. But without it, you wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be here.”  

Reaching out for him, a slight ease relaxed your aching heart as Optimus still welcomed your touch. A loving sigh escaping him, as your delicate fingers ran the back of his servo.   

“So... even if you have no faith in us, all I’m asking is you do what Dad taught me and Tessa. Look past all the junk and see the treasures.” Your hand ran up towards his wrist, gently pulling out your iron ring from under his metal plates. “You need to have faith, Prime, in who we can be.” 

Optimus’ free servo curled into a relaxed fist, gently using the knuckle of his index digit to brush away a tear from your cheek. His touch feathered down your body, fingertips tracing each and every curve which the Autobot has now memorized. Carefully wrapping it around your waist, picking you up and bringing you closer to his height.     

You were just about to say something, but Optimus’ lips lightly pressed against your own. Giving you a passionate kiss, as both closed your eyes, melting into each other's embrace. The cup slipped from your hand, landing upon the ground with a small shatter, while you wrapped both arms around the Autobot’s neck.  

“Forgive me, my Sweet Spark.” Optimus pleaded, his kiss trailing down your neck.  

“I-I just don’t want to lose you.” you turned your head to the side, giving him more room to kiss your neck.  

“You could never lose me-” 

The sound of an airplane's engine roared above, causing Optimus to briefly break away. As you both looked up at the night sky, seeing the lights from the metal wings.  

“If only wishes could be made upon airplanes, like we do with shooting stars.” You sighed. Only to chuckle a little, that sounded a little corny.  

“Why? What would you wish for?” 

Your eyes returned to Optimus’ optics, “that we could have a moment of peace, with no interruptions. Just... Just us two being alone.” 

“Well... we’re alone now.” The Autobot spoke, the small spark of desire zapping within his core. Causing his processors to stir his mind towards temptation. His thumb gently rubbing small circles upon your lower back.  

A flirtatious smile teased the corners of your lips, “then... perhaps we should make the most of it.” 

Without hesitation, Optimus’ lips returned to yours. As he carefully laid you upon the curved roof of the gazebo, his free servo trailing down towards the waist band of your PJ bottoms. 

“I’ll start slow.” He promised, briefly allowing his lips to part from yours. “If I ever get too much. Please tell me, Sweet Spark.” 

You silently nodded, as a small shade of pink dusted your cheeks.  

Bringing both servos towards your thighs, massaging the muscles. While he placed passionate kisses along your neck, towards your collarbone. Butterflies disburse in your stomach, as a warming amber begun to flicker within your core. 

Hearing your soft moans against his audio processors, heat begun to rise beneath Optimus’ metal plates. The fans in his vents barely able to keep his temperature at bay. 

  A low sigh escaped your lips, as Optimus’ glossa traced the curves of your cleavage. A shy smile teasing the corners of your mouth, as a satisfied hum rumbled deep within his throat. Hands embracing his helm, as Optimus’ mouth danced over your clothed breasts, softly biting through the fabric, leaving suttle bite marks upon your skin.  

“Optimus...” 

Your torso rolled and moved against his mouth. Hands exploring the worn parts of his helm, caressing his old battle scars. Your eyes closed, as your head gently rested against the gazebo’s roof. 

Your breath hitched slightly, as Optimus’ placed a last kiss upon your hip. The small ambers within your core slowly rolled into a warm flame, once your eyes met his loving gaze. His hands cupping your ass, occasionally giving it a cheeky squeeze, as the desire pulsing through his Spark tore away the remaining pieces of his self-control.  

“Don’t stop.” You encouraged, seeing the lust glossing over his optics.  

A shaky breath leaving his lips, as you ran your hands towards your clothed core. Feeling Optimus’ digits twitch, as you opened your legs, causing the Autobot to fall onto his knees. His glossa licking his bottom lip, breath hitching as you slowly tugged your bottoms down your hips.  

The scent of your arousal drove Optimus into a spin, a burning desire of want pulsing through his wires, as his beating Spark cried for satisfaction.  

Sh-She smells so good. His processors teased.   

“Th-These... are in the way.” Optimus lowly spoke, his servo’s gently tugging the waistband of your bottoms down a little more.  

“Remove them then.” 

A breathless gasp escaped you, as the Autobot tore away the clothing along with your laced undergarments. The sound of the tearing fabric leaving your body made your soaked core clench around nothing. As Optimus carelessly threw the items aside, burying his faceplate between your thighs before the clothes could even reach the ground.  

Muffled whimpers tried to leave you, as you bit your bottom lip. Body quivering and legs trembling, as Optimus’ glossa caressed your folds. His servos returning to your thighs, gently placing your legs over his shoulders. Before using one of his servos to tease your wet, throbbing entrance. 

Your back arched against the roof, a moan slipping from your mouth, as Optimus’ middle digit slowly entered your sweet spot. The satisfied growl coming from the back of the Autobot’s throat, rippled against your skin. His lips tenderly kissing tangled the nerves of your clit, as his digit pushed more into your depth. Your soaked core relaxing, as his servo gently rocked against you. Ripping more muffled whimpers and whines from you, with each plunge of his digit. 

Electric volts raced through Optimus’ wires, as fireworks burst within his Spark. His engine revving, low moans rumbling within his throat, as his optics looked up at you. A smile forming upon his lips, as he witnessed the hot mess you slowly tuned into. 

“You’re so wet, my darling.” His voice cooed, “you’re practically dripping down me. Perhaps, I should clean you up.”  

Before words could form a question, a moan slipped from your lips as Optimus’ servo retreated from your core. Eyes widening, as his mouth kissed and sucked upon the glistening folds of your entrance. Your nails digging into his helm, scratching the navy-blue paint, as his glossa plunged into you without hesitation.          

“Optimus! Optimus!” 

His free servo quickly clasped against your mouth, muffling the whines of his name. A speechless command for quiet, as his passionate assault upon your soft spot didn’t ease. 

Your eyes rolled shut, arching your back and melting into the heated moment. As your legs spread a little more, giving Optimus more space to push his lips against you. Allowing his glossa to go deeper into your wet depths.  

His free servo slipped under the hem of your shirt, cupping and foundling with your breast. As the other trailed down, resting upon your neck. The tightening of your pussy around Optimus’ glossa, made his Spark begging for more.  

You were unlike anything he’d ever had. How your soft, organic body molded just oh so perfectly, against his servos and faceplate. The sweet essence of your soaked core, dripping down his glossa- providing a taste that made the Prime wonder how he ever lived this long without it. The sound of your voice moaning his name felt like a beautiful melody to him. A sirens song that you sang only for him.  

Your eyes fluttered open, as a breathless gasp slipped from your mouth. Biting your bottom slip, while another moan of Optimus’ name bubbled in your throat. Heat erupted in your core, a burning fire of desire warming your body, as an ache built up between your legs. Your hips rocking against Optimus’ faceplate, as nerves tangled together within your lower adomiain. A wave of pleasure building up, as the Autobot devoured your wet pussy. His glossa gliding in and out of your soaked entrance, lathering up your essence upon his glossa, like he had been stranded in a desert for days. And your body was the oasis, which held the key to a lifesaving nectar. 

“Oh...” you whined, as Optimus pulled away, causing your hand to slip down by your sides again. The wave of pleasure slowly settling down, as the fire within your core caused an ache. His servo retreating from underneath your shirt.  

“Forgive me, Sweet Spark.” He lowly spoke, wiping your glistening essence off his mouth and chin. Using the back of his servo, “but I need some... relief of my own.” 

His servo’s gently caressed your lower back, cradling your soft body as he picked you up. Bringing you closer to him, as Optimus shifted into a standing position.  

Your blush radiating a little more warmth upon your cheeks, as your eyes lowered to his modesty plate. Biting your lip a little, as the metal buckled from some hidden pressure behind it.  

Optimus’ low groans caught brought your attention back, noticing that the Autobot had trouble stepping over the fence which was on the left side of the of the courtyard. The fence divided the courtyard of the abandoned cathedral, and the community pool next door.  

Sitting down upon the overgrown grass, you straddled Optimus’ lap as he bent down and cupped your face. Placing soft, delicate kiss upon the top of your head and forehead. You could feel his modesty buckling more beneath you, as you grinded against the surprisingly light metal.  

“Be mine, my love.” His breathless plea brushed against your ear. Causing the fire in your core to burst, as Optimus’ Spark pulsed through his wires, “spend one night with this Prime, and I swear you’ll never want to love another.” 

Your hand caressed his cheek, as a loving sigh escaped your lips. “You already make feel like I don’t want another, Optimus Prime. For it’s you who has my heart- my whole heart.”    

You slightly adjusted your position, as Optimus removed his modesty plate. Eyes widening as you admired the size of his spike, the flickering flames within your core burned into a heat of want. A fire matching Optimus’ electric pulses of desire.  

Positioning himself near your close, using the tip of his spike to tease your throbbing entrance. Servo’s trailing down your torso, feeling every delicate curve as his palms rested against your outer thighs. His digits caressing the soft skin of your ass.  

A moan slipping from you, as his spike slipped into your soaking core. Your hands sliding from his faceplate, and onto his chassis. Gripping onto his chest plate, as your velvety walls felt every ribbed inch that Optimus gently thrusted into you.  

Optimus’ helm slowly tilted back, as his optics rolled shut. His engine purring, his Spark pulsing, vents cooling as he began to thrust into you. Cables tightened throughout his body, as the sensation of your essence dripping down him, sent Optimus’ processors into a spin. His scanners picking up your racing heart, as his Spark matched its rhythm. A knot begun to tighten deep within your core, as your body adjusted to the Autobot’s size.  

Your features flushed red, breasts bouncing with each thrust as you leaned forwards. The water reflecting off the outdoor pool, made the sweat upon your body glimmer slightly, as it dripped down your neck and back. Hair sticking to you, as your forehead rested against Optimus’ chassis, low whimpers and moans leaving your lips, as his hips picked up rhythm.  

“Primus! You’re so tight! So wet!” 

His digits begun to clench your ass, causing a low hiss to slip from you. Biting your bottom lip, trying to stop a scream of pleasure escape you. As you bounced and grind against his spike, never feeling so stretched yet so full at the same time. Knowing fair well that this mechanical God of a man, has absolutely ruined you. Optimus’ spike plunged into your soaked core, each thrust hitting your cervix harder and harder. Teasing the knot behind it, to come undone.  

“Y-You feel so good-” 

“Shut up and fuck me!” 

A satisfied growl rumbled deep within Optimus’ throat, your breathless command making the pulsing electricity within him, burst like fireworks. His optics fluttering open, as he tried to blink away the lust that glossed over his vision.  

“Your body was made for my love, Sweet Spark.” Gripping tightly upon your ass, making your body bounce harder against him. Pushing your hips down and meeting his, the tip of his spike slapping against your g-spot.  

“O-Optimus... Optimus!” 

Your grip upon his chassis tightened, as the knot in your core caused your legs to quiver. The rocking and thrusting of your hips, turning into an unforgiving pace, as your wave of pleasure began to build. Cables tightened inside Optimus’ body, as his body prepared for an upcoming overload.  

“Oh! Oh, fuck.” 

A breathless gasp escaped Optimus’, as your soaked core tightened around his throbbing spike. Your body falling against his chassis, as the warm feeling of his trans-fluids painted your insides. His sticky fluid, and your glistening essence covering your thighs and his.  

A small whimper left your lips, as Optimus carefully lifted you off his spike. Your heavy breathes fogging up his chassis, as your fingers scratched a little more of his blue paint off. Eyes fluttering, your body slumping against him, as it felt like all the energy and strength was taken from your body. Barely able to lift your head, as you gave the Autobot a contented smile. His vents working overtime, trying to cool down the warmth that radiated from his body.  

Cradling you against him, Optimus carefully shuffled towards the pool. Lowering himself into the water, making sure that the level only came to your waist. Both happily sighing as the cool water, felt refreshing against your warm bodies.  

“This... feels nice.” Your tone was sleepy, as your head rested against his chest. 

“It does.” Optimus placed a soft kiss upon the top of your head. His free servo grabbing a nearby towel, dragging it into the water, and wrapping it around your waist. Giving you a little bit of modesty. “Rest, my Sweet Spark. For I shall watch over you.” 

“I love you, Optimus Prime.” 

“And I you, Y/N Yeager.”  

Tag List

@ursamajor17 @crowleysthings @k----a27s @lainekyuu @manticcashew @goreismyforte @imachaoticghost @person101lol @silverelfy-blog @nataliahemsworth @musicalmedli @buena-lili @imobssesedwithtoomanysheet @skylarstormheart @the-unhinged-raccoon @ag3ntsw8n @moonsua1 @unadulteratedwizardrunaway @silverelfy-blog

[ageofevermore]

NATASHAS SONG

SUMMARY — what if melina and alexei ran away with natasha and yelena instead of going back to the red room? what if you fell in love with your childhood best friend with blue hair and a stubborn personality? she said, i was seven and you were nine, i looked at you like the stars that shine, in the sky, the pretty lights

WARNINGS — mentions of child abuse, the red room, soft melina, firecracker yelena, domestic alexei who knows better then to go against his wife’s wishes, hurt/comfort, found family

For the first seven years of your life, yelling was a pretty normal thing. Your mother yelled from the minute her eyes opened to the very last second before they closed, and somewhere in between all that yelling, there was hitting. She never tried to be a mean person, but she was insecure and not at all ready for kids when she fell pregnant at nineteen and was kicked out of her parents house. The both of you kind of floated around for a little bit. Your father worked a couple of jobs, but never long enough to truly settle down someplace, and he was off on the road more times then he was home anyways. But when you moved to Ohio, something changed. Your mom was still mean, your arms were still bruised, but your spirit wasn’t so crushed. Maybe it had to do with a little blue haired girl and her firecracker sister who lived next door.

It was Spring when you moved to that small town in Ohio, barely a mile long and kids at every corner, all playing on bikes and old swing sets, laughing until the street lights came on and they were called inside for dinner. You hadn’t seen her at first, but two weeks later, she was outside on a bicycle, pedaling angrily down the hill. You watched from your front steps as her front tire got caught on a rock, and the wheels spun out before she could hit the breaks, sending her to the pavement in seconds that felt like minutes to you. She didn’t cry. That was the first thing you noticed. She just stood up, bleeding knee and elbow and all, and muttered words to herself that were incomprehensible because of the distance between you. You met her halfway, her bike being walked beside her and a limp just barely noticeable, like she was trying to hide the pain she was in.

“I saw you fall.” Your words made her blush. They were blunt, not offering any emotion that gave away if you were concerned or rather just amused by her mistake, but your tone was soft. It felt almost contradictory, like you cared but didn’t at the same time.

Her chest puffed outward, like a threatened puffer fish desperately trying to defend itself, and then the stubborn response fell from her lips, “I didn’t fall.”

You just stared at her for a second, wondering if she was being serious. Even if you hadn’t seen the entire event play by play, her knee and her elbow were still bleeding, and her bike was scrapped up. It was evident something had happened. “You did.”

“No I didn’t.” She got closer to your face, hands balling into fists. She didn’t like that you’d seen her so weak, and that you gave no indication of your feelings about it, and even more so that she couldn’t read you enough to decipher your emotions, but you didn’t see that. All you saw was an angry little girl with the same characteristics as your mother before she struck. Shrinking backward, you meekly pointed to your front steps, where your bottle of bubbles was abandoned.

“I have bandaids.”

She followed you back to the house silently, scratched up bike trailing beside her.

♡‧ ⁺彡🫧⋆◞

The days progressed slowly after your first initial meeting. It was a mutual friendship between the both of you, even if she was stubborn and you were quiet. Yelena did the talking for the most part, directing you with what she wanted to play and how she wanted to do it. Everyday that your father was away from the house, your mother seemed to get more unbearable, and by the end of the first month in Ohio the house was littered with crushed beer cans, but Natasha and Yelena were your escape. You never said much, or anything really, but it worked for you three. Natasha was quiet as well, whether it was because of you, or that was just her, you weren’t really sure, but neither of you had any qualms about following the blonde toddler around and doing as she instructed.

Yelena's favorite game was something Natasha had named upside down. Not the most creative, but telling of the activity. Yelena would force the both of you into backbends, and then fall into one herself, doing everything she could to make you both fall down before she did. The winner got nothing but bragging rights util the next round, but it was enough for her. Natasha never fell, but you let Yelena think she was beating you each and every time. There was no way Natasha didn’t know what you were doing, but she never said anything. Not until one night, when you were upside down and the bottom of your shirt rose to just above your belly button from how much you’d been swaying. She was behind you, watching your every move with her usual stoic expression, but her face melted into concern when she noticed the bruises littering your otherwise unmarked by life skin. It was the first time you’d seen anything but indifference from her.

She fell from her backbend first, ignoring Yelena’s victorious chants and taunts. She pushed you out of yours, your butt landing in a patch of dead grass and dirt, almost certain there was an ant hill beneath your body. You looked up at her in pure shock, spluttering to find words but failing. “Why did you do that?” It was the only thing you could think to say. You had no idea your shirt had risen, no idea that a small fraction of your truth was now out in the open and not confined to your one-story house how you liked it.

“How did you get that bruise?” She was blunt, to the point, an exact replica of how you’d been on that first day. Your head tilted to the right, eyes searching your body and finding no exposed skin that would give her any indication that your body was severely bruised and aching beneath your clothes. “On your stomach. Your shirt came up, I saw it.”

You shook your head, standing on your own two feet so you didn’t feel so small beneath her. You already felt small enough. You already had no power. “It was probably just a shadow.”

“I know what a bruise looks like.” She rebutted, the same stubborn fire burning in her eyes that you’d never seen crack even once. There was a hint of something in them, something that wasn’t stubbornness, but there wasn’t enough to tell what it was. Her hands reached for the hem of your shirt, but you’d run off before she could find out for herself. You faintly heard Yelena yelling at her sister for ruining the game, but you didn’t look back, not even once.

That night, you had no idea that Natasha had gone to her mother, and told her about the inky purple discoloration around your belly button, and you wouldn’t for a few months afterward, but it didn’t matter. You spent the next two weeks inside, avoiding Natasha and Yelena and hoping that they’d forget about it when you saw them next. They never did.

♡‧ ⁺彡🫧⋆◞

It was around Christmas time when your father finally came home for longer than a couple nights at a time. Things were better when he was around, your mother wasn’t so bold, and the drinking wasn’t as heavy, but things were still bad. Highschool sweethearts with an accidental pregnancy and very little money could only last so long without chaos, and it seemed that they had reached the end of their rope. It was Christmas Eve when the fighting got so loud you could hear it through your closed bedroom door, even with your pillow over your ears and your small, trembling hands holding it there. When your father stormed out after fights, it's when your mother came to find you, and even if things were better, you still ended up with bruises that you had to find a way to hide from Natasha and her inquisitive stare.

It was after midnight when you’d finally had enough, glass shattering against a wall somewhere in the living room. Your mother was throwing things again, and the closer it got to your bedroom, the less you felt welcome. You snuck out of the window, only grabbing your favorite stuffed animal before you were migrating into Natasha’s backyard, through a hole in the bottom of the fence that got bigger every time somebody crawled through it, and knocked on the sliding glass door meekly. Melina was awake, nursing a glass of red wine while Alexei wrapped presents that were probably from Santa. The christmas tree was still lit up with hundreds of multi-colored bulbs, and you could spy a few handmade ornaments on the bottom of the tree that had Yelena’s name messily sprawled across them.

Both heads snapped toward you, hands twitching like they were about to reach for something, but defenses dropped when they saw your tear stained face and bare feet. Your tattered princess pajamas were worn, and the wrist length sleeves only came past your elbows, and the ankle length pants only came past your knees. Illuminated by the yellow glow of the house, every bruise on your soft skin was visible.

“Y/N.” Melina could only whisper your name into the night, too startled by what she saw to say anything else. Her arms felt maternal around your midsection as she hugged you, but your nerves were too shot by the hours of endless fighting and violence to respond properly, or at all. It seemed you were right back to that all too quiet little girl Natasha had finally broken down.

You didn’t have to say why you were there. With the sliding glass door open, both Melina and Alexei could hear shattering glass and loud cusses that were so vulgar, even they winced. Melina ushered you inside, while Alexei grabbed cookies from the kitchen to hopefully entice your walls to drop down. They’d seen you playing with Natasha and Yelena, and how you had become carefree and silly, but the girl before them now was practically a ghost.

After a few cookies, which you sheepishly munched on, anticipating them to be taken from you at any moment, you couldn't stop yourself from yawning. Melina smiled warmly, her hand hadn’t left your back since she ushered you to the couch, insisting that you eat a few cookies before doing anything else, but now it rubbed your back so comfortingly and soft, you almost started crying all over again. “Natasha and Yelena’s room is just to the left down that hallway. I can walk you there. You should get some sleep.”

“Home.” It was the first thing you said, and Melina almost crumbled hearing how soft your trembling syllables came out. She hadn’t spoken to you directly, letting Natasha and Yelena have their relationships without meddling too far, but she fell in love with you instantly. She wondered how anyone could ever hurt you, but she knew all too well how evil the world could be. She didn’t need to dwell on the question for too long to know it was just how some people were.

“You’re not going home tonight.” There was something in her voice, a faint twist of words that didn’t sound entirely american, now you know why, but then, you’d just chalked it up to exhaustion. “The girls will be so happy to have you here tomorrow. Alexei plans on making cinnamon rolls for breakfast, does that sound nice?”

With how small you were, brittle bones visible in every nook and cranny of your small body, Melina figured you weren’t fed as often as you should be. The dips in your collarbone and notches in your back from the impression of your spine are an obvious tell of malnourishment, but she doesn’t say that to you. Even thirty years later, she’d never once brought it up if you didn’t lead the conversation, and you were eternally grateful.

You nod sheepishly, only standing from the couch when she does first. You're still holding the white porcelain plate that chocolate chip cookies were once on, looking like a deer in headlights as you awaited directions for what to do with the plate. Melina smiled warmly, and it was being taken from your hands before you could worry too much. “Alexei will wash that, he’s still got dishes from dinner to catch up on.”

“It is your night to do… Um, yes. I have so many dishes to do, I will do that now.” He fumbled over his words after Melina sent him a pointed look. Under different circumstances you would’ve giggled, but instead, you just nodded and let yourself be led deeper into the house, until you made it to Natasha and Yelena’s bedroom, where whispering was blatantly obvious, not to mention the faint glow of yellow light escaping beneath the gap in the door.

Melina knocked before she entered, visibly amused with how quickly Natasha had shut off her flashlight and Yelena had covered her head with a soft pink blanket. You only realized now how cold you were, no shoes on your feet and skin exposed to the brutal Ohio winter despite the heat in the house. “I know you're awake, big girl. It’s alright.” The tone she used with Natasha made your heart ache, but you ignored the jealousy. Natasha deserved to have good parents, you couldn’t change yours, so you’d just have to deal.

“Mama, it’s Christmas Eve. Santa’s gonna come!” Yelena breathed in one breath, giving away her fake sleeping though you suspected Melina already knew. Natasha held her breath, almost like she knew something sinister that Yelena didn’t, but Melina sent her a wink and then looked back to her youngest firecracker.

“Santa’s already been. You’ll see it all in the morning.” The twinkle in Melina’s voice was nice, something you could’ve melted into if you weren’t so distraught from what you’d ran away from just an hour prior.

Yelena gasped, looking between her big sister and her mother in amazement, “You saw Santa?!”

“Mhm, we had a lovely chat about cheeky little girls who try to catch him when they know the rules. He’s asked you don’t peek until morning when we can open them together.” Yelena nods dutifully, and something in Natasha’s face says that this is new to her, that maybe life isn’t always as perfect as this moment. It makes you feel better, to know that maybe your house isn’t the only one with flaws.

“Mama, why is Y/N here?” Yelena asks the question on both girls' minds, and you notice that Natasha’s back straightens and she really takes in your appearance, trying not to let you see how she’s analyzing every bruise on your body.

“She’s going to be sleeping over. Why don’t you pull out your favorite pair of jammies for her, yes? These are a bit small.” You want to protest, and say that you’re okay, but Melina puts a hand on your shoulder like she can read your mind, and it silences any attempt you would’ve made to say that you're okay as you are.

Yelena races to hand you a pair of purple pajamas with ponies on the top. You recognize the characters from a few of her outside clothes, Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle the ones occupying this pair. “She can sleep in my bed with me, Mama.” Natasha offers, and Melina praises her for her generosity before she’s ushering you into a bathroom just two doors down from the bedroom.

“May I help you, Y/N? I want to make sure there aren’t any cuts that need cleaning.” Melina lifts you onto the counter, not really waiting for you to agree, because she has a feeling you will anyway. The desperate desire to please her breaks her spirit a bit, but she doesn’t let you see that.

“No cuts.” You tell her, voice so quiet it's almost entirely drowned out by the overhead fan that’s intended to suck the moisture from the air when the shower is going. Melina hums, but she undresses you anyway, keeping her composure just barely as she sees all of the bruises that hide beneath the tattered fabric of your princess pajamas. “These are my favorite ones.” You don’t tell her they’re your only ones, because it doesn’t really matter, they were a gift for your fourth birthday, and despite the tight fit and holes, they were your absolute favorite.

“We’ll get you new ones.” It’s a promise, but you don’t say anything, you have a feeling it doesn’t matter if you protest, you’ll be getting new princess pajamas either way, and being defiant with somebody who is only trying to help you isn’t why you ran over here. You just nod weakly, letting Melina inspect your bruises and avoiding eye contact at all cost. “Yelena’s might be a bit big on you, she’s quite a few inches taller. How old are you, sweetheart?” There’s a word on the tip of her tongue that she doesn’t say, but you don’t think anything of it. Later, a few years down the line, you’ll know that she intended on calling you a russian pet name, but for now, you just excuse her odd behavior and accent as exhaustion on both your parts.

“Seven.” You hold up seven fingers, the first sign of a little girl you show her. Her Yelena does the same any time she’s asked her age, holding up three fingers proudly, but always following up with how she’s going to be four soon. It’s an endearing habit that Natasha was never conditioned to adhere to, but Melina wishes she was. Melina wishes so much for Natasha, but being a widow had come first for so long.

“Just a few years younger than Natasha.” Melina makes conversation, although you’re already aware that your friend is nine, almost ten. You appreciate the conversation, even if you're reluctant in joining it. “I’ve seen you climb that tree in the backyard. Yelena wants to be just like you, but she’s a bit sheepish when it comes to heights.”

Your eyes sparkle like the stars that shine overhead in the sky when no clouds are present, and its so endearing that Melina almost cries. “Really? Like me?”

“My girls are quite fond of you, and I can see why. Now, stay put while I grab a wash towel, okay? These feet are awfully dirty.” Melina traces a finger along the soul of your foot, and you wiggle away from the ticklish sensation with a shy grin. She’s back in only seconds, with a washcloth that also has the same ponies on it as the shirt she’s folded and placed on the counter beside you. “Yelena’s quite fond of My Little Pony, I hope these are okay for the night.”

You nod, not bothered by what design is on the clothes you’ve been given, just appreciative that you won't be so cold and exposed anymore. “You won’t tell, right? Mommy doesn’t mean to be mean, she’s just sad.”

Melina hates how gentle your heart is, how easy you are at forgiving her for hurting you, she tells Natasha so often to protect her heart, to not let Dreykov take it, but she wishes you would protect yourself. To realize how you're being treated isn’t what you deserve. She kisses your head when you're standing in front of her, feet clean and My Little Pony pajamas swimming on your frail body. You just look at her, with wide innocent eyes that are screaming for this kind of affection from your own parents.

Melina falls in love with you that night, and that house becomes your home for the next year.

♡‧ ⁺彡🫧⋆◞

You’re eight when everything changes. Your father had left for good a few months before everything changed, packing up all of his things and kissing your head before he pulled out of the driveway like a bat out of hell and left you alone with your mother. You hadn’t seen him since, and the bad things had only gotten worse, but you’re able to hide it from everyone but Natasha and Melina. Alexei notices too, but he seems to notice your apprehension toward him, and lets his wife handle you mostly. He takes no offense, always offering you cookies when you sneak over in the middle of the night, and picking up treats for you in mind when he’s coming back from a day at the office. You feel a part of the family, and they’re all willing to welcome you.

It’s nine in the evening when you hear the whistle. You and Natasha had decided that you needed a secret code a few months ago, when she knocked on the door to ask if you could play and nobody answered. When you heard it that night, your mother had just finished taunting you, tearing apart a pair of pajamas Melina had purchased, and was now locked in her bedroom with a bottle of beer while you wept in the corner of your bedroom. Natasha had whistled, and a few minutes later you immersed on the porch with red rimmed eyes and the remnants of what was once a yellow set of jammies in your hands. Natasha didn’t ask, she already knew, but she didn’t have time to comfort you.

“We’re leaving. Mama wants you to come. Pack a bag and be outside in five minutes, Papa’s packing the car. We’re spies.” You just looked at her, unsure of if she was joking, but Natasha never joked. She was always serious, always stubborn, always telling the truth because she had no time for lies to fall apart in her hands. You admired that, because Yelena loved to spin lies into truths and confuse everyone with what actually happened.

You did as she asked, throwing the new princess pajamas into a backpack as well as a few outfits and your favorite stuffed animal. You didn’t need anything else, mostly because you didn’t have anything else. The tube of bubbles your mother had bought for you when you first moved to Ohio had run out, and nothing had been bought to replace them. All you had was a few pairs of pajamas and a couple outfits, all bought by Melina after she noticed your slim to none selection of clothing.

You met Natasha outside like she asked, and took one final look at that house before getting in the car, not knowing that you would never see it, or your mother, again.

♡‧ ⁺彡🫧⋆◞

When you were fifteen and Natasha was sixteen, just a few days shy of her birthday, something changed between you. You're not sure when or how, but nothing was the same after that night, things only got better. You were somewhere in upstate New York, the fourth time you had moved that year, when you noticed how simple she looked beneath the moonlight. Her hair was no longer blue, but instead, her natural deep crimson color and tossed into a ponytail messily. It was slipping down from everything you’d done that day, but she didn’t fix it, just let a few wavy strands fall in front of her eyes without care. She wasn’t a fan of makeup, so her freckles were on full display as she looked at you, and as she leaned in closer, so close you could feel her exhale against your lips, so close, it felt like she was the only person in the world, and that was okay with you. You kissed that night, beneath the moonlight and the stars, and it was like everything that was ever out of place had finally fit together, like you had finally completed an old puzzle.

Melina and Alexei had seen the entire thing play out. The house was two stories, one of the bigger ones you’d been in since leaving Ohio behind, and the back porch overlooked a treehouse in the backyard. You spent almost all of your time in the treehouse, and while Yelena was out exploring the town, you and Natasha had settled into your favorite hideaway while Melina and Alexei nursed glasses of red. Neither were surprised, and neither questioned you when you finally came back inside with flushed cheeks and a sprinkle of something new in your eyes, just smiled at each other and placed a bet on how long it would take for you both to realize you’d been in love since that first night in Ohio with bandaids and scratched bikes.

You got married at twenty-three and twenty-five, and Alexei owed Melina twenty bucks, and all you did was laugh, and pop a bottle of champagne, and thank Ohio for the life it had given you.

[xiofuu]

where you actively try to deny your love for the general as he chases for it.

art is by @/tecchen on twt | part one (?)

Where did this even start? When was it that your heart had decided to go against you and fall in love with the General?

No matter how many times you tried to tell yourself that this was just work, that you two were to be strictly work partners, your heart still yearned for more, wishing to be held with his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as the both of you nap in the warmth that fell through the window and onto you both.

You shake your head at the thought, your face growing warmer as your heart betrays you more and more each day as General Jing Yuan's attendant, wandering through the Exalting Sanctum as you take a break from the endless amount of work, the moon high in the sky as a navy blue blanket is cast upon the island, highlighted with soft pinks in the sky as each building shines with their lanterns, the stone path shining a soft yellow with each step you take as you step onto the wooden boards of the elevated ground, their dark hues affected with light blue as you find an empty bench to sit on, your eyes wandering as you take in the calming feel of the night.

A soft sigh leaves your lips, your heart still pounding at the thought of the lazy General as you lean back against the bench, looking up at the night sky, stars crossing the sky as you think once more, your mind focused on too many things at once.

You couldn't love him. There wasn't a way for a work relationship such as yours to work out, you believed. From him being a General and being too busy with work (or so you excused) to you being his simple attendant, only there to work alongside him on his stacking paperwork as he makes plans for other things, his small smile of apology etched into your heart as your heart pounds again.

Though, maybe it wasn't even just that. You two had so much of your lives to live, that is what the curse of the Abundance gave. So what would make him choose you to stay with?

You sigh to yourself once more, trying to push these things down as you ignore the dull ache in your heart, thinking of the events that happened within just the last week.

It started with ignoring his messages. Watching as his messages change from a business-like tone and shifting into a more flirty one before you turn off your phone, silencing it as your ignore your warming face and your heart that thumped and bumped into the painful vines of hopelessness that had grown around your heart.

Then it was the calls. The ones where he would call to tell you to gather information before coming to his office, his voice softer, him barely grumbling into the phone as you can hear that he has just woken up. Aeons, you fell hard for this man.

Afterward, it was patching up his wounds. You knew it wasn't your job, it just...was too tempting for you. Your hands softly brushing against his bare muscular arm as you wrap the bandage around it, trying your best to ignore his eyes staring at you as your touch enchants him.

Even through all of that, it led to more and more and more, leaving your heart sore from just a day's work together. His unnecessary comments of you being beautiful, his teasing of your work habits, his soft smile, his sleeping figure, his everything!

So, you opted for the easy route.

"Ignoring" his messages, "missing" his calls, "mishearing" him, and it even got to the point where you had almost told him that you'd call another woman for him. Another woman to play with just as he had been doing to you this whole time so that you could let yourself drown in the paperwork, drown in this endless pit of sorrow as your tears of heartache filled the void within your heart you wished he could fill.

But of course, this was work. He only used to fool around years ago (you hope).

Your phone buzzes, shaking you out of your thoughts as it vibrates against your hand as you look toward it, finding that it's another message from Jing Yuan.

"Can you bring us more tea when you come back?" It said, a sigh falling through your lips as you click your phone off again, standing and stretching your arms above your head as you make your way back, knowing that he had too much tea within his office already and this was just a silly message to get you to come back.

There was nothing more you could simply do out here so far in the night as you make your way back, getting in the starskiff to start making your way to his office, dreading the long long hours your heart would beat with love and shake with heartbreak.