#farmhouse sign for above bed

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future. Part 2

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.

[detachedminxsfics]

Farmhand

Masterlist

Characters: Negan (Dead City) x F!Reader

Summary: When Negan spends a late night out in the barn and doesn't return to his room you go to convince him to turn in for the night, but Negan has other ideas.

Word count: 4K

Warnings: NSFW - Dry humping, fingering, vaginal sex, riding, choking, praise, dirty talk, negan's usual foul mouth, dom negan

A/N: I am so sorry it took me so long to finish this but I hope the wait was worth it, this one got pretty dirty but it's cowboy Negan so it just HAD to be. As they say, save a horse ride a cowboy!

The leaves beneath the soles of your boots crunched with every step, the breeze whistling through the trees as you walked through the forest. Negan was right at your side, as per usual, his eyes occasionally glancing towards you and his head lifting in search of any signs of trouble without the obscurity of the brim of his cowboy hat. You'd been on the road for a few weeks now, just the two of you. You'd first bumped into Negan a few months ago when you arrived at a small farm settlement way out in the countryside, the people there having been kind enough to offer you refuge, and you chose to repay their generosity by helping out on the farm wherever you could. That's when you met Negan. He'd already been there a few months when you first arrived it seemed, the people there having gotten pretty comfortable with him and Negan himself having gotten accustomed to his routine. And from the moment you walked through the doors of that barn and saw him hunched over a hay bale, tattoos on his arms and the muscles flexing with every movement, the veins running up the backs of his hands and forearms and his forehead glistening with sweat, you were hooked. He straightened his back with a groan and grasped the fabric at the bottom of his tank top, lifting the hem to drag the material over his forehead and mop up the sweat that had gathered there, the lift of his top revealing the trail of hair starting from his belly button and stopping at the depths of his toned lower abdomen. Your eyes travelled to the dark curls of hair at his chest, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from the deep v-lines framing his hips sitting prettily above the waistband of his low waisted jeans.

"Oh, hey." The sound of his voice interrupted the way your eyes were shamelessly roaming over his body, and you subtly cleared your throat.

He let go of his top and ran a hand through his slightly damp, dishevelled hair, slicking it in the process.

"I don't think I've seen your face before, you new here sweetheart?" He asked as he bent down and reached for something off to the side.

When he leant back up he had a beige cowboy hat in his hands which he naturally placed on his head.

"Pretty much just got here last night, feeling real out of my depth." You replied honestly, your uncertainty making him shake his head with a chuckle.

"No need, you'll fit right in. And I'm guessing you're already on the right track if you walked all the way over here to see if you could help these fine folks out."

You nodded, and Negan gestured with his head in the direction of the pile of hay he was handling.

"C'mon then, give me a hand with this."

That was all he had to say, and from that point onwards you seemed attached at the hip. Always trying to be on the same job as the other, always offering to be partnered on a supply run, so you suppose it was only a matter of time before you relieved the unspoken tension between the two of you one way or another. Negan's room was only across from yours in the farmhouse so you could hear when he opened and closed the door to his room to settle in for the night, but he hadn't yet. You got up from your bed and peered out the window, the view giving you a nice overlook of the farm. You could see some of the crops that had been planted in a plot of land off to the side and the moderately sized cornfield near the barn, the moonlight from the night sky illuminating the front of the barn enough for you to make out its slightly ajar doors, and a sigh left your lips. Negan. You threw on a denim skirt and slipped on some boots, making your way out of your room and the farmhouse to walk all the way down to the barn, carefully peering into the space in the doors and stepping into it a little. Negan was leaning over the workbench in the far corner tinkering with something. You could barely make him out in the dimness of the barn, small beams of luminescence creeping in through the occasional window. It was as you got closer that you were able to discern the cowboy hat on top of his head. It always suited him.

"Late night?" You said as you stepped into the barn, hay crunching beneath your boots with every step.

Negan lifted his head the moment he heard your voice, his eyes meeting yours. He chuckled and placed the tool he'd been grasping in one hand down on the workbench, straightening his back a little and slightly tilting his hat back to wipe the sheen of sweat that had gathered on his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, something like that."

He gave a long, exhausted sigh that prompted you to make your way over to him until you stood beside him, your eyes curiously glancing over the workbench for a moment. It just looked like scrap, at least to you.

"What you working on?" You asked, making Negan shake his head with a smile.

"Nothing really, just some piece a' shit car part that I thought I might be able to fix up. I'm not really a handyman typa guy, but I thought I'd give it a shot."

You nodded and then took hold of one of Negan's tanned forearms, the feeling of his skin on yours burning you up from the slightest touch, and gently tried to urge him away from what he was messing with.

"C'mon Negan, it's getting late. You can screw around with that tomorrow." You pleaded with him, but he stood firmly in place as a small laugh escaped his lips, his head tilting a little.

"And what are you doing up this late yourself, hm? Cause something tells me that you didn't wake up just to check whether I made it to my room or not, or are you really all that worried about little ol' me?" Negan teased, the deflection of your suggestion making you laugh.

"Okay smartass, I was already awake. I was having trouble sleeping and I gave up, so I thought I'd come see what you were up to."

Negan raised his brows playfully and placed his hand over the back of the one you were using to hold his arm, slightly holding it in his palm.

"Oh, what kinda trouble?"

You knew he was just avoiding facing the possibility of giving up what he was doing and turning in for the night, but the delay was sure as hell gonna work.

"I get dreams about this...guy."

His eyebrows quirked up even more than they had before, the shit-eating grin on his face widening in an instant and his eyes lit up like a kid on christmas morning.

"Really, just some random guy?" He quipped doubtfully.

You scoffed and tried to drop your hand from his forearm, to which you did, but he kept his hand pressed over yours.

"Yeah, a guy, Negan."

You'd piqued his curiosity, and there was something hidden in your words that had his tongue dragging over his bottom lip.

"Well, what happens in these dreams of yours?" He asked seemingly innocent enough, but it was full of ambiguity.

He reached up with his free hand and swept a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes looking you over beneath that beige cowboy hat still sat proudly atop his head, and the silver of his stubble looking as good as ever. Your eyes filled with something inviting, a coy smile on your lips as you tilted your head.

"Why do you wanna know, Negan?"

He shrugged and feigned total ignorance to the exact reason he was so obviously prying, but the grin on his lips gave him away.

"Can I take a wild guess, darlin'?"

Now it was your turn to be intrigued. Your eyes bore into his, his hand still holding yours and your line of sight occasionally getting carried away and landing on his lips before returning to his gaze. You nodded. In a calculated movement Negan gently closed his hand around the top of your throat and guided your lips to his, your lips crashing and allowing you to feel his mouth against yours. You couldn't help but moan into it, eyes fluttering closed as you tasted him. His other hand found its way to your waist to pull you in closer whilst he licked your bottom lip in an attempt to coax your lips apart, and you did. His tongue slipped into your mouth, your tongues entwining for a moment until you pulled back just enough to break the kiss, lips still barely brushing and your breath shaky as you struggled to find air.

"So?" Negan cockily teased as to whether he had nailed the nature of your fantasies yet or not, and while he was well on his way to getting there, he hadn't just yet.

"Not quite there yet, cowboy."

He paused for a moment before he let out a small, throaty chuckle. He moved his hand from where it had been resting on your throat and reached down to hoist you up by your thighs, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and your arms wrapping around his neck. His lips captured yours once more as he brought you to the workbench and rested you on it, one of his hands sliding up to hold the nape of your neck and deepen the kiss, his groans spilling into your mouth as you tightened the grip of your legs around his hips to bring his clothed bulge against your panties; your skirt having rode up when he lifted you and now bunched at your hips. He broke the kiss and gave a small grunt as you rolled your hips slightly and created some friction, his hand reaching down to rest just above your knee and then slowly glide up your thigh, an idle grip in his hand as he did that caressed your skin as he went. Negan's hand continued even when it reached the denim of where your skirt had gathered, his hand slipping under your skirt and giving the very top of your thigh a squeeze before he moved his attention to your panties. A small gasp escaped your lips as his index finger teasingly traced a line through your clothed slit, the thin cotton damp and clinging to your cunt with how much you'd soaked your panties from the mere feel of his lips on yours.

"Damn baby, you're so fuckin' wet." He whispered gravelly against your lips, his mouth so close to yours you could feel his hot breath fanning against your lips as he spoke.

"Please." You practically choked out, your small plea making his lips curve into a dirty smile and move your panties to the side.

"Yes ma'am." He husked.

He dove beneath the fabric at the side of your panties and slid one finger in at first, the sensation making you throw your head back until you were resting against the wall behind the workbench, Negan's hand still holding the nape of your neck. He pumped his finger inside you a few times before adding a second digit, the slight stretch around his fingers making you moan and lift your head to meet his eyes again. He had that damn cowboy hat still sitting on his head as he fucked you with his skilled fingers, moving his fingers in and out of you at a fast, pleasurable pace that you could barely comprehend, your moans gradually sounding more like whimpers. His eyes bore into yours, the glazed-over look of dark lust they were filled with making you spread your legs a little further and angle yourself to get his fingers deeper. He curled them slightly as you did, the immediate unrestrained whine that would follow becoming muffled against his lips as he pressed them to yours, the hand on the back of your neck allowing him to deepen the kiss and his fingertips slipping into your hair to comb through the strands. Every touch left you feeling breathless, every pump of his fingers further clouding your mind until you could no longer care for the dangers of getting attached to someone like this in this ruined world. You had wanted Negan since the moment you saw him, and now you had him if the way his fingers were buried in you was anything to go by.

"Shit, I could listen to those pretty noises all day, sweetheart." Negan whispered against your lips, purposely curling his fingers as he did to draw another sweet moan out of you, and you knew you weren't going to be able to take this any longer if he kept this up.

Unfortunately, Negan seemed to pick up on that too. He removed his fingers from you much to your verbalised dismay, lifting his hand and slipping the two fingers glistening with your wetness into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the tattoos on his knuckles and a pleased hum of approval escaping his lips as he tasted you.

"You're as delicious as you look, y'know this farm girl get up is really doing it for me." Negan commented as he withdrew his fingers from his mouth, and you were starting to think that you might have passed out in your bed and this was another one of your dreams after all.

"Oh? I bet I feel as good too." Such crude words sounded so good coming from your mouth, the sudden confidence making his brows perk up in a mix of surprise and twisted curiosity.

"Is that so? Hell, now I gotta know."

He removed his hand from your hair and reached up your skirt to hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties and begin working it down your legs, tossing them aside when he had gotten them off the ankle they'd tried to dangle from. His hands were quick to work at his belt, the metal of his belt buckle clinking slightly once it fell loosely on either side of his fly, to which he was quick to unbutton and undo the zipper on his jeans. Negan was so impatient he didn't even bother to get his pants off, he just worked them down his legs until the denim pooled at his feet, his boxers next to join the pile. Once his top was hurriedly discarded too his hands found their way to the tops of your thighs as he dragged you to the edge of the workbench and stepped into the space between your legs, his eyes locking with yours as he pushed inside you and used the grip on your hips to further guide you onto him. The stretch was incredible, your mouth falling open and a noise you weren't sure you'd ever even heard before spilling from it.

"Is that better, baby?" Negan cooed, your only response being the frantic nod of your head.

His thrusts started off slow giving you time to get used to the feel of him, his breath getting heavier and small grunts forming in his throat with every thrust, and then he reached up in an attempt to remove his cowboy hat.

"Don't you dare." You playfully warned as you snatched his wrist to stop him making Negan chuckle and lower his hand again.

"Alright alright, guess the cowboy hats stayin' on."

You closed your legs around his waist again as he started to move his hips a little faster, locking your legs around his waist and tightening your grip every time he thrust as deep as he could go, the sensation making Negan screw his eyes shut and throw his head back slightly exposing the vein running along the side of his neck and the way his adams apple protruded from his throat. You flattened your palms against the wood as you leaned up and started kissing your way down his throat starting with the underside of his jawline, lightly running your tongue over the lump in his throat once you got to it.

"Fuuuck honey, you're gonna be the damn death of me." He sighed, his head lowering to look into your eyes when you pulled back after placing a kiss above his collarbone.

Dark hair adorned his chest, an intricate skull tattoo situated to one side as his chest rose and fell at a rate almost as fast as yours. You couldn't help but run your hand down his chest, his skin burning red hot against your warm palm.

"Well shit, I'm not as young as I used to be." Negan quipped breathlessly with a small smile as his hand moved to cup one side of your face, his thumb stroking along your cheek.

Your hand affectionately raised and settled over the back of his, though the intent in your words was not as sweet as your gesture.

"Get on the table then, cowboy."

You barely gave him time to react as you wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him down, flipping as you did so now you were straddling him. He landed on the wooden surface with a small thud, a cocky laugh filling the air as you braced your hands onto his shoulders while he straightened his back, one hand pressing in on your waist and the other on your lower back to help you get comfortable on his lap. You adjusted slightly until you were sitting on your knees, legs resting on either side of him and hovering over his lap. His hands grasped your hips as Negan guided you down onto his cock, the angle allowing him to fill you up much more than before and the feeling of fullness once you fully sank onto him nothing short of pure ecstasy. You clung to him and tried to even out your breath, your eyes locking with his as he reached up and gently took hold of your jaw only to lift his hips a little, a sick smile spreading across his lips as his tongue swept over his bottom lip and a desperate whine came from your lips.

"Go on then my little cowgirl." He drawled, his thumb tracing across your bottom lip.

You started to roll your hips as you lifted yourself up and then sank all the way back down onto him, the sounds the two of you were making and the noise of skin slapping against skin filling the thick air of the barn, only worsening when you found a rhythm that Negan only made that much more euphoric as he lifted his hips in time with you. Negan's hands moved to cup your ass as you started to bounce, the workbench rocking from the force and banging against the wall behind it, his fingers dug into your skin hard enough to leave marks.

"God, you feel so fucking good bouncing on my cock." He rasped, the dirtiness of his words only fuelling you that much more as you rode him.

Negan wrapped his hand around your throat as you bounced on top of him, his grip firm as he squeezed just enough to allow the lack of oxygen to bleed into the immeasurable pleasure, the veins in his hands prominent as he lightly choked you. The hand cupping your ass kneaded your cheek before he drew his hand back and delivered a harsh slap to your ass, your skin stinging from the impact and the surprise of it drawing a small squeak out of you. Negan chuckled as you did and slapped the same cheek again a little harder than the first, though this time the noise that came from your lips was more of a depraved cry. He was surely leaving his mark on you, embellishing you with a stark red handprint on your now sore skin.

"Good girl." He crooned.

His praise alone almost sent you over the edge, your legs starting to quiver as he wrapped his arm around you and started to thrust into you relentlessly, pounding you as you hover over his lap.

"Negan, oh fuck." You choked out, your pleasure filled sob muffled when he crashed his lips against yours and continued to fuck into you mercilessly, the arm around your waist keeping you pressed firmly against him.

"That's it, baby, that's it." He whispered throatily between kisses, and that was all you needed.

Your lips parted but no sound came out, just your breath catching in your throat as your orgasm washes over you, the sensation knocking the strength right out of your legs as your knees buckled leaving you fully sitting on him. Finally, the moan tore from your throat as he gave a few more hard thrusts while you tried to ride out your high, his eyes half-lidded with lust when he slid his hands down to grip your hips and lift you off him so he could spill onto your inner thigh, a guttural groan leaving his lips whilst warm droplets splashed on your skin. Still catching his breath Negan removed the cowboy hat and ran his hand through his hair, placing it off to the side so he could lay back onto the workbench, the way you were pressed to his chest bringing you with him. You let your head rest against his chest and could hear the way his heart was racing against your ear, your breathing starting to even out as you briefly closed your eyes and focused on it, his chin resting on top of your head all the while. After a moment you felt his fingers combing through your hair while his other hand moved to rest on the small of your back and draw circles.

"Hey." Negan muttered softly prompting you to look at him.

You lifted your head to comply with his unspoken request, a kittenish smile playing on your lips as you moved slightly further up his body so that your face could hover above his, propping yourself up on your elbows. Some of your hair fell to obscure one side of your face as you did which Negan reached up and tenderly swept behind your ear.

"You are so beautiful, sweetheart." He whispered, the flattery only making your smile a little wider as you leaned down till your lips were mere inches from his.

"And you are one handsome cowboy." You playfully hummed, barely able to finish what you were saying as Negan pressed his lips against yours, the kiss much slower and fervent than the sloppy and heated ones you'd shared before.

You were just basking in the company of one another. The feel of your body laid on top of his and his skin hot against yours, the feel of his lips moving on yours making your mind even foggier with need for him. You didn't care that someone might wonder why neither of you had made it back to your rooms in the middle of the night, that someone might come to find you both draped over a workbench and tasting one another to your heart's content. All that mattered was that you had each other.

"And that was one hell of a ride, might I add." Negan pulled back to joke, your noses still brushing from the closeness and his crude comment making your laughter come out in the form of a snort.

"Shut up."

And your lips were on his again.

[dragon-creates]

Darlin' Don't You Weep (There's A Place For Me)

After going through hell and back, Jax and Pomni decided that they want to live their lives to the fullest. Despite the challenges that come their ways.

Inspired by @rottentricks murder mystery au and @theboywithburninghands fics based on that au.

Read On AO3

Please look at the tags as this fic does have discussions of infertility and miscarriage. If this fic isn't for you then feel free to skip.

.

Neither Jax or Pomni never really expected they would ever be in this moment. Both of them had gone through hell, from the many murders they spread through Autumnvale, to Jax being framed, the shootout at the diner and Pomni being held hostage by Deputy Hunt. 

It had been too much, yet so eye opening. Both of them had seen the end of the barrel of the gun called life, and how it could be snatched from them at any moment. So they didn’t want to waste a second of it being alone. So, one day, Jax had gotten down on one knee with a ring had given him, tears of happiness streaming down both his and Pomni’s faces when the latter said yes.

They eloped a month later, a small ceremony in the community church with their respective parents, Zooble, Gangle and Ragatha. The ragdoll has offered to watch over the butcher shop while the two went out of town for their honeymoon, giving the two a much needed break and focus being in love. 

When they arrived home two weeks later, they had discussed something that both of them truly wanted in the future they would share together. A child. Pomni had always seen herself being a mother while focusing on her art career, and Jax longed for the idea to hear the tiny pitter patter of feet around the house. Both of them knew it would be some time before Pomni could become pregnant, with how hard it could be to procreate and needing to move into a bigger house for more room. Not to mention the backlash from some of the townspeople with an unjustified hatred towards Jax, or doctors saying how hard it would be to conceive a baby with Jax being a half breed and Pomni being human. But it was a dream both of them shared. 

So, while moving into a new farmhouse (a two story with many bedrooms and a large vintage kitchen) did they try for a baby, and what a challenge it was. Pomni couldn’t count the number of weeks each time she laid a pregnancy test on the bathroom sink, praying for a little pink plus sign to appear, only for nothing to show. There were many trips to the clinic, trying new medication in the hopes that a baby would somehow be possible, but every time the result was the same - disappointment. 

Jax had held a crying Pomni in his arms many nights, soothing her and reminding her that none of this was her fault. She put too much unfair stress on herself, thinking there was something wrong with her. It couldn’t be further from the truth. 

They thought there would be a glimmer of hope when a pregnancy test finally came back positive, the rush of joy they felt when seeing that little pink plus sign. The visions of a cream coloured nursery and a little mobile hanging above a crib. 

But about a month into the pregnancy, Pomni woke up in the middle of the night to find herself bleeding…

The brunette had been numb, silent tears running down her cheeks for days, struggling to get out of bed and eat. Jax wanted nothing more than to become a shield for her, to fight off all the burdens on her shoulder. The miscarriage had affected them both deeply, but he felt that he had failed her and their unborn child.

The weeks that followed were hard, both of them trying to return to normal life. Their families had stopped by to offer their comforts, while their friends came by to give their support and condolences. Ragatha had even baked a pie for them and had even stayed most nights to help the couple.

Slowly, they began to heal. Jax had tried new recipes with his meat and Pomni had returned to her art, hoping to put it in Autumnvale’s art gallery. It was hard, but being together made it easier. 

They had soon returned to a quiet normalcy, living peacefully to continue healing. That was when hope, yet fear, struck again. Pomni awoke one morning feeling nauseous, throwing up in the joint bathroom in their bedroom and feeling quite fatigued. She thought it was the flu from winter arriving, but a little voice in the back of her head told her otherwise. 

There was one more pregnancy test in the bathroom cupboard, but she didn’t touch it for days. Too afraid for another fearful incident. But soon, she found the strength to take it. 

It was positive.

Jax had been there the whole time, rubbing her shoulder and hugging her as she cried with relief and fear. He was scared too, but all they could do now was wait for the outcome. Good or bad, they would do it together.

Eight months later, a healthy baby girl was born. A little white bunny with blue eyes and a tiny pink nose. Pomni hiccuped a sob when her daughter was placed on her chest for the first time, crying her lungs out. The biggest sign that she was here and alive . Jax sniffed back a few tears when he held her in her pink blanket, she was barely the size of his paw, so incredibly tiny.  

They had named her Yuki.

Now, one month later, they were here. Rabbit babies could learn more skills within the early months of their life. Yuki had shocked them both when they found her pulling herself out of the crib for the first time, thankful that they had made the decision to keep it in their room while still so young. She also had begun to teeth a bit early, due to the wolf genes she inherited from her father. While her sharp teeth wouldn’t show up until she was weaned off breastfeeding, it didn’t stop her from chomping her gums on anything she could find. Her favorite teething object being her father’s ears. 

It was another morning of the same routine since her birth, Yuki had woken up with the sun barely rising over the farmhouse and she was already brimming with energy. She sat up, looking through the bars of her crib to find her mama. Jax had converted their bed into a nest, mattress, blankets and pillows formed into a fort like how Kinger used to do when he was a child. He had also placed a few cushions around Yuki’s crib in case she would jump out again. Her papa was there, but no sign of her mama.

She grunted, jumping up onto the edge of her crib and pulling herself over the bars until she plopped onto a pillow on the ground. She hopped over to her papa, headbutting his arm to try and get him up. She knew where her mama was, and her papa was hiding her. She pulled herself up onto his arm, headbutting his head this time. Still no response, as though it were barely a tap. Yuki grunted, reaching up and grabbing Jax’s ear with her gums and began to pull, like a puppy playing tug of war. 

Jax hummed, opening one eye to see his daughter pulling his ear, he barely moved an inch. “I know you’re not hungry bub,” Jax smirked. “Let your mama sleep, it’s barely morning.”

But the kit didn’t relent, pulling even harder. Eventually, Yuki had pulled so hard that she tumbled backwards, letting go of his ear. She yelped, pulling herself back onto her feet and ran headfirst towards Jax and headbutted him again. Jax chuckled, lifting his arm and bringing Yuki close, snuggling her tiny body against his massive her. 

The kit yipped and grunted, trying to escape. She wanted her mama! Not her stinky papa! But Jax’s hand was too strong for her.

Jax sighed, resting his head against the pillows again until he felt a rustling from underneath him. “Is she up?” a feminine asked underneath his chest?

“Yeah, but she ain’t hungry so you don’t gotta rush getting up,” Jax said.

After a bit of rustling, Pomni's face emerged from Jax’s chest, wiggling her arms out as well. When Yuki started hopping out the crib in the mornings, Jax had insisted this be their sleeping position, that way he could handle Yuki from disturbing Pomni’s sleep. “It’s okay, you can get some more sleep, it’s still pretty early,” Jax smiled down at his wife.

“It’s okay,” Pomni rested on her back, holding out her arms to her daughter. “I wanna see her.”

Jax let the kit go, Yuki immediately bounding towards her mother. Pomni scooped her daughter up, letting her nuzzle into her neck as Pomni stroked her ears. Soon, she could hear soft little snores as the baby went limp in her arms.

“All that just for some cuddles,” Jax chuckled. “Kid is gonna have one heck of a right hook one day.”

“Just like her papa,” Pomni lifted a hand to cup Jax’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Jax tilted his head in confusion, “For what?”

“For giving me all of this,” Pomni told him.

Jax’s eyes softened, pressing his lips onto his wife’s gently. “I love you,” Jax whispered.

“I love you too,” Pomni replied, her eyes fluttering shut once again. 

Jax looked at his wife and daughter underneath him, how did he ever get this lucky? He brought his arms around the two, engulfing them in a hug as he joined them in slumber. Letting peace wash over them.

[jadewolf22]

Hiiiii!! Could I request a Lady Jane and Wife Reader, with some domestic fluff (at least, as domestic as Lady Jane can get if you know what I mean). Maybe something like they've been apart for a really long time hunting bounties and manage to meet up for their anniversary or sm?

Happy Anniversary

Sub!Lady Jane x Dom!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Guns, mentions of extreme violence, mentions of scars, mentions of kidnapping/hunting children, smut, oral (J recieving), thigh riding (r recieving), fingering (J receiving), strap-on (J receiving), orgasm denial, ect… 

Summary: You give your lady a special gift for your first wedding anniversary.

A/n: Hi anon!! Thank you so much for the request! This is my first time ever writing for Lady Jane, so I hope I did her justice. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to include smut, but a married couple who hasn’t seen each other in a while probably wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off of each other…Word Count: 3,012

You couldn’t stop the sign that escaped your lips as you entered the threshold of your home, dropping your duffle bag and the bag of groceries you’d bought on the floor as you removed your jacket. The quaint little farmhouse that had been your childhood home was quiet, secluded by miles of dead fields and thick woodlands. You ran your fingertips over the bench along the wall, pleased to see that not too much dust had collected since your last stay. Work kept you away for weeks, sometimes months at a time and there was no one to stay and clean the place while you were gone. 

Moving away from the threshold and into the living room you smiled softly, taking a moment to walk around and glance at the multitude of pictures decorating the space. Most of the ones on the walls and bookcases were from your younger years; birthdays, vacations with your parents, school activities and accomplishments, holidays and such. But it was the ones above the hearth that you loved the most. Jane, your lady and beloved partner, wasn’t one for taking many photos so there were only a few on the mantle, and you cherished each one like they were diamonds; Your first date at the shooting range, one of her birthdays at the bar, your first Valentine's Day hunting in the woods, a few engagement photos taken while you were working a job together, and one of your wedding here one the farm placed at the centre of them all. It was your first anniversary today, exactly one year of pure happiness for the two of you despite the gruesome reality of your jobs as bounty hunters. 

The sound of tires against gravel drew you from your thoughts. You were sure you knew who it was but, just in case, you gripped the glock tusked into the waistband of your jeans as you moved to the window, peering out through the curtains. The sight of a gold car parking beside yours allowed you to relax, letting go of the weapon as you rushed back outside. You’d barely given Jane time to close her door before you were on her, strong, toned arms grabbing her by the waist and lifting her off the ground as you embraced the love of your life. A light chuckle left her lips, demanding that you set her down before she hugged you in return. 

“I missed you, my love.” you said breathily—lifting Jane off the ground was no easy feat, despite how strong you were—kissing her gently.

“And I, you.” she returned, cracking the smallest smile.

You couldn’t have stopped the large grin that spread across your face even if you wanted to, insisting that you take her things before escorting her into the house. Jane found it quite adorable how you insisted on pampering her with even the smallest tasks, such as carrying her luggage—granted, it was only two duffle bags, one filled with her guns and extra magazines. Once inside you added your own bag to the load and headed upstairs, setting the bags down on your bed before you pulled her to you and kissed her again, this one a little deeper than the last. 

“Happy anniversary, Jane.” you breathed.

“Is it our anniversary already?” she teased lightly, kissing your cheek, “My, does the time fly.”

“Indeed it does.” you agreed, moving away and beginning to unpack your bag. 

Jane did the same, the two of you unpacking in a comfortable silence. You’d missed her terribly, her presence alone helping to soothe the ache that had built up after a month apart. When you were both unpacked and her guns properly cleaned and stored away the two of you headed back downstairs, putting away the groceries and preparing dinner as you talked about your most recent jobs. Yours had been easy; a couple of greens that had escaped the compound two months back, but Jane’s had been far more difficult. She’d gotten stuck with a group of yellows who’d disappeared nearly a year ago and, apparently, they had put up quite a fight. You hated it when she took the more dangerous jobs, always afraid that one day, one of them might kill her. But you knew that Jane could hold her own and, the more dangerous the job, the better the pay. A part of you felt sorry for the kids the two of you hunted, but you knew the world was safer without them. Children with supernatural powers were a recipe for disaster.

When the food was ready the two of you sat down to eat, easily falling back into the domestic pattern you’d adopted. It was easy to push the exhaustion and anxiety of your jobs when you were like this, content and at peace in your little corner of the world. 

The meal was delicious, Jane's cooking far better than your own, and much more satisfying than the protein bars and canned food you lived off of while working. When you’d both finished, you took care of the dishes while Jane showered—despite how much you’d begged her to wait so you could join her. Once the dishes were done it was your turn to head upstairs, showering quickly and trading your dirty jeans and t-shirt for leggings and a tank top. Stepping out of the bathroom you found Jane stretched out on her side of the bed, damp brown hair cascading over her shoulders and a book in hand. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of big-bad Lady Jane looking so utterly adorable and domestic in grey sweats and a baggy red t-shirt. 

She looked up from the book before you could hide your smile, muttering, “What?” as she set it aside.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, moving towards your side of the bed, “I’m just glad you’re home. You know how worried I get when you take jobs involving yellows.” 

Jane rolled her eyes at your protectiveness, mumbling, “At least they’re not reds or oranges.” sitting up as you fished through the drawer of your nightstand, producing a black box and smiling as you sat down, presenting it to her.

“Happy anniversary, my lady.”

She rolled her eyes again at the nickname, taking the box from you and opening it with a small gasp. Nestled inside was a golden glock, the handle engraved with little vines that made both of your initials. 

“It’s beautiful, y/n.” she whispered, looking up at you, “Where did you even—?”

“I have a friend who specialises in engraving guns.” you explained, trying to suppress just how happy her reaction made you, “I  swung by his place on my way back home… Is it safe to assume you like it?”

“I love it.” you knew she did, but hearing Jane say it aloud made you ten times happier, “My turn.”

She reached over to her nightstand, plucking a little red box off of it that you had, somehow, failed to notice earlier. A cheshire-like grin adorned her face as she handed the box to you, making you that much more excited to see what was inside. Nearly tearing off the lid, your eyes fell on the silver bracelet lying against the black velvet lining of the box. At first glance, it looked like a simple band but, upon picking it up, you noticed her name engraved on the inside. Smirking, you had her help you but the bracelet on, noticing just how snuggly it fit your wrist. You laughed, realising that her name would be temporarily branded onto your skin if you wore it for long enough—and you had no intention of ever taking it off. 

“It’s perfect.” you said softly, “Thank you.”

You leaned forward and kissed her again, smiling against her lips when her hand crept up your neck to thread itself in your hair. A groan escaped you when you felt her tug at your hair, making you kiss her that much harder as you grabbed her hips and pulled her across the bed to you, manoeuvring the both of you until you were straddling her waist in the middle of the bed without breaking the kiss. Jane whimpered a little as you manhandled her, her hands moving to the hem of your tank top and pulling it up your torso. You broke the kiss just long enough for her to pull the item over your head before your lips were attacking hers again, your leggings quickly following your shirt. Sliding your hands under her shirt, you gripped the waistband of her sweatpants, removing them and her underwear in one fluid motion. Her t-shirt was torn down the middle and haphazardly tossed somewhere in the room. 

You paused for a moment and sat up, marvelling at the beauty beneath you. God, she was a masterpiece. Ivory skin that seemed to glow in the dim evening light, pale freckles splattered across her chest and shoulders, icy blue eyes dark with want, thick, deep brown hair that seemed nearly black against the white sheets underneath her, and a perfectly toned body with small, perky breasts that were practically begging for attention. You growled, your lips and teeth abusing her neck and shoulders, leaving bite-marks and bruises for her to find for days after you were done with her while your hands palmed her breasts. Jane panted and squirmed beneath you, nails tearing down your back as he hand nestled itself in your hair again, tugging harshly and scratching at your scalp. 

“Please, y/n—God! I need you!” she whined, bucking her hips up towards you in search of some kind of friction.

“Miss me so much you’re needy already, hmm?” you teased, your mouth replacing one of your hands as you nipped harshly at her breast, causing Jane to release a low, near pornographic moan.

She opened her mouth to argue but, at that moment you plunged two fingers deep into her cunt and whatever she was about to say was replaced with a loud, broken moan. A steady string of “Ah, ah, ah”s fell from her lips as your digits pounded into her, your mouth moving to her other breast as your hand settled on her throat, squeezing gently. 

“Mh—feel so good, baby.” you muttered against her skin, slipping in a third finger when the first two began to move within her too easily. 

“Mph, please y/n, harder!” she cried as she felt her cunt streatch deliciously around your fingers, her nails digging painfully into your back and scalp as your digits slammed into her walls, “Yes! God, yes— Just like that—Ah!”

You tightened your grip on her throat a bit as you sat up, groaning at the sight of her cunt taking your fingers so deep that your wedding ring disappeared when you were fully inside of her, the titanium band coming out glistening with her arousal. Her cunt clenched around her fingers, her thighs tightening around your hand as she neared her climax but, just before she could fall over the edge, you pulled away. Jane went to complain, but the way your hand squeezed her throat in warning made her go silent. You licked your fingers clean, groaning at the taste of her on your skin. 

“Relax, baby. You’ll get what you want.” you assured, reaching into the drawer of your nightstand and retrieving your harness and favourite strap, “You’ve just gotta be patient.”

Jane bit her lip as she watched you attach the strap to your body. The black, 8-inch was not the largest she’d taken from you, but it was most certainly the thickest. She released a sound between a whine and a groan as you teased her with the tip, nearly screaming when you began to force it into her, your hand coming back to her throat. The silicone cock stretched her cunt to the point where Jane felt as if she was being split in two and she loved it, her body tightening as a searing heat spread through her as you buried the strap up to the hilt inside her, beads of sweat making Jane’s skin glisten. Once she gave you the go-ahead you set a harsh, ruthless pace, hard, deep strokes filling her cunt so well it was a wonder she didn’t cum right then. Your grunts and Jane’s screams filled the room and it was moments like this that you were especially grateful your house was in the middle of nowhere. No one but yourselves and the animals could hear you.

“Miss you so much, my lady,” you grunted as you thrust into her, one hand still on her throat, the other harshly gripping her hip, “Missed having your pretty little cunt stretched out around my cock—Fuck, baby, I missed you—!”

“M-missed you, t-too!” Jane stampered, her hands moving to your hips to help guide your thrusts, “Missed your touch—! M-missed you in me—Shit, y/n, please make me cum!! Wanna cum so bad—!”

“I know, baby. Just hold on a bit longer. You’re doing so well for me—” you praised as her hands moved from her hips, one grasping at the bedsheet, the other wrapping around your wrist. The black diamond on her wedding ring glinted in the light as her body jolted with each of your thrusts.

“Mmmh—Fuck, y/n! Please—please, keep going! ‘M so close—Shit, y/n! I-I’m—I’m gonna cum— pleasepleaseplease!”

“Just hold on a bit longer, baby.” you said, slowing down your movements just a bit and making Jane practically cry, “Just a bit more, my lady. You’re almost there.”

You removed your hand from her hip, sliding it down between her legs to rub gentle circles over her clit. Her whole body contracted with the added pleasure, shaking in desperate need of release.

“Y/N—!!”

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

“F-f-f-FUCK—!” Jane finished with a loud scream, legs tightening around your hips, back arching off the bed. Stars exploded behind her eyes and, for a moment, she couldn’t see. Her body felt as if she were floating as she relaxed back into the mattress, brain fuzzy and her mouth numb, her throat already burning from screaming so much. You slowed down as she rode out her high, stopping completely and taking a moment to admire just how ethereal she looked like this, skin flushed and slick with sweat, her head thrown back in euphoria, eyes scrunched tight and jaw slack. Slowly so as not to jostle or startle her, you reached out and cupped her face, gently stroking your thumb against her cheek.

“You did such a good job, baby.” you praised, releasing her throat as her eyes opened, unfocused and her pupils blown out, “Come on back to me, my lady. That’s it. I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”

Jane mumbled out a hoarse, “okay” and you slowly pulled out of her, the strap coated in her release. You removed the toy from your body and threw it on top of your clothes to be cleaned later, bending over and placing gentle licks and kisses over her bruising neck as you moved to position yourself on her thigh. 

“My turn.” you husked, lowering yourself onto her thigh, “You just lay back and relax, baby.”

Jane sighed when she felt your slick core against her skin, whimpering a little as you began to rock yourself against her. Watching her unravel beneath you had made you so pent up that it didn’t take you long until you were nearing an orgasm, your breath laboured and thighs shaking.

“Mm, you feel so good against me,” you groaned in her ear, leaning forward and changing her head with your arm, practically laying on top of her as you rutted against her thigh, “So perfect. And all mine.” 

Jane whined, nodding frantically, heavy arms reaching up to wrap around your shoulders. WIth a final snap of your hips, you came, smearing your slick across her skin and you moaned against her shoulder. Sighing, you sat up and kissed her, your fingers dancing over her stomach. 

“Think you can take one more, my lady?” you asked gently, your tone making it clear that she had the choice of saying no, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Jane nodded and you smiled, kissing her again as you slid down her body, levelling your face with her soaked cunt. You licked a broad stripe up her slit, placing a gentle kiss to her clit, making Jane shudder. Smiling, you licked at her folds, slowly forcing your tongue deeper inside of her, your nose brushing against her bundle of nerves. Jane whimpered above you, hands threading into your hair to keep you in place. Still recovering from her past orgasm, it didn’t take you long to bring her to the edge again.

“P-please, y/n—” Jane muttered, tears slipping down her cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure, “uh-ah! I’m-I’m gonna—!”

“Go ahead, baby.” you whispered, plunging your tongue deep inside her. 

Jane came again with a shuddering moan, her release flooding your mouth and spilling down your chin. You lapped away at her release, cleaning her cunt with your tongue before moving up to kiss her again, sliding your tongue into her mouth so that she could taste herself on you. 

Pulling away, you climbed off of her, grabbed the strap, and padded off to the bathroom, cleaning yourself and the toy before returning with a warm washcloth, gently cleaning her thighs and burning folds. Taking the cloth and both of your clothes you set them in the hamper, handing her the water bottle on your nightstand as you set off all the lights except for your lamp. Once she’d drunk enough you helped her beneath the covers and crawled into bed beside her, covering her body with your own.

“Happy anniversary, Jane.” you muttered, kissing the back of her head. 

Jane hummed, releasing a large sigh before exhaustion overtook her and fell asleep. You smiled down at your wife, reaching behind you to shut off the lamp, welcoming the darkness as your eyes fluttered closed.

[fillyboy19]

Memories & Magic

Katsuki drags his boots through the dirt, kicking up a small cloud of dust as he walks. He sneaks a glance at his bride-to-be before turning his attention back to the road in front of them. The last time he had seen Ochako, they were five and she was scared, hiding behind her father’s pant leg – a comfort Katsuki was never afforded.

As had been expected of him, he’d stood stoic between his parents, even if his lip quivered, and listened to them talk about how he would become their kingdom’s greatest warrior. How he would travel and train and fight with only the kingdom’s best until he could beat them. He would test his mettle on the battlefield while Ochako would be sent to the safety of the temple. And if Katsuki survived, proving himself a worthy heir to the kingdom, the two of them would be wed when he came of age.

When all the terms had been accepted by the respective patriarchs, Katsuki and Ochako had been shoved together. Katsuki had presented her with a flower he’d plucked from his mother’s garden and Ochako had given him a small lock of her hair. Their families feasted that night, the two families promising to unite as one and, in the morning, Katsuki and Ochako had both been sent off their separate ways.

Now, nearly twelve years later they’ve been reunited and, in some ways, Katsuki still feels like that lost little boy he’d been, unprepared and unsure of how to talk to her. He’d grown up tall and muscular, body honored with the scars of his battles. And Ochako…

Ochako had grown up pretty – more than pretty, if he’s being honest with himself. Her soft brown hair frames her face, and when she smiles her whole face lights up. She’d been peppering him with questions since they’d left the village, asking about how he’d grown up, who his friends were, and about the battles he’d fought in. It had been overwhelming to say the least.

When he glances at Ochako again, he finds her watching him, and he quickly turns his gaze back towards the path ahead of them. “We’ll stop to rest at the top of the hill for the night.”

Katsuki doesn’t wait for a reply before trotting forward to scout ahead. Behind them lay damaged farmhouses. Buildings that once stood proud now bear smashed roofs and crumbling walls. Their path was lined by shattered trees and torn up earth. Logs lay splintered in fields as if they’d fallen from the sky. It was a constant reminder for Katsuki that this is no normal pilgrimage to the mountain temple. There will be no wedding procession back home if they can’t find and slay the two giants wreaking havoc on the nearby villages under his protection.

He had listened to the stories the people told. How the giants had come in the dead of night. How they’d all been asleep in their beds when their roofs were caved in. The ones lucky enough to escape had told the elders how, once they were done, the giants had stalked off northward.

Here, though, is nothing more than fields of golden wheat and the long trail ahead of them. He’d almost doubt their path if he’d not been trained to look for the signs: claw marks in the earth and random tufts of hair caught in the bark of tall trees. Katsuki closes his eyes to the warm sun above and silently says a prayer for safety and success.

“It’s so beautiful here.” Ochako’s voice is soft, and when Katsuki opens his eyes, he finds her smiling up at him with an apple in her palm. When he doesn’t respond, she pushes her hands out farther, urging him to take her offering. “You haven’t eaten anything since we’ve left.”

Part of him knows that the elders wouldn’t have sent her along if they didn’t think she could hold her own, but he can’t help but remember that frightened child from all those years ago. The one who had run from him when he’d offered her a piece of fruit. Would she run from the danger now? Would this delicate-looking, beautiful woman be the thing that finally gets him killed?

Katsuki begrudgingly takes the apple and grumbles out a small thank you before pointing her towards a fallen log on the side of the road. “Sit. Don’t wander off.”

Whether she listens to him or not is of no concern to him as he busies himself gathering firewood. Their first night together will be under stars and wilderness. She is his responsibility, and he has to prove himself worthy of her. Even though he worries the fire will draw unwanted attention, he can’t very well let her shiver in the cold. As he works, he imagines her sitting there on that log with her hands clasped in her lap, her delicate, silky dress wafting in the small breeze while she looks up at the clouds in the sky. He thinks about her round, brown eyes and the curve of her face, and smiles without knowing it.

The temple priestesses he’d met before had all been trained to be quiet and accommodating and surely, if Ochako was destined to be Katsuki’s bride, they would have trained her to be some tame, mousy little thing who couldn’t think for herself. Katsuki tries to force that sinking feeling in his heart down as he finishes gathering wood and trudges back.

His face falls into a deep scowl as he continues to contemplate their possible future together. She would probably have a warm hearth and dinner ready for him every evening when he got home, and she would look up at him for guidance on anything that didn’t involve a garden or a pot. She would be the perfect, boring wife the men he’d trained with always told him she would be. Maybe she was the ideal bride for men like them. Maybe he should be perfectly happy with her like that…

Katsuki stops at the edge of the forest to find their blankets laid out and a small, well-built fire not far from where he’d instructed Ochako to sit down. She looks up at him with a bright smile on her face before turning her attention back to the fire and laying on a bit more kindling.

He doesn’t say anything as he sets the wood down, just watches her grab a piece and carefully layer it into the hottest part of the fire. He’s tempted to ask her how she’d started it, but it’s been a long walk so, instead, he just takes the pack off his back and begins rummaging through it. When he finds his water skin, he takes a long swig and then hands it to her.

Ochako runs her fingers over the soft hide of the waterskin before taking a small sip and handing it back to him. She fills the awkward silence by talking. She talks about the small village they’d passed on their way here and the devastation she’d seen beyond the hill. She tries to ask him questions and Katsuki knows that he should be indulging her; she’s his bride-to-be, after all.

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

Her question catches him off guard. He can feel the back of his neck growing warm at the accusation, but instead of allowing it to show, Katsuki just glares at her before finally relenting. “They shouldn’t have sent you with me.”

Even in the dim light of the setting sun, he can see the way her cheeks flush before she turns her head away from him. She pretends to rifle through her own bag and for a moment he feels bad; after all, she hadn’t asked to come.

Katsuki lets out a long sigh before laying down on the small blanket Ochako had laid out for him. He looks up at the stars and reminds himself that this is probably just as hard for her as it is for him. “Look, I just–”

“It’s okay. I get it.” Ochako gathers her dress near her knees and walks to the other side of the fire where she’d laid her own blanket. “You don’t have to explain.”

Crimson eyes watch as she settles down with her back to him. Katsuki knows that he should say something. Make peace before bed or you’ll make war in the morning. His father had always told him that when he was arguing with his mother. They were the two fiery blonds of the Bakugou household and Masaru was always their peacekeeper.

Katsuki shakes himself out of old memories and focuses on what he should tell her. He wasn’t wrong. The elders should have let him take a seasoned warrior with him like Eijirou or let him come by himself. He shouldn’t have to worry about–

“I’m not helpless, you know.” Ochako’s voice floats across the fire to him but, still, he doesn’t take his gaze from the stars above him. “I’ve been taught in the ways of magic and–”

Katsuki snickers softly under his breath and instantly regrets it. He doesn’t even have to look over to know that he’s offended her. He can hear the quiet, angry intake of breath as she shifts, most likely putting her back to him once again. The temple priestesses have always claimed to have magic, and maybe they were exceptional at healing, but he’s never seen their magic before. He knows that it’s probably nothing more than herbs and the use of suggestion – if you believe it will make you feel better, then it will make you feel better.

He huffs softly, scolding himself silently and reminding himself that he’d promised to give her a chance. In the silence of the night, with the warmth of the fire on his side, he can feel how exhausted he is. They’d walked far and he can fix this tomorrow. Somehow. He thinks about waking before the sun to find her flowers and maybe catching a rabbit for breakfast before they continue on. He wonders if she’d find that insulting.

Katsuki drifts off to sleep, thinking about how best to apologize to Ochako. His sleep is heavy and dreamless and when he wakes, the sun is just coming over the horizon. He stands quietly and stretches, careful not to wake Ochako as he does and then takes off into the forest.

As he hunts for breakfast and searches for flowers, he practices his apology in his head over and over. He’s lost, deep in his own thoughts when a loud crack sounds off to his left. It’s followed by heavy thudding that Katsuki knows must be the footsteps of one of the giants. He drops the flowers he’s holding and ducks behind the nearest tree.

When he steps out his bow is at the ready. His thoughts are on Ochako, on getting back to their camp before anything can happen to her. He wants to run, to get to her as quickly as possible, but his mentor’s voice rings in the back of his mind. Rushing only frightens the deer into running… No, Katsuki can’t run.

He forces himself to step quietly through the brush, taking care to call as little attention to himself as possible. He adjusts his course back, keeping the loud crashing noises as far to his left as he dares. He’s making steady, slow progress until one sounds from ahead of him – from near the campsite. Katsuki ignores his training and runs on instinct, desperate to get back to the camp and protect his bride-to-be at all costs.

When Katsuki arrives back at the road, he finds the embers of the fire still warm and smoldering and Ochako gone. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears as he turns in circles, checking the nearby tree lines and the sandy ground around the camp for footprints and finding none. Where is she? His chest feels tight and his breath is coming in short, shallow huffs as he thinks about what could have happened to her. He’s nearly certain that they’d already been here and he’d been following their retreat and–

CRACK!!

He looks up just in time to see a large log crashing into several others. When he turns to find the source, he sees one of the giants. It stands nearly twenty meters tall. Its skin is mottled and brown, reminding Katsuki of oats cooked with too little water. It stands there, unmoving, as if it’s watching him – as if it’s waiting for something.

Katsuki turns, expecting another giant to come out behind him, but all that he sees is the mess of mangled trees and the large log laying splintered at the edge of the forest where it had come to rest. Katsuki faces the giant, bow raised, but the dull thing just grins at him like it has the upper hand.

He can feel something tickling in the back of his mind while he stares at the massive creature. He glances back once more to the shattered trees. That sound here… Katsuki’s heart falls when it finally dawns on him – he’d been following that sound. They had tricked him. Mislead him… As realization begins to creep further into his conscious thought, Katsuki glances behind him and finds the second giant crawling slowly out of the forest he’d just come from. They herded me…

The giant in the road roars and charges at him. Katsuki quickly raises his bow and looses an arrow at the one closest to him before sprinting across the road. It howls, clutching at its face, but he doesn’t stop to see if he’d hit his intended mark. He knows that he needs to make it to the safety of the trees. He’ll have the advantage there. He can lose them there and focus his attention on finding Ochako.

He’s nearly there when his path is suddenly blocked by a large hand slamming down. The impact shakes the trees nearest him and makes the ground beneath his feet tremble. Katsuki veers right, darting between the creature’s legs and drawing his dagger. He slashes at the giant’s ankle. It shrieks in pain, shaking the ground and knocking over several trees as it falls.

He’s almost reached the forest when one of them swipes at him. The large, clawed hand smashes into his back and sends him flying. Katsuki crashes to the ground, rolling several times and losing his bow in the process before coming to a stop not far from one of the tree lines he’d been trying so desperately to reach only moments ago.

Katsuki lays there, stunned and in pain, knowing that he should move and yet unable to make his body obey. He watches as they struggle to their feet, one clutching at its bloody ankle and other yanking Katsuki’s arrow out of his face. A low growl rumbles, and then the giants charge at him. His bow is on the ground a few feet away. His quiver lies shattered and empty not far from his feet.

Every part of him hurts, but he forces his body to move. He gets to his feet, and the world around him spins. He only manages a few steps before stumbling and falling down onto his knees. Unable to run, Katsuki braces himself. He’s as ready to fight back as he can be when a bright flash of orange light comes from behind him.

He shields his face from the sudden rush of heat and wind. He can hear the giants shrieking and when Katsuki blinks into that blinding light, he finds the giant looming over him turning to dust. Ochako is standing at his side with her arms raised. Bright, magical flames are licking through the sky, swirling the dust high into the air.

She’s chanting, arms trembling as if she’s struggling to contain the power she’s wielding. Her eyes are determined, never wavering from the giant still standing even as the dirt flies in her face. It falls to its knees before her, cracking and crumbling like the other had done.

Katsuki watches her in awe. The same shy child who’d hidden behind her mother’s dress all those years ago now stands victorious where he, himself, had failed. Only once both giants are turned to dust does she turn to him and help him to his feet.

The arm around his waist is strong; the fingers under the hem of his shirt, soft. She leads him back to their camp, letting him walk as slowly as he needs to and pausing when the pain in his ribs becomes too much to continue.

Katsuki can feel a thought tugging at the back of his mind and the next time they stop to rest, he looks around at the piles that were once giants and then back towards their little camp. “They set a trap for me.”

Ochako gives a small, noncommittal hum and tugs him forward. She gets him set down near the fire and adds wood to it, stoking it high and hot and then rifles through her bag. She hands him a few pieces of salted deer and a small vial of medicine, and then begins bandaging his ribs.

She works diligently, mindful of his pain and pausing when he winces. She waits for him to nod before continuing. Katsuki thinks about how kind she must be – to be so gentle with him after he’d been so rude to her.

He drinks down the medicine she’d given him and lays back on his fur. Even though his eyes are heavy, he watches her as she moves about – pulling the small skillet from her pack, going to the edge of the forest to retrieve the satchel she’d filled with wild roots and vegetables, and then setting to work peeling and slicing and cooking.

Though he knows the danger is gone, he still surveys the road and that thought begins to tug at him again. Ochako hadn’t been at the campsite when the giants had shown up. She hadn’t walked into their trap like he had. Logic dictates that she should have come out of the forest opposite him, but she had to have come from further south which means…

“You used me as bait.”

Ochako doesn’t look up from the vegetables she’s chopping, but her cheeks blush pink. “I didn’t expect you to fall into their trap so easily. I would have been closer if I had.”

Katsuki chuckles softly and then winces at the way it makes his ribs ache. “How’d you know it was a trap?”

“You had just left the camp. I wanted to help with breakfast, so I’d gone off to gather some mushrooms and herbs to go with whatever you were hunting.” Ochako is quiet for a moment, tending to the food in front of her and Katsuki lets his head fall back onto the fur and rests his eyes. “When I heard the first crash, I hid. When the second one came from the same direction, I started to follow the sound. Then, I remembered you telling me about those poor villagers – how they’d only been woken up by their roofs caving in.”

Katsuki lets out a low, frustrated groan at having fallen for such a simple lure. If he hadn’t lost his head so quickly, he wouldn’t be injured now. Of course, then he might not have realized exactly how capable Ochako was at holding her own. Watching her now, he can see her strength and intelligence. He feels foolish for having judged her so quickly.

“I’m sorry for what I said…” Katsuki’s mind starts to swim, his thoughts beginning to repeat and fade as he struggles to hold onto them. He thinks to himself that it must be some combination of the medicine she’d given him and his own natural exhaustion and almost completely forgets that he was in the middle of apologizing to her. “… Cheeks. I shouldn’t have… uhm… I mean, when I look at you, I still see that little girl hiding behind her mother’s dress and–”

Katsuki’s words cut off as a coughing fit takes hold of him. Ochako rushes to his side, putting the waterskin to his lips and helping him take a few small sips until he has himself under control. He reaches up, brushing his thumb along her jaw and watching as her cheeks blush that beautiful shade of pink again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I think we both have a lot to learn about each other. I suppose it’s good that we still have a whole journey ahead of us to do so.” Ochako leans down, placing a chaste kiss on Katsuki’s lips and smiling at the way his cheeks flush. “Rest for now. I’ll wake you when breakfast is ready.”

~END~ Written for @kacchakoauzine

Accompanying art by the amazing @Aida24_7 (Twitter)

Leftover Sales Here: https://kacchakoauzine.bigcartel.com

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53174410

[moon-language-0]

i went ahead and signed up for another bingo event because having these prompt cards lights up reward centers in my brain that MUST BE SATISFIED 🔥👹🗿🦉🔥

kicking this one off with a twisted spin on the old 'barton farmhouse' / 'sharing a bed trope' for square N2/"universe: MCU":

through fire below, and fire above, and fire within (E, 7.3k)

Tony had a lot of regrets about how his Ultron Program had panned out. Losing JARVIS and unleashing a murderbot on the world was a pretty major one. Turns out that incurring Steve's wrath might even be an even bigger one.

if you want to get your own stony bingo card, round 2 is currently running through @cap-ironman!

[daisychainsandbowties]

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" Lilith + droids 😘

lilith wakes up curled around the unlit hilt of her lightsaber, staring at the tangle of her hair trapped beneath a lump of shattered stone, and the first thing she does is scream.

there’s ash falling from the sky, slow-dancing, waltzing like people do on the holos. lilith has never seen dancing except on dathomir, where women twist their bodies into crude shapes and leave hot trails of blood behind them. they call it worship.

on other planets they dance differently, and lilith likes watching it; not so unlike her lightsaber forms but soft-edged, unsharpened.

blue shapes projected in her bedroom at night – a woman with her chin resting on another woman’s shoulder and lilith staring rapt from her bunk, mouthing one two one two until the haze of motion sends her drooping down onto her pillow. she has a bunkbed all to herself but she likes the bottom bed, where she can sometimes make herself imagine the mattress above her creaking from the weight of another body.

one like hers, maybe. light in that gravity, tender-boned, with bruises on her shins and sore hands from holding a wooden sword all day long.

but this is far from home.

it’s as far from the grey planet where she lives and trains as the chilly hanger of the Separatist ship no doubt still wallowing in orbit above them. it is a great echoing thing, lonely with most of the other droids packed neatly into rows, sleeping while lilith roams with her odd tangle of droids clinging to the sound of her footsteps. she did not know at all what to do with them so she just walked and listened to them talk.

“the commander painted this for me. do you like it?”

“not really. what is it?”

“i… um.” a long pause, “it’s paint.”

“oh.”

far from enlightening, but lilith didn’t want that, didn’t care for it. she needed noise and they gave it to her, filling the corridors of the ship with their wiry voices and their clanking footsteps. last month, when she’d been given her own squad, lilith had counted twenty-five droids.

she had fifteen following her before this battle, all the others shot or blasted to pieces. swallowed by fire rained down from above.

lilith knew most of their designations  – a slew of numbers that criss-crossed through her mind, but already she had persuaded some of them into having names. the few who resisted that still permitted her to put paint on them, nodding along when she argued that it would make them easier to pick apart from the other droids in battle.

“no, you don’t belong to me.” she’d snapped, dabbing harsh petals into one droid’s chest. red paint, hibiscus flowers blooming over its chest.

if droids could frown, “but lord adriel said-���

“you’re my squad, but you belong” – she stabbed at its chest with the paintbrush, leaving an errant edge to one of the petals, as though moth-bitten – “to yourself.”

“that seems like wishful thinking,” he told her this solemnly, looking down at her handiwork while lilith dipped her brush in a tin cup of paint-streaked water. dried it on her shirt.

lilith – tired, vaguely angry – resorted to her hands instead of speaking. she signed roughly, still figuring out vocabulary, syntax, tone. what came out might not have been anything but the droid nodded – still nameless to her beyond its neat line of numbers.

“i suppose,” it said, “not all belonging is possession.”

that morning, she’d watched the same droid pick up a blaster and follow her onto a lumpy ground shuttle. the paint on its chest already looked faded. it followed her – they all did – through the burning countryside and straight into a trap.

landmines, planted in the ground close to a huddle of old farm buildings. there were starfighters strafing over the horizon and lilith had wanted to get them out of sight until night dipped the land into darkness. she’d picked her way across to the farmhouse alone and peered inside, then gestured for her droids to follow her when she saw nothing but empty, sun-streaked space.

somehow, lilith had gotten lucky - or maybe it was her lightness in this and every gravity compared to the droids. they moved toward her in shades of brown and gold and white and auburn as lilith stood with her lightsaber hilt in one hand, unlit but nonetheless feeling the lick of its red light on the underside of her chin and on her arms and in her chest and everywhere.

then the ground exploded, threw lilith back into the building and the wall ruptured down around her. she flung out a blind burst of Force and flung herself away from most of the raining rock, but a chunk of it must have clipped her skull and then rolled to rest on her hair.

when her scream fades, eaten by the quiet that always lingers after an explosion, lilith feels a spot of ash settle on her cheek. a grey-black blot smearing itself on her skin.

above, the sky reflects the burning countryside with a ferocity that lends everything a yellow-orange glow.

her hair, though, resolves as an oil slick across the ground, pooling under a huge slab of stone with a splash of blood running up one side. gingerly, lilith reaches up and touches the side of her head, finding it wet.

the tips of her fingers are bright red as she moves them, trembling, in front of her face – though there is also ash in among the blood. lilith wonders how it mixes – like clay? so that her blood will clot faster? she blinks tears out of her eyes and draws in a breath. coughs, the motion tugging at her scalp.

the stone has her pinned. lilith cannot see anything beyond it or hear anything more than a faint ringing in her ears. there could be clone troopers picking through the rubble – and her laid out on the ground in her dark robes with the glint of a lightsaber showing under her body, all but gift-wrapped for them.

she could throw her cloak over herself,  if that isn’t pinned as well, but she knows the troopers won’t mistake her for a jedi. worse, they might have one with them – and she’d be as helpless as the creatures who get trapped in tide pools high up on the beach back at the base, huddling in shallow water that slowly disappears under the heat of the nearby star.

lilith likes to rescue those lost things, carrying them in a little pail of saltwater down over the rocks with the sea birds wheeling jealously overhead, screaming at her.

but she is forever on the side of small things.

it’s the wrong sort of mindset for a sith, but lilith can’t help it. if she found a bird on the beach with a broken wing she would scoop that up too and mend it with her mouth. a kiss with its beak pecking frantically at her cheek drawing blood and more blood until lilith laughed and let it launch away, almost crashing again in surprise at the sudden wholeness of itself.

some birds remembered better than others when she did that for them. by now, lilith had a small family of black-feathered ones with long beaks who followed her around and glared at suspicious-looking rocks on her behalf.

there is no one here to help her, though, and if the troopers come they will murder her or worse – take her prisoner. take her lightsaber to pieces and find the wet red heart inside it. her unstable kyber crystal stuttering uncertainly.

what else could they do with that but lock her away?

lilith isn’t stupid; she tries the Force first before anything else, holds out her hand with the palm facing the rock she is trapped beneath, trying to summon anger, fear – all the hot licking emotions that have crawled into her blood over months of training. months of being struck, tossed bloody onto the ground. of being pushed until she cracks and breaks and overflows and shines. red as dathomir’s star.

nothing. she grits her teeth and bites her tongue until it sends a slurry of thick blood down the side of her face, dripping onto the ground beneath her head and curling into the shell of her ear. maybe it’s the helplessness of this position that sends the dark side scattering from her fingertips – or the concern ringing high and hard in her chest because none of the droids have found her.

yet, yet. they can’t all be dead. they can’t.

lilith tries pushing at it physically, but her arms have no strength in them, and every attempt just forces her body away from the stone and tugs on her scalp until she finds vomit trying to climb up her throat.

dribbles some down her chin – hot with bile – before she gives up. she can feel her lightsaber pressing into her belly, touching tender spots where tomorrow she will have a path of bruises to walk with her fingers.

if she has a tomorrow.

dimly, past the alarming lack of sound in her ears, lilith senses movement – maybe it is not hearing at all, but the Force whispering to her. the crunch of boots on stone.

boots. her heart seizes and she scrabbles uselessly at the dirt, only succeeding in tugging on her scalp again and making blood leak down from the wound on the side of her head. it takes every ounce of strength she has not to vomit onto the ground.

clones – it has to be; she hears the low drone of their voices, shreds scattering out from under their helmets. they are coming, maybe drawn by the sound of her scream or just by the detonation itself.

lilith stares at the stone, at the slick of her hair trapped beneath it. she shifts, feet kicking at the rubble and dust and chips of stone surrounding her. the motion presses her lightsaber hilt into her stomach again.

with bloodied fingers, lilith reaches down. prints sticky on the dark metal of her saber. it will make a sound when she ignites it, so she’ll have to be quick. no hesitation.

lilith thinks of broken wings, of a pail swinging from her fingers and a grey sky that will never call itself home. she doesn’t miss dathomir, but she misses the security of its sky. she misses the underside of the bunk above her and the imaginary shifting of springs.

she wants to go – if not home – then at least in her own direction. at least toward something brighter than a cell and the loss of everything that makes her useful. her paint, her droids, and the boiling red of her lightsaber.

in a crackle-spit of heat it spears into being. immediately there is shouting – closer than she thought – and a blaster bolt darting overtop of her, taking a chip off of the rock that pins her hair.

lilith moves and she is good at it now because all of life is a dance and she knows at least some of the steps. the violent ones and how to navigate the beach at not-home in the dark to follow the sound of injured cries.

the smell of burning hair crawls up her nostrils as lilith slashes along the ground in front of her. it would take too long to chop the rock into pieces, but keratin is no match for the plasma-bleed of her saber. hot sparks land on her face but do not burn her as the saber crackles unsteadily.

adriel says that it is weakness – the dancing light of her saber - but it burns as well as anything else when it needs to. lilith launches onto her feet, moving in a wide pirouette as her instincts track the shape of blaster-bolts arcing at her. they meet the edge of her blade and deflect, searing into the ground and sending up bright molten chips of stone.

the area around her is in ruin, but even as lilith pulls to her feet she can see a huddle of familiar shapes back behind one of the larger mounds of rubble. spindly bodies returning fire across what is suddenly a battlefield.

she spots one droid in particular as it leans out to fire off a bolt, showing a chest covered in red flowers. hibiscus.

lilith smiles – a rictus-grin as her hair falls around her in an unfamiliar pattern all singed at the ends. there are maybe two dozen clones arrayed in a loose semi-circle around her – obviously creeping close to see if they’d caught her unconscious. no jedi with them.

one of them makes a jerky motion and fires off a bolt at her even as the others stand frozen, uncertain. they know what a red saber means, but the creature holding it is a girl no older than fifteen. drowned in a cloak too big for her and coated in fractals of uncertain red light.

the bolt arcs for her head and lilith parries it lazily, stepping forward as she alters its trajectory, sending it careening back. it puts a hole through another trooper’s chest and he collapses in a heap of smoking plastoid. lilith flourishes her blade – spins it with a languid turn of her wrist – and before the others can really react she’s running at them.

bolts pass over her shoulders as her droids lay down covering fire, scattering the troopers. they’re disorganised, then, and lilith finds herself among them all too soon, sinking into familiar forms. she weaves and ducks and spins, holding her blade as a cutting extension of her arm until the air is thick with the sweet scent of melted plastoid. when the troopers try to run, bolts cut them down.

when they try to stand and fight, lilith cuts them down.

a minute later, or less, lilith stands panting among two dozen corpses. she is not splashed bright with their blood – just her own, and that coated thickly down one side of her face and matted in what remains of her hair. she just smells of ash and smoke and what plasma makes of skin and bone and armour.

which is to say – nothing.

lilith stares at one trooper who died curled around the melted stump of his right leg, cut far above the knee. she stabbed down at him casually as she passed, clean through the neck, and the armour has fused with flesh around that cauterised hole.

she must stand awhile above that trooper, because when she looks up again the droids have climbed out from the rubble and the red-painted one has stepped up close to her. “commander?”

her hand lifts up but it’s shaking too badly to make any signs, any sense. eventually, lilith shrugs, sways, finds herself toppling only to fetch up against something hard. she blinks, looks around to find that the droid has put a sturdy arm around her.

“easy.” it mutters and lilith isn’t sure what that means but it has a curve to it like comfort. she tries to shake her head but the motion makes the world spin harder. the droid tucks her in against its body and lilith tries not to sob, not to turn her head into its chest. she hurts so badly and there are dead bodies all around.

they deserved it, she tells herself. they would have taken you away, or killed you. and they certainly would have killed this droid.

she clutches at its arm but peers around as it tries to guide her through the rubble. there are… what? maybe ten of her droids standing in a loose huddle, waiting for them. “where are the…?”

then she spots it. a golden head sticking out of the rubble.

she finds herself clawing at the red droid’s arm, dragging it away from her waist and almost falling immediately but stumbling instead over loose stones and chunks of churned-up earth. ash everywhere.

lilith drops to her knees, hears her own voice calling out, “look! here! there’s a droid buried here.” stones shift under her hands – too easily, like she’s picking up something made of cotton and not solid stone.

it takes her a long, foolish minute of lifting rocks and tossing them aside and doing it unaided for lilith to realise what she’s looking at.

the golden head is twisted at a wrong angle, the neck and shoulders and chest below crushed almost flat and perforated with holes. it’s dead it’s dead dead dead dead dead

the rocks grow heavy in her hands again and lilith is almost pulled to the ground by the weight in her hands. she lets it fall and then drops with it.

this droid she recognises – it is one of the few who took a name as soon a lilith suggested it. it pestered her for suggestions until lilith threw the word blossom out wildly and found herself met with stunned silence.

“oh yes, lady lilith. i like that enormously.”

“it’s just lilith.”

“okay then.” the golden droid pointed to itself, “then this – me – is just blossom.”

lilith touches its face – mostly intact but coated in a thin layer of ash that only smears when lilith tries to wipe it away. her hands are too dirty to make any difference.

she has a voice, finds it. casts it like a line. “blossom?”

nothing. the next sound she makes is a sob. she cradles its face, tilting it to stare at the ashen sky. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

this, she whispers, pressing her bloody lips to its cracked skull so the sharp metal bites and break through delicate skin. lilith doesn’t care - presses harder, tears dotting down onto the metal and those dead eyes with their lenses cracked and half-flooded with oil staring and staring. black as coagulated blood.

then there’s a hand on her shoulder – a metal hand that leaves smears of ash on her cloak, greyer than the black. lilith looks up and finds the red-painted droid above her.

if droids could weep.

it just stares at her instead, tilts its head. makes a sign with its other hand that lilith has not wrangled to mean anything other than a blunt statement.

sorry.

“we have to move,” he tells her. his hand changes from sorry and makes another motion that is not language at all; he holds it out for her to take, to grip, to hold.

lilith looks back at blossom. she was going to paint a garden for this droid on its arms and legs. they’d spent an hour together looking at pictures of flowers on the holo – setting them floating in full-spectrum colour around the room for the other droids to vote on.

it liked the yellow ones, mostly. a few blues thrown in the mix and a handful of soft lilacs.

now it is dead and lilith cannot even close its eyes. they are already dimmed which is as close as a droid can get to sleep.

“I’m sorry.” she says it one last time like she’s laying a flower down on a grave, and then the red-painted droid hauls her to her feet and catches her when her legs  try to give way again.

“come on,” it says. “let’s go somewhere safe.”

lilith laughs at that for a long time, until blackness climbs over her vision in cracks, in blinding red scars of light. the last thing she sees before a sleep only slightly gentler than death claims her is a red hibiscus flower, moth-bitten at the edge and drawn in her own uncertain hand.

[dbeautifyhomes]

Top 10 Wall Hanging Ideas to Elevate Your Bedroom's Style

When it comes to transforming your bedroom into a serene and stylish retreat, wall hangings can make a significant impact. These versatile decor elements not only enhance the aesthetic appeal of your space but also reflect your personal style. Whether you prefer something minimalist or an eclectic mix, here are the top 10 wall hanging ideas that can elevate your bedroom's style.

1. Macrame Wall Hangings

Macrame wall hangings have become a popular choice for adding texture and warmth to a bedroom. Their intricate knots and designs bring a boho-chic vibe that complements various interior styles. Whether you choose a large statement piece or a series of smaller hangings, macrame can instantly make your bedroom feel cozy and inviting.

2. Tapestries

Tapestries are versatile and can completely transform a bedroom's ambiance. From intricate patterns to serene landscapes, tapestries can serve as a focal point in your room. They are also an excellent way to introduce color and texture without overwhelming the space. Whether you drape it above your bed or across an empty wall, a tapestry can add depth and dimension to your decor.

3. Framed Art Prints

Framed art prints are a classic way to decorate bedroom walls. Choose artwork that resonates with your personality or the theme of your bedroom. For a cohesive look, opt for a set of matching frames and arrange them in a gallery style. This type of wall hanging is not only aesthetically pleasing but also gives you the flexibility to change up your decor whenever you like.

4. Woven Baskets

Woven baskets, often seen in rustic and farmhouse-style homes, are now being embraced as wall decor. Arranging a series of beautifully crafted baskets on your bedroom wall can add a unique texture and dimension to your space. The natural materials and earthy tones bring a sense of calm and organic beauty to your bedroom, making it feel connected to nature.

5. Mirrors as Wall Hangings

Mirrors are not just functional; they can also serve as beautiful wall hangings that enhance your bedroom’s style. A large, ornate mirror can act as a statement piece, reflecting light and making the room appear larger. Alternatively, a collection of smaller mirrors with interesting frames can create a dynamic and stylish wall display.

6. Metal Wall Art

For a modern and industrial look, consider incorporating metal wall art into your bedroom. Metal sculptures and cutouts can add a sleek, contemporary touch that complements minimalist and urban decor styles. The reflective surface of metal art can also play with light, adding an extra layer of sophistication to your space.

7. Fabric Wall Panels

Fabric wall panels are a great way to add softness and texture to your bedroom. These panels can be customized in various patterns, colors, and sizes to fit your decor needs. Whether upholstered in a luxurious velvet or a simple cotton, fabric wall panels can create a cozy and elegant atmosphere.

8. Personalized Name Signs

Adding a personalized name sign as a wall hanging can give your bedroom a unique and personal touch. These signs can be crafted from wood, metal, or acrylic, and can be customized with your name, a favorite quote, or a meaningful word. This type of wall hanging is especially popular in children's bedrooms or master suites.

9. Woven Wall Hangings

Woven wall hangings bring a rustic and artisanal feel to any bedroom. These pieces are typically handcrafted, making each one unique. Woven wall hangings are ideal for adding texture and a touch of craftsmanship to your room, especially if you are aiming for a natural, bohemian, or eclectic style.

10. String Lights and Photos

Combine string lights with your favorite photos to create a warm and personalized wall hanging. This idea is perfect for adding a whimsical and intimate touch to your bedroom. The soft glow of the lights, combined with cherished memories, can create a relaxing and sentimental atmosphere, making your bedroom a true sanctuary.

Conclusion

Wall hangings are an essential element of home decor that can significantly enhance the style and feel of your bedroom. From macrame and tapestries to mirrors and personalized signs, there are endless possibilities to explore. Whether you prefer beautiful wall hangings that bring a touch of elegance or something more modern and minimalist, these top 10 ideas will help you elevate your bedroom’s style.

If you're looking to extend this aesthetic to other areas of your home, these ideas can also work beautifully as wall hangings for living rooms. By carefully selecting wall hanging decor that complements your overall theme, you can create a cohesive and stylish look throughout your home.

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[whitepolaris]

The Rental in The Sourlands

by D.S. Gibson

As someone who’s lived for thirty-two years in the Sourland Mountains of Somerset County, New Jersey, I’ve had more than one bizarre encounter in these desolate, mysterious hills. In this story, I will relate the most terrifying incident. 

In 1980, I was twenty and anxious to move out of my parents’ house. After my buddy Peter and I decided to look for a place, we consulted a local real estate agent. The woman assured us she had just the place for us and it was only a short ride away. In her car, we drove up into the Skillman section of the Sourland range, and we soon realized the apartment was much farther out then we’d hoped. Finally we stopped at an old farm.

“That’s it,” said the real estate agent, pointing to what was obviously a converted two-story utility shed on a small incline behind the main farmhouse. The first thing I noticed was a 1959 hearse parked in front of the shed. 

“Looks kind of creepy,” said Peter. “And what about that hearse?” The agent told us it belonged to one of the renters who lived above the vacant apartment. 

After a few minutes, the landlord bounded off the farmhouse’s back porch and approached us. He was a particularly big man, and the look in his eyes could only be described as scary. As he brusquely laid down the law on what was and wasn’t allowed on the premises, I couldn’t help but think that this guy would have made an excellent Luca Brasi in the movie The Godfather. 

The apartment he showed us consisted of nothing more than an eat-in kitchen, a tiny living room, a bathroom, and a single bedroom. Peter and I wanted our own rooms, but $275 a month the less-than-ideal space was hard to pass up. Ignoring the bad vibes, we said we’d take it. Little did we know that we were in for four nervous-wracking months, the effects of which would linger long after we moved out. 

A Baffling Break-in

We signed the lease on Thursday afternoon and started to move in later in the day, and most of my stuff was in the apartment by Friday afternoon. Peter and I agreed we’d move the rest of his things in on Sunday, since he was leaving for Pennsylvania to stay with his girlfriend for the weekend. After Peter left, I settled down to unpack. Shortly after dark, I began to get the eerie feeling that I wasn’t alone. Not helping were some very strange sounds that seemed to be coming from behind the walls and beneath the floor. I walked around listening, looking out windows, and wondering if we had mice. 

A but spooked, I decided to lock everything up and go stay at my parents’ house that night. It was dark and lonely ride on the back roads that led down the mountain into Neshanic Station. 

In the morning, my father (concerned, and rightly so) asked if he could come with me to see the place. So we jumped in the car and drove up the mountain. When we got there, I was puzzled to find that even though I could unlock the door, it wouldn’t open. My dad and I both pushed hard, and slowly it moved. “There’s something against the other side,” he said. We were able to force it open enough to allow us to squeeze into the living room. 

To our surprise, the obstacle against the door was the sofa bed. More astonishing was that it had been opened and my only houseplant sat right in the middle of the bed, looking as if it had been carefully placed there; not even a speck of dirt had been spilled. If that weren’t strange enough, the sofa bed was the only piece of furniture sitting right side up. The kitchen table, television stand, dresser-all just where I had placed them-were now upside down!

“You’ve been robbed,” Dad said, motioning toward the clothes and kitchen utensils strewn about. Frantically I looked for my most treasured belongings. Nothing was missing except for one thing. Peter and I kept a large frog in a jar of formaldehyde, intended as a quirky conversation piece./ And while the jar of formaldehyde was still there, the frog wasn’t. Dad and I searched high and low for it, but the frog was nowhere to be found. 

My father and I discovered that the windows, which were quite high off the ground, were still locked. We couldn’t figure out how in the world would intruders could have blocked the door and left, leaving everything bolted from inside. But for some reason, our puzzlement didn’t keep me from changing all the locks that day. 

I called Peter and told him what had happened. He was as baffled as I was, especially after talking with the tenants upstairs and the landlord. No one had seen or heard a thing. On Sunday, Peter returned and we spent the rest of the day moving the last of his stuff in, both of us trying hard not to feel spooked about what had taken place. 

That night, my girlfriend, Sue, and her friend Debbie drove up with me to see the place. We pulled into the driveway and were approaching the back of the building when I noticed both girls were shifting nervously in their seats. 

“Sue, this place has bad karma,” said Debbie. Sue didn’t like the look of the place either. She said she thought I should move out as soon as possible, and both girls couldn’t wait to leave. All I could draw out of them was that the place wasn’t “right.” I think that I knew this secretly, too, but I wasn’t about to give up my first apartment that easily. Now I know I should have listened. 

A Turn for the Worse

What followed was close to four months of the worst luck I’ve ever had. Within weeks, my car died. Then my replacement car gave up the ghost, too. Peter and I both lost our jobs. We both suffered from constant colds, allergies, and ill health in general. The strange noises continued all the whole, accompanied by weird dreams and the unnerving feeling that we were being watched. Near the end of the summer, I awoke one night to find the floor fan shooting out orange and blue sparks. Other appliances went haywire as well. 

After eight weeks in the apartment, Peter and I made a grisly discovery. When preparing dinner one night, we needed a pot stored under the sink. Reaching underneath, I pulled out and was about to put it on the counter when I saw something horrific inside: the missing frog. Worse yet what was done to it. The frog’s mouth had been forced open and a pencil had been shoved down its throat, exiting its rear. It was, in a word, skewered. I was certain I had looked under the sink the day my dad and I discovered the frog missing, and over the previous weeks I’d rummaged around under the sink for one thing or another countless times. 

Horrified, I was ready to move out, but Peter talked me into sticking it out by reminding me of how cheap it was. Interestingly, I saw less and less of him as he conveniently spent more time at his girlfriend's house. I so disliked staying at the apartment alone that on many nights I slept at my parents’ house. 

One weekend when Peter was away, Sue and I decided to watch Saturday Night Live. It was humid, still night with no breeze, so we left the front door open as we sat on the sofa and watched TV. The door was right next to the television, giving us a clear view of both. Suddenly, the door slammed shut with such force that it shook the walls. Sue and I jumped a mile. In a panic, she demanded that we leave immediately. There was no argument from me. “I want you out of here,” she yelled, “because I don’t want to come here anymore!” I promised to talk to Peter about moving as soon as he returned.

When Peter failed to show up on Saturday, I stayed away from the place until late Monday afternoon-only to find that Peter still wasn’t there. So I decided to make some dinner as I waited for him. 

Afternoon sunlight warmed the kitchen as I scavenged to see what I could prepare. I filled the pot with water and put it on the stove to boil, then turned to grab a package of rice off the counter. When I turned back to the stove, the pot of water was gone, though the burner was still lit. The hair on the back of my neck sprung up, and I was afraid to turn around. All of a sudden the sunny room felt as cold as a tomb. 

For what seemed like an eternity, I just stood there listening, only to be met with total silence. I knew that I couldn’t stand there forever-and besides, the front door was behind me, and that was the only way out. I spun around. The pot of water sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, five feet away from me. Once again, nothing was spilled, as if it had been gently placed there. 

That was it, I picked up the pot, put it in the sink, turned off the stove, and headed out the apartment as fast as I could. I told Peter the next day that I was moving. He was annoyed, but I couldn’t have cared less. By the water, Peter didn’t stay there much longer either; by the end of the month he had packed his stuff and moved out. 

Someone once asked me if I thought that a particular place can be “bad.” Considering my four months of contending with forces unknown, I told him that I would have to say, “Yes, definitely.”

[queenclaudiabrown]

The Scarecrow | Chapter Four: Murder In The Meadow

     Emptiness was the feeling that inhabited the farmhouse due to Grace's absence. There was an empty seat at the table. One side of Marty's bed was empty. No one had placed their shoes on the boot tray where Grace had originally left hers, and therefore an empty place remained. When they all were together, there was an almost tangible empty space among them as they stood or sat in a certain way instinctually assuming Grace would be there.

     Natalie and Melody prepared breakfast, then cleared up and cleaned up before heading off to do their own thing. Natalie opted to journal, but Melody had something else on her mind.

     In the library, Melody worriedly stared at the space behind a bookcase. In her explorations the previous day, she had discovered two shotguns- pump shotguns, with tube magazines along the undersides of their barrels- behind the bookcase, and a box of shells under a nearby low-bottomed sofa. She had paid them no real attention, but after they had come back from searching for Grace she had noticed that one of the guns was missing, and although she hadn't seen Grace leave, no one had mentioned seeing her carrying it. And when they were empty, she had checked every other room- including bedroom and bathrooms- in the house and not found it. In her mind, the only explanation was that whoever had attacked Grace had stolen the gun from the house while they were searching for her.

     But who, and why?

     Beth crept toward the front door, shoes in hand, and did her best to avoid squeaky or creaky floorboards. If anyone knew what she was about to do, she would most likely be stopped and kept inside. Quietly, she opened the door just enough to slip through, then closed it softly behind her and sat down on the edge of the porch to slip into her shoes.

     She walked through the cornfield, eyes wide open and critically scanning the rows for a sign of Grace. They had all done this yesterday, but in waning light, and Beth was on the lookout for even the tiniest of clues. And if she swept the entire cornfield and found nothing, she would examine the well again, and go even beyond that in search of her friend or a clue. More blood, straw, jewelry or clothing, or drag marks or even a body would be appreciated at this point.

     Hours passed, and Beth found nothing. But she still hadn't given up just quite yet. At the top of a swelling hill in one of the fields, she paused and turned around in a full 360, one hand shading her eyes.

     A thunderous booming crack split the air as fiery pain consumed Beth, and she fell to the ground at the force of an impact she didn't understand. Sprawled on her front, she gasped for air, face scrunched up in pain as the action only caused her more agony. 

     "That's the beauty of buckshot." A voice said from above her. "No matter where you aim, the blast radius is a lot bigger. So if I had aimed for your heart and missed, you might've survived a regular bullet, but with buckshot-" the person laughed, grabbing Beth's shoulder and rolling her onto her back, causing even worse pain to flare through her as her own body weight pressed her wounded back into the grass and dirt. "-I probably still would've hit your heart anyway. And even so, your lungs, your stomach... I wouldn't need to hit your heart to kill you."

     The scarecrow from Grace's tales loomed over her, but his voice was different from what Beth had imagined the problematic farm hand to sound like.

     "No, no...." The blonde pleaded.

     The scarecrow laughed mockingly, bringing the smoking-hot muzzle of the shotgun worryingly close to Beth's face. "Say 'please'."

     "Please, please, oh God please!" She begged.

     "Well, since you asked so nicely...."

     The scarecrow shoved the muzzle against Beth's throat, causing her to let out an ear-piercing scream as her flesh burned. A few moments later, however, the weapon was pulled away, and a whimpering Beth sank down onto the ground, trying not to think about how much pain she was in.

     But then she was in even more, as the scarecrow then wielded the shotgun like a club and brought it down, slamming it into Beth's stomach. And again and again and again, bludgeoning and beating against every inch of her defenseless form, until at last Beth was dead.

     When Beth had been gone five hours and not returned, the group grew worried, the memory of the scene at the well all too fresh in their minds. They quickly donned their shoes and headed out, calling for Beth with worry and desperation coloring their voices. They combed the cornfield, just as they had for Grace, and found the well to be again barren of people living or dead, flesh or straw.

     Forty minutes later, they found her. Her pale hair was stained rubescent and matted by blood, which also discolored her clothes and x lung them to her. It was quite obvious she had been beaten to death in some manner or other, her nose and most of her bones broken and her skin split all over.

     Natalie had been closer to Beth than anyone else in their group, and it broke everyone's hearts to see her clutching her friend's mutilated body to her chest, sobbing and rocking back and forth. Natalie wasn't a very emotional person, carefree and calm and generally unaffected, but now waterfalls of tears ran down her face and her voice cracked with every sob.

     Finally, Dave managed to pull her away from Beth's corpse, almost entirely supporting the redhead as she turn to weep into his chest. Eric picked up the body and carried her back with the others in tow. Zak had an arm slung around Marty's shoulders, the blond tormented with images of Grace in a similar state.

     In the end, Natalie and Melody managed to wash some of the blood off Beth's body with washcloths, and Eric and Dave wrapped her up like a mummy in her own bedding. They laid her body in the library, and after collecting a handful of books they thought they or their friends might read, shut the heavy door. Melody helped scour the scarlet stain off Natalie's hands and arms in the utility room, then sent her upstairs to change like Dave and Eric had done while she cleaned herself up.

     Two of them were dead, and the body of one now lay just thirty feet diagonally from where she had slept the night before.

     Eric wouldn't have necessarily called Grace Davis and Beth Nelson close or dear friends of his, but he had cared about them more than strangers. Part of him wondered if Grace's creepy story had woken the starring monster, but he wasn't a superstitious person by nature. And yet the scarecrow had vanished from its place, unmoved by any of them, and murdered two of them in as many days. That could not be ignored, mystical forces involved or no.

     Anxiety had him feeling like he was about to puke as he stepped into the library, but he held his ground, even within his own mind. "I've been thinking, and I know what I need to do." He began, drawing the attention of the others. "I'm gonna leave and go get help."

     Melody shook her head. "Eric-"

     "I'll run. I'll take shortcuts. As soon as I make it back to town, I'll get to the police station and tell them everything. I won't stop until they send someone back for you."

     Melody shook her head. "Eric, no, it's too dangerous. I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that."

     His demeanor shifted abruptly, from earnestness to anger. "I wasn't asking your permission, Melody."

     Her eyes narrowed. "Then why'd you come to me like you were?"

     "Why don't you tell me that yourself, know-it-all?"

     "Hey, that's a bit far." Natalie piped up. "She has a point."

     "Pipe down, carrot-top." Eric snapped. Natalie scowled at him, which he ignored. "Look, I'm going, whether you like it or not."

     Melody stood quickly. "I'm not trying to control you, Eric, I'm trying to protect you! Why can't you understand that?!"

     "What I understand is that you've got us all here in a f***ing charnel-house and you won't let us leave! It's like you want us to get picked off one by one by that scarecrow!"

    "How dare you?!" Melody raged, obviously insulted. "Grace and Beth were my friends. You are my friends. I'm just trying to keep us alive. I'm sorry that that p¡$$3$ you off so much, but it's the honest-to-God truth."

     "If you care so much about keeping us all alive, let me go and do this!" Eric shouted.

     "No! I won't allow it!" Her voice had risen beyond her control, now higher-pitched than she'd like to admit.

    "I don't take orders from spineless b¡tches!" Roared Eric.

     Zak shoved himself to his feet, bumping Natalie with his shoulder accidentally as he strode toward the arguing pair. He inserted himself between them, causing both parties to step back to accommodate his medium frame, which was suddenly imposing.

     And for a moment, the others feared they were about to come to blows. Zak was an inch shy of six feet tall, and Eric was an inch over that mark, yet although Eric was indisputably the quickest of them all to violence, the pure rage radiating off Zak's form was tangible. His typically soft and warm penny-brown eyes were hard and all but spitting fire, and the radical change in demeanor was enough to get Eric to back down a little.

     "You know what?" Eric laughed humorlessly, his anger so great he was at that point. "F*** this. I'm out of here. I'm not staying here to die with the rest of you dumb@$$3$. Stay here if you want, but I'm not just gonna wait around to die."

     "Eric, don't." Melody warned.

     "No, I'm done letting you prattle on and try to control me. I'm going, and I'm getting help, and you can't stop me."

     And with that, Eric strode out of the house, leaving five angry and worried college students behind.

     Eric didn't come back that day, and Dave was the only one to stay up the entire night in case he returned, so that he could unlock the door. But when Melody and Natalie came downstairs the next morning to get started on breakfast, Dave was still in the armchair, the dark bags under his heavy-lidded eyes and dejected expression told them everything they needed to know.

     Breakfast was a verbally silent affair, every one of them consumed with the same general thoughts: hope that against all odds Eric had made it to Arbela and was in the police station, urging the small town's boys in blue to rescue his friends; the deep-down knowledge that he was almost certainly dead and had failed; the grief for another friend, another innocent person, picked off by a nearly 200-year-old farm hand; guilt that they had let him go without more of a fight, or a partner to watch his back, or even a kitchen knife.

     "Can- Can we go out and look for him?" Dave spoke up abruptly, turning wet and worried eyes to Melody. "All of us together, or in groups, not alone. He could be hurt, or hiding, or unconscious. If we just leave him out there...."

     Melody rolled the handle of her fork between her fingers in thought, an action she commonly did with a pen. After a moment, she nodded. "Alright." She glanced at the clock in the kitchen. "It's almost 9:30. We'll leave then, and we'll stick together. All of us. If we haven't found him by the time the sun starts to set...." She didn't finish the thought, but they all heard it unspoken nonetheless.

      He's nowhere to be found.

      As the others finished getting ready to head out, Melody went her bedroom and reached under the bed, producing the second shotgun, which she had hidden after realizing one was missing. She then grabbed the partial box of shells as well, and one by one loaded them into the tubelike magazine that ran along the underside of the barrel. As a writer, she had done extensive research into the operation and terminology of many firearms and weapons to make her stories more authentic.

     The weight and size of the weapon in her hands made her feel just a little bit safer as she headed downstairs and stepped out on the porch to wait. The wind against her skin, in her hair was a familiar feeling she'd always enjoyed, but now it felt cold and ominous.

     Behind her, she heard the others come downstairs, put their shoes on, and step out onto the porch.

     "Whoa, where'd you find that?" Marty asked.

     "Behind a bookcase in the library. There were two the other day, but now there's only one in the house. I checked everywhere. Whoever killed Beth has the other one."

     "Great." Natalie muttered.

     The gun in Melody's possession seemed to make her stronger and safer in everyone's subconscious, and they instinctively stuck close. Again they searched the cornfield and checked at the well, and reluctantly Melody allowed them to split up into teams- Natalie and Dave, and Zak and Marty and herself- to search the barn and shed. But despite their efforts and the ground they covered, when Melody's curfew came there was no sign of Eric Baker.

     Reluctantly, they returned to the farmhouse and locked up again. Melody threw together a few cans of beans and tomatoes for dinner, and after they ate they retired.

     Melody propped the shotgun against the wall beside her bed, a modicum of comfort given to her by its proximity.

     Marty hugged Grace's pillow to his chest and silenced his sobs in it.

     And Dave lay awake in his bed, wishing he'd gone with Eric.

[wallpaperpainter]

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[eternallyyours82]

For @giogiorabbit ... a Drukkari Sick Fic

"You've got me"

Pairing: sick!Druig x Makkari

Summary: A Sick Druig is cared for by Makkari after they go skinny dipping at Ajak's farmhouse.

Rating: PG-13/Mature for nudity and flashback of brief sexual encounter.

...

After the emergence, it felt like both nothing and everything had changed between Makkari and Druig. Sharing a bed. Eating meals together. Going on errands together. They were joined at the hip. But that wasn't exactly new. They had done that all before. Well at least they had before the Eternals split up. At the same time, to Makkari, it seemed as if every nudge, every glance, every time she changed into her pajamas with him in the room, every time she woke up cuddled up close to him...It all felt so new. So scary. Even though it was the most comfortable thing in the world. There was no denying what the emergence had revealed for them. At this point the cat was out of the bag. But neither wanted to say anything for fear the spell would be broken. They had danced this dance their entire lives-- at least the part they could remember. The slow burn of their affection was a constant. But it was hard to deny that something had changed. When she screamed. When she thought he had died. And when he miraculously appeared alive. They couldn't ignore the truth. But Makkari figured there was no rush, she had the rest of forever to figure that out, with him. One night after playing a very serious game of Uno with Druig, Phasto, Ben, Jack and Thena, Makkari needed some air. As she got up Druig's eyes followed her. When she approached the door she looked back at him "You coming or what?" She signed. Druig grinned and told his friends goodnight, making eyes at Makkari as they went outside. They laid side by side in the grass, star gazing for a bit until Makkari turned to Druig with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. She got up and started undressing. Druig, always game, started undressing without question but halfway through caught Makkari's attention and asked "Wait, so what are we doing?" She beamed as she shimmied out of her underwear. Her body barely decipherable in the moonlight. His mouth hung open for a second. "Skinny dipping!" She signed. Without waiting for a response she ran and jumped head first into the freezing waters of Ajak's above ground pool. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. Druig smiled ruefully and yelled out as he struggled to remove his socks. "So Unfair. Give me a head start next time!" Brazenly, with confidence he could only summon around Makkari, he too dived without hesitation into the freezing pool. He shreaked at the cold temperature and Makkari laughed so hard she almost began to cry. But he was coming for her. "Oh no. You convinced me to get in this this cold thing. Now you're going to warm me up." She squealed and closed her eyes as he submerged under water. She waited with one eye open. Then his hands were on her hips and she yelped as tried to jump out of his grasp. But he appeared out of the water and shook his wet hair like a dog spraying her.

She squealed and closed her eyes as he submerged under water. She waited with one eye open. Then his hands were on her hips and she yelped as tried to jump out of his grasp. But he appeared out of the water and shook his wet hair like a dog spraying her. "Give me your warmth. You living furnace." He growled at her, trying to pull her close. She laughed as he finally found his grip and grabbed her tightly. Their naked bodies pressed together as he held her in a warm embrace, his head in the crook of her neck. He was still smiling. She could feel it. When he pulled back, he looked at her with smiling eyes and almost as if he could not control his own body, he kissed her quickly on the lips. Her face lit up in happy suprise, but before she could make up her mind about how to reciprocate they heard the door slam and an angry Phastos talking to himself as he marched towards the pool. He carried a large flash light and pointed it towards the pool. Makkari ducked as the light shone on them, feeling the vibrations of Phastos yelling loudly at them. She flew out of the pool grabbing both their clothes and disappeared into thin air. In the distance Druig heard a door slam and he figured it was her going back inside... with his clothes. Seeing no other options, Druig put his hands up surrendering to Phastos and called out to him. "Alright. Alright. You've got me." Phastos was chiding him, talking about his child and decency and catching pneumonia and toxic water and blah blah blah. Druig got out of the pool and covered his parts as Phastos approached, keeping his head down. Before Phastos could open his mouth to scold him again, Druig looked up saying, "I'm not sorry". With a giant grin, he ran from Phastos back to the house, nearly falling up the stairs, and into his room that he shared with Makkari. She was already cozy in bed. Still naked. She looked up at him signing "What?". Her eyes were teasing. "Someone." He gave her a playfully stern look. "Stole all my clothes! I wonder who would do that." She sunk into the bed concealing her grin. "Yeah you hide, little miss sticky fingers." He was still standing there, in his full naked glory. As she looked him up and down, her eyes lingered a bit longer below his waist. He seemed to notice her preoccupation and he chuckled, wagging his body at her making her flush under her freckled brown skin. He smiled ruefully and teased "Like what you see m'lady?" He grabbed the towel she had laid out for him and shivered as he dried himself off. He was feeling brave. She hadn't rejected his kiss. She was naked in bed. And soon he would be too. Tonight felt like a good night to just go with the flow, and see what happened so he turned off the lights and jumped into bed. The light of the moon allowed him to see her signing in the darkness. She peaked at him from behind the covers. "Why you hiding over there, hm?" He said as he pulled at the sheet. She pulled it back with a look of mocking prudence. "Are you shivering because you're cold or because you're nervous?" She signed. "Why don't you come over here and find out?" His eyes were bright with playful desire. God. How had they done this for so many centuries? The tension was driving her crazy. And it had only been a few days. But she kept his gaze and scooted closer to him. He was actually shaking. Concern flashed before her eyes she touched his shoulder. Ice cold. "Come warm me up, pretty girl?" He smiled sweetly at her this time, no longer able to conceal his genuine affection. His eyes sparkled and she couldn't help but roll her eyes and crawl into his embrace. His shivering was a bit violent but her heat seemed to help just a little bit. She was made to withstand any weather. Druig on the other hand was not equiped with such all season protection. So she didn't mind as he held her to his chest more tighly, their skin touching in places that made her blush. They stay like that for a while until his shaking had become minimal. She signed it was time for bed and turned to her side. As she began to

drift off she felt a still shivering Druig scoot closer to her and throw an arm around her. She suppressed a smile and willed herself to sleep. In the middle of the night, however, she woke up to the shivering clatter of Druig's teeth. He was still clinging to her and as she turned her head she could see flush on his pale cheeks. Sleepily she turned around completely and hugged the shivering Druig. He calmed for a moment, while his mind somehow stayed in a dream. She smoothed his hair and took a good look at him. In his sleep he looked so innocent. Without any burden. Without a mask. So soft. It always drove her crazy how little she could resist him. And more over, how little she wanted to try. After a few minutes she pulled away and placed another blanket on top of him and greatfully he turned away and stopped shivering. She had only just drifted into dream space when she woke up with a start. It was HOT. She looked up out the window and saw the glass cloudy with condensation. She turned to a well bundeled Druig and put a hand on his forehead. He wasn't shivering anymore. His skin was on fire. That didn't make sense. Not at all. Eternals never really got sick. Not often at least. Some bad pork here. A bout of plague there. Not much could kill them. Sure they'd feel run down for a few days but soon they'd be good as new. She could count the number of times she had been truly ill on one hand.

Sweat covered his forehead and was slick at his hair. Oh that's really bad. Should I wake him up? Or wake up the others? Or let him sleep it out... Am I over thinking this? She shook her head and decided she would just deal with it. No need to bother the others. She could handle this. Then she felt someone grab her hand. She looked down and a bleary eyed Druig was staring at her. She wasn't sure if he even was fully awake. But then he began, "Hello my beautiful girl. Is it time to go home?" Okay. Something's wrong. She made a face smiling softly and started signing to him. She turned on the light and pulled off his blankets save the thin sheet that was soaked through. Definitely a Fever. Druig was falling back asleep when Makkari gently nudged him again. He groaned and covered his eyes. "No no. It's too bright Makkari. Please... Oh Fuck... My stomach. Ugh. Do we have a trash can?" As he struggled to get out of the bed she saw his movment quickening. He looked green. Uh oh. She grabbed him and got him into the bathroom. Suddenly he was praying to the porcelain God. She looked away and signed that she'd be right back. She opened the door and retrieved some underwear and a few towels. She threw a pair through the cracked door without looking and waited outside. She at least wanted him to feel some kind of dignity, even though she could tell by the vibrations that everyone was sound asleep. After a few minutes of feeling no movment coming from within, she peaked in through the door way. He was laying on the ground in the fetal position his face pressed against the cool tile floor. He was still naked. She had wraped a towl around herself. Gingerly she closed and locked the door behind her. She tapped him once on the arm. And again. Then touched his cheek. It was burning. She raked her fingers through his hair. Soaked. Okay. Tub time. She remembered long, long, ago when Ajak had placed her in an ice bath. She couldn't remember why, but knew it had to do with a fever. And she remembered that it felt like fire burning her skin. But it must have helped because she was here, wasn't she? He looked so exhausted, so she carefully tried to gather him in her arms. He woke up as she pulled him into an embrace. "Mmm what did I miss?" His eyes were closing again and she patted his cheek. "Hey." He said softly not even opening his eyes. She patted his face again more hard this time. Finally he seemed a bit coherent. He shielded his eyes from the bathroom lights and put a hand to his head. "Did we drink last night?" He peaked with one eye at her and she replied "Not enough to get hungover. We just--" "Oh. This is nice." He interupted her sleepily. "Why am I naked? Why aren't you naked? We never get naked together... except that one time." He closed both his eyes a small smile stayed on his face that was still pink with flush. She turned away and felt her cheeks get hot as well. She didn't remember much. But sometime in the early 500s they had gotten incredibly drunk at a local feast. Stumbling back to the palace they stopped at her quarters and she invited him in. She remembered taking off their clothes. Then his head between her thighs. She remembered enjoying it. Alot. And waking up nakedly tangled together. That was all. When they had woken up, he said he remembered very little of the night before. So she agreed and then swore to herself that she'd never bring up the subject again.

I guess he remembered a little more than he let on. She bit back a smile, choosing to ignore his comment and tried to get his attention again. He opened his eyes smiling at her. He reached out to put a hand on her face. "You have a fever Druig. You're burnung up. Throwing up. You gotta take a cold shower to cool your temperature down." She signed after removing his hand. He closed his eyes and groaned. "No, please. I'll be good. I promise. Don't need a shower." He shook his head, his eyes closing. Oh. This was a different side of Druig all together. His voice was softer. More pouty. Younger, as if he wasn't thousand and thousands of years old. Or millions if you count the lives they couldn't remember. "Yes. You do." She signed into his hand. He shook his head. But then she pulled him to his feet. He was unsteady and he grabbed on to her for balance. Slowly he got into the shower and began to sit down. "No no. Let's stand." She signed. He slumped and put his cheek on the cold tiled wall. "Okay. This is nice." Then she turned the water on, quickly sliding the shower door closed. She grimanced as she heard him yelp and as she peaked over she saw clarity return to his dangerously alluring blue eyes. He shook his head and groaned. He tried to get out of the shower, protesting to her and began to try to open the sliding door. She let him open it but blocked his way. "No no." She signed. "You need to cool down." "Please! It's freezing Makkari. Let me out. I'll be fine I swear!" His voice was high pitched and desperate. She shook her head. Oh he was going to hate her. Then she had an idea. Quickly she removed her towel and got into the shower with him. Her body shivered and goosebumps covered her. "Oh. Okay lets shower..." his voice trailed off as he looked up and down her body. He swallowed loudly. She signed to him. "Let's just chill in the shower and once you're cool we can hang out in bed? Okay?" He didn't take his eyes off her body. "Deal." But then he closed his eyes and shivered violently. She reached out and put her hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes, eyebrows scrunched in discomfort. "Can I at least hold you while we're in here?" His eyes pleading. She paused for a moment, worrying that maybe she was taking advantage of his vulnerability and incoherence. But then she looked up and he held out his arms, shivering. "Please?" His blue eyes. His rosey cheeks. His full lips pouting. His eyes were rimmned red. How anyone could say no to this man, she had no idea. Mind control or not he was just hopelessly irresistible-- to her at least.

He grabbed at her skin as she pressed her face into is chest. He he let out a low hum. Leaning against the tile he let the water hit his back.

His arms wrapped around her easily. After a few minutes she turned him around and he protested until she wraped her arms around him pressing her face into his chilly back. He shivered again. Poor guy. After another few minutes she tapped his shoulder and skirted across him to shut off the water. She exited first wrapping herself in her towel. Then she picked his up and held it out to him. He stepped out of the shower and she wrapped it around him. She smiled. He was actually complying now. He brushed his teeth. Though still nauseous, he did seen better. And greatfully he didn't look so pale. Together they snuck quietly back into their room. She removed the soaked sheets and layed down the new ones as he dried off. Once the bed was made he crawled in next to her. She lay on her side facing him. Reaching out she put her hand on his forehead. Warm. But not hot. It would have to do. Before she could take her hand away, Druig grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to it. They smiled at eachother. The words left unsaid hung in the air around them. Her heart squeezed and she prayed her eyes would say the words her hands and mouth couldn't form. He continued holding onto her hand as he fell asleep. Removing it from his grasp, she ran her fingers through his hair a few times. Had his eyelashes always been this long? His lips always this full? She stayed awake and watched him for a bit longer, too nervous to close her eyes just yet. He slept deeply but fitfully, tossing and turning constantly. He groaned a few times. After a few hours she felt him begin to overheat again. In order to avoid another shower, she grabbed some packs of frozen peas and other veggies from Ajak's freezer. Gently, oh so gently, she placed one in a small kitchen towel behind his neck. He shivered and whimpered softly. He was delirious, mumbling quietly, sounding pained and exhausted. She shhh'ed him, caressing the side of his face. She felt so bad. Had he caught some odd chill from the pool? Some mysterious parasite? Maybe a brain eating amoeba. Whatever it was, they were going to have to ride it out and let it run it's course through his body. Advil didn't work on them. And there really wasn't a cure for a fever. She scooted closer to him and wraped her small body against his. Her head leaned on his shoulder as she tried to sooth his fitful sleep. She was greatful thag her touch seemed to calm him even just a little bit. She exchanged another pack of veggies placing it on his side. He grunted and attempted to twist away from it, but she held him and kissed his cheek coaxing him back into a more restful state. His cheeks were hot against her lips. "Makkari?" He breathed. His voice just above a whisper. His eyes remained unopened. She grabbed his hand and signed into it. She had taught him how to finger spelling into hands many years ago and was happy when she discovered he still remembered it. "I'm here. I'm here." "Makkari? You're so Beautiful." He shivered and whined softly. "So beautiful."

She felt heat in her cheeks and her heart racing. "It's okay. I'm right here." She grabbed his hand kissing it gently. She kept it to her lips. Peppering it with kisses when he began to toss and turn. His body shook a bit and he groaned pitifully and sighed again. "Makkari. Do you love me?" His breath was shakey and his eyebrows were knitted together in discomfort. His voice sounded weak but full of longing and need. She froze. They had not broached that conversation. Not in the slightest...But there was no denying it. She loved him. Desperately. If there was any doubt, it died on that beach when she watched Ikarus shoot beams into his chest. And if this wasn't love, she didn't know what was. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his hot face, kissing his cheek again. In his hand she simply signed. "Yes." He sighed contently. She had no idea if he'd even remember this tomorrow. But it didn't matter. She said it and she meant it. With her entire soul. She pulled back and brushed his hair out if his face and kissed him on his brow. His eyes remained closed and his breathing was shallow as he began to shiver more violently. She pressed herself into him wraping her arms around him to try and stop his shivers. Her heart hurt. He sounded so weak. So unlike the man she had known for centuries. The sarcastic one who followed her with teasing eyes and small smiles. The one who helped her translate and barter for some of her most prized possessions. The one who held her when she would have nightmares. The one who helped clean her wounds after the battle with Ikaris. Her eyebrows knitted with concern. What if something was really wrong with him. What if his fever doesn't get better? He began talking again. His vibrations indicating it was just breathy whispers. He was pleading. "No. Makkari. I love you. Please. Don't...I love--" His whispers became unintelligible. A few tears ran down his cheeks. Whatever he was dreaming clearly upsetting him. Her heart caught in her throat. She wiped his tears with her hands and caressed his cheek. She kissed his jaw at first and made her way to his cheek. Then his temple. His forehead. And gently, so gently, she kissed his full soft lips. She let them linger and savored the sweetness of him. Her head remained pressed to his as she continued to cool him and wipe his brow. He remained fitfully asleep and did not stir at all even when she got up to get more supplies. She sighed and felt herself beginning to well up as she took him into her arms. He was much larger than he appeared. But it didn't matter. She held him close and rocked him kissing his head while tears formed in her eyes. She felt helpless, unable to sooth whatever sicknesses had taken hold of him.

Flashes of him being grabbed by the throat into the air. The crater that swallowed his body. The smoke and stone that she saw appear where his body should have been flashed in her mind. She was certain he had died. She had almost lost him. For real this time. She regained her composure a bit. Death had given him back. No way was she going to let anything happen to him now. "Please." He breathed. His voice pleading in a whisper. "Don't leave me...alone." She signed firmly into his hand. "You're not alone. You've got me."

...

Check me out on Ao3

[milliedazzledust]

Even When It Hurts (Clark Kent imagine)

Request by @icyhollands​ : Clark comforting the reader after she got hurt by someone pretty badly, and him comforting her from a anxiety attack after she gets hurt

Words: 2009

A/N: I know a lot of you were waiting for this so I’m sorry it took so long to write - thank you for your patience and I hope you’ll like it :) 

“Clark, you need to come down, now!”

Flying across his enemies on the battlefield, he faintly heard the sound of a voice, even with the distance. As soon as Bruce had found the aliens associated with Darkseid, they had been quick to act and the whole team had made the trip to fight.

While the others were keeping most of their opponents on the ground, he had taken upon himself to divert their attention from the precious object they were trying to steal by attacking from the sky. Too focused on the task, he had missed Arthur and Y/N going after a bunch of them. When she had seen her friend in bad posture, she hadn’t hesitated to put herself between him and the alien, taking the full blast of his hit. Her body had flown across the field before landing on a large tree trunk, breaking it in half. Her vision had been blurred for a moment, too disoriented as her breath was knocked out of her by the hard impact. She hadn’t been fast enough to notice the monster running toward her until she had felt the pain. Arthur had come to her rescue and killed him, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

When she looked down, all she saw was the tip of the weapon he had used, the other half was deep in her side, buried between what she guessed was her ribs. 

“Y/N’s been hit!” Arthur yelled as he grabbed her when she fell on her knees. 

High above their heads, Clark looked down and quickly spotted the wounded woman. He wasted no time in making his way to her, sending some of the aliens flying with a flicker of his hand. When one of them launched at him, and conjuring up all his frustration and his anger, he punched him with a force that knocked him out instantly. 

His eyes remained on her, always. He felt his heart clenched when he saw pain twisting her features and instantly understood the gravity of her situation. She was holding onto Arthur, clutching her side, holding the weapon steady in her flesh. Fear is all he could feel when he landed on the ground, staring at the large gash of blood around her wound. He could even hear her heartbeat getting faster by the second. 

Furrowing his brows in concern, he kneeled in front of her and grabbed her face. For a second he just studied her, softly brushing a tear with his thumb, until his eyes landed on hers.

“How bad is it ?” She asked him, her voice a weak whisper.

“You’re gonna be fine” He assured her.

“You’re a terrible liar, Clark” She tried to smile but even that simple movement seemed too much in her state.

She knew if she didn’t feel a thing yet it was purely because of the adrenaline. Tiny little molecules running through her veins, urging her body to fight back, to survive and fix what the foreign object had torn. She could sense fluid pouring out of her injury, the hand clutching her side was already covered in red. She was waiting for the moment the hormone would stop working and she would feel like a bomb had exploded inside of her. 

She closed her eyes and a sob escaped her mouth. Her breathing was getting irregular and she was losing her grip. She was exhausted.

“Y/N, stay with me” The superhero tried to motivate her, slowly shaking her head. “Show me those pretty eyes” 

She was starting to lose consciousness, and that observation alone terrified him. He kissed her forehead in a sign of encouragement and laid his hand over hers so she wouldn’t let go. She cried out in pain and glanced down. It only took a couple seconds before he was covered in blood as well. He pursed his lips, forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers and not look at the wound. His face was betraying him and he wasn’t even aware of it. She could so easily see the reflection of his own fear in his gaze, the depiction of worry over his features that she lazily traced with her fingers. The shadow of a smile appeared on her lips knowing only she could read him like an open book. 

“It’s alright, baby” He comforted her. 

“You should work on your poker face” She tried to joke. She was glad it made him smirk.

He turned his head toward Arthur, still holding the woman’s body.

“We’re gonna lay her down” He told him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” Y/N warned him, grabbing his biceps to stop him. 

“Do you trust me ?” He muttered, stroking her cheek.

“You know I do”

“Then trust me” 

She faintly nodded and let the men handle her wounded body. Arthur was behind her, holding on her shoulders, and Clark was in front of her, one hand on her wound, the other behind her neck. As gently as they could, they started to rotate her. Clark never moved his gaze away from hers, not even when her hand gripped his shoulder in pain or when her tears flowed freely as the pain started to become unbearable. 

The moment her head touched the ground, she began to cough blood. Her eyes widened at the realization and her heartbeat hastily palpitated. 

“We’re alright” He reassured her.

“We’re alright” She repeated in a whisper. She could no longer focus on anything around her. Anxiety was creeping up and threatening to take over. She knew it would do no good but she couldn’t stop it. Her hand tightly clutched the fabric of her man’s costume and her chest started to rise more rapidly as bile rose in her throat. 

“Clark” She called for help in a single breath. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m not leaving your side” 

He wiped the blood on her mouth with his finger.

“You and I have a date tomorrow, remember ?” He spoke, smiling when she faintly nodded. “So you’re not allowed to fall asleep. I haven’t even introduce you to my terrible cooking yet”

Her laugh started a coughing fit, bringing more blood out of her mouth.

“I have to take it out, Y/N” He said more seriously, motioning to the weapon in her body. 

Her eyes widened in panic and she shook her head, ignoring the pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, beautiful. I’ve got you” 

“A .. plan ?” She asked.

“Yes, I do have a plan” He understood her question. “But you’re not going to like it” 

“Tell me” She murmured.

“You’re hemorrhaging,” He explained. “If we let it in, you’re risking an infection”

“And if you take it out, I’ll bleed out” She weakly responded.

“Not if I cauterize the wound” 

“How ?” 

She understood the moment she saw his eyes flashing red. She gulped, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“I trust you” She repeated the words she had said already.

He nodded and gave her one last encouraging smile before motioning for Arthur to come closer. He explained his plan in a hurry before standing up, letting the King of Atlantis take his place. 

“Ready ?” He questioned the woman.

“Do it” She said, clenching her teeth. 

She averted her gaze toward Clark, mouthing one last ‘I love you’ before Arthur pulled out the weapon in a very fast movement and held her down. Superman’s eyes immediately started glowing and he directed his heat vision to the open wound. The moment the high temperature laser touched her skin, she screamed in agony. A horrible, searing pain suddenly invaded her body and she was convinced she was going to die right there. She felt the urge to get away from the source but Arthur had a good grip on her. She kept shouting, as if it would ease the burning sensation. Clark’s jaw tightened and a tear rolled down his cheek, hating to be the one causing her pain.

After only a couple of seconds, she could no longer handle the torture and lost consciousness. The superhero stopped his ministration when he was sure the wound was closed properly and no blood was leaking anymore. Ignoring the smell of burned skin, he silently picked her up in his arms, listening closely to her heartbeats to make sure she was alright.

“I’ve got her” He told Arthur before bolting in the air.

She woke up hours later in a bed, completely disoriented. It took her a solid minute to recognize Clark’s bedroom inside the Kent farmhouse. She felt a throbbing ache on her side and muffled a scream when she touched it. When she looked down, she realized Clark had taken off her suit and had replaced it with one of his shirts. She lifted it to inspect the damage but all there was left of her wound was a small scar made by the man she loved. She shuddered at the memory and swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet touched the ground, her body crumbled and she lost her balance. A pair of strong arms caught her before she could injure herself.

“You’ve not healed yet” A voice scolded her.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes closed, she let her head fall on his chest and circled his waist, squeezing him in a tight embrace that she so desperately needed. He was her safe line when she was spiraling down, which was happening now that she remembered she had almost lost him.

“How are you feeling ?” He inquired, kissing her head

“Alive” She replied. “I got … I really got scared for a minute”

She brushed a tear and tried to stop the hurricane of negative thoughts hitting her. He felt it too when her body started shaking and ran a hand on her back to calm her down.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you” He swore, holding back the anxiety creeping in. “And I hope you know I won’t let you out of my sight for at least a week” 

She knew it was his way of lightening the mood when he could feel her darkness hovering above both of their heads. He had a way of guessing when it was coming and always reacted quickly, diverting her attention to anything else but her mind playing games.

“Do I, at least, get to spend that week in your arms ?” She smirked, raising her head so only her chin was resting on his chest.

“I have conditions” He replied with a smile.

She rolled her eyes.

“Name it” 

She saw the change in his attitude and tilted her head in confusion when he took a step back. Cupping her face with both his hands, he stared deeply at her. She could see his quiet emotion through the way his eyes bore into hers, his fear and his devotion.

“Never say I love you like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to hear it” He told her, his lips quivering as a shaky breath escaped his mouth.

Instead of answering, she led him to the bed behind them and together they laid down. He pulled her close and she raised her head until her lips found his. She didn’t need words when she could condensed a million loving thoughts into this moment. The emotion of that kiss alone spoke volume. A simple gesture that meant ‘you’re my home and I won’t leave’

“I love you, Clark”

She repeated the words again and again, making him laugh with happiness. He tightened his hold around her waist until she was almost laying on his chest. Her ear against his heart, she listened with a smile and closed her eyes, soothed by the steady rhythm. 

“Thank you” She whispered after a while. 

“What for ?”

“Bringing my head and soul back home to you when they get lost” 

“Always” He promised.

Her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she kissed his cheek and peacefully fell asleep in his protective embrace. 

[allandoflimbo]

Ashens (Part 24)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,700

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat

I hope it's gonna make you notice

“…I’m in the military, sir…”

“…James, that’s my father, okay? If anything, let’s just be glad he didn’t kill you. He’s like that with everyone…And the soldier thing, he’s weird about that. I’m not sure why…”

Bucky lies awake in bed, fluffy pillow behind his head and one leg peeking out from the blankets, as random memories knack away at his brain in pulses. They weren’t new memories, but they were memories that he never looked at the way he was now.

He doesn’t know why now, he doesn’t know what triggered it, but they were clicking together.

After years of replaying the same moments in his head, there was a nagging feeling that was telling him that there was something not adding up.

He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s seeing things differently, if he’s feeling things differently.

Whatever it was, he knew there was something…off.

There was something off about Daisy’s story about her dad’s story, something was off about the way he was against Bucky fighting in the military, and her death was coinciding so much with his capture.

He doesn’t like the feeling in his stomach as he remembers.

When Bucky asked about her brother and what that whole commotion back at the club was she was blatantly honest with him.

“My father’s not a good guy. He’s been wanting some something from one of these performers that was suppose to be there last night, but turns out they weren’t even on the set list. He had lied about it, we don’t know where he is.”

Bucky raises a brow at this, “You do his dirty work for him?”

“No, I don’t like to get involved in that. It’s a dangerous lifestyle. I have to think about my future family. I was only there yesterday because my brother wanted to get me out of the house for once.”

Bucky isn’t too gleam on the fact that her family are borderline criminals and that she basically supports it, and for a fraction of a second he almost doesn’t buy it, but he decides to mention this later on, not wanting to ruin their moment.

Bucky shifts his leg as he continues to remember that conversation. Why was he not against it? Why did he never question the crimes? Was he that distracted by her?

Bucky smiles at her comment, but then his brows furrowed together in an adorable way that made Daisy giggle and bring her hand to his cheek, “What is it, James?”

What is it, James?

Bucky looks over to see you laying next to him, sat up with your back against the headboard reading some book with a beige cover.

You hadn’t taken notice of his self discomfort yet, emerged in your reading, tucking your bottom lip into your mouth.

Why was he remembering all of this now? Why was he feeling sick?

When they pulled away she slowly dragged her thumb across his plump bottom lip. He watched her like she was the most gorgeous and interesting thing on the planet.

“James?” He responded with a sound on confirmation and she continued, “do you think we are moving too fast?”

He grabbed her hand that was on his face and for a fraction of a moment she thought that that was it, they were over. This was clearly too unrealistic. But instead he brought her hand up over both his lips and he kissed her gingerly.

“Yes.” He whispered behind her hand, making sure he was making direct eye contact with her.

Her face dropped. “Yes?” Her voice was worried, cautious.  

He started trailing kisses down her hand, her wrist, her forearms. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck making her groan.

It wasn’t that Daisy didn’t like being pampered but she wanted to take this very seriously. With a reluctant sigh - because what he was doing to her flesh just felt so good - she delicately removes her arm from Bucky’s grasp. He narrowed his eyes as she moved away towards the head board, suddenly wondering if maybe he said the wrong thing.

Her eyes trickled his features and down his perfect little nose.

“I knew it since the moment I laid my eyes on you. That’s how you know it’s real. This isn’t crazy, it’s ludicrous. But it works for us. I want to be with you.”

After his little speech Daisy looked him dead in the eye, not batting one lash.

“Then come have dinner with my family.”

Was it too fast? He had barely known her and she was asking him to meet her family. Criminals.

But why would she give away such dire information if it were true?

Bucky sat up slowly, as if if he were to move too quickly, the bed would collapse underneath him.

His eyes had a far away look in him, and he was as pale as he felt.

You feel him shift and your eyes flicker up to him.

You frown.

Her blue eyes glisten with gentle tears, probably thinking the same exact thing. None of it still feels real.

Her, she, doesn’t feel real.

They spent nearly every night together just talking about what Bucky would do when he came back home after camp. Things like how they would have to go see the stars on the back of an outskirts farmhouse, how they would have to go to every club in the city and laugh their night away, how he would take her to coney island with him and Steve and show her a “good time” on the ferris wheel, and how they would definitely have to meet her family.

“They’re great, you’ll love them.” She had said as they laid in bed together just hours before, merely cuddling with clothes on.

“Oh, come on doll, even your Dad?”

Daisy hesitated for a moment and her hand that was rubbing his chest stopped suddenly.

Bucky noted this and they met eyes.

Bucky feels his heart palpitate and he opens and closes his right hand, sitting up.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” You ask softly, closing your book.

“Dad has been gone for four weeks and I don’t know why. Jimmy has gone with him- it’s just me and mother. I overheard her saying something about Germany but I’m not quite sure.. Or maybe it was something else. Though none of that matters to me, James- I want you. Please come home to me.”

For some reason, a chill ran down his back as he reread the words “something about Germany”.

Like an awful memory that has never happened, he sees a child in front of him. It was a little girl and she screamed in agony for mercy. She was getting strangled to death by his own hand, a silver glint caught his eye-

“James!”

“Bucky.”

Your voice pulls him out of his trance for just a moment.

He looks up to you, your eyes interlacing in a silent conversation of understanding.

He was revealing something to himself and you could tell that whatever that was it was leaving him overcome by feelings.

At the end of the day, he knows that he’s just insanely protective of Steve. Which is why his arm instinctively goes around him when Rogers almost gets hit by a speeding vehicle that abruptly stops to halt in front of them on the curb. With his mind far away, he hadn’t realized they were already standing on the sidewalk in front of one bright sign labeled Cotton Club.

Had Bucky known better, he would’ve had him on his left.

After that introduction, the two boys look over to the object that almost killed them.

It was pure black, the countless lights coming from the surrounding buildings and cars bouncing off its surface. The rain must’ve made it even shinier, the lights made a reflection so bright that it had everyone staring. Men looked in awe and a young paper boy, standing on the corner working over time, wondered if that would someday be his future.

With a look of disgust, Steve was repulsed by the obscurity of the man’s driving having nearly hit him. He wondered why people had no respect and he desperately wanted to punch his face in. Either that or give him a pep talk about general safety.

“What a twit.” He snarls, dusting off his small suspenders and kicking the invisible debris off his lapels.

Bucky’s face held something different. It explained why the woman staring had looked on in pure jealousy. He stared forward completely emotionless. He was neither annoyed at the fact that he almost just got run over and killed and nor in obsession over the Duesenberg J.

It was the beautiful goddess emerging from the passenger seat that caught his full attention.

On her left hand was a pearl and diamond bracelet and she used it to skim over the top of the priceless car door for leverage to push herself gracefully up from the leather seat. Her other hand was wrapped up in a prestige white glove. It held onto the hem of her silver sparkling gown, a long white cigar between her digits. Her gorgeous dress looked heavy, you could tell it was so properly made and expensive because it must’ve weighed as much as her petite self. The reason being that it hugged her body at just the perfect places, showing off her curves gracefully.

Her perfect blonde hair was pulled slick back by a diamond hair clip to the side in huge voluminous waves. The dress showed just enough back, the material dipping down towards the floor, the dip ending just above her bottom. The entire thing was held by two tiny silver straps on her shoulders.

In a sentimental Mood by Duke Ellington seemed to have played perfectly in sync with the exact moment she shut the door behind her. She looked up to read the sign, her perfect profile looking up in awe.

Bucky stands up from the bed, back rigid and face hard with anger.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He swallows thickly, gaze going towards you again.

He doesn’t know why he keeps looking at you.

Ironically, beneath his anger and betrayal, he also began to feel embarrassment.

He’s momentarily startled out of his trance when he feels a small hand grab his elbow.  He looks down and his eyes meet a small concerned Steve. Well, to be fairly honestly, he looked more pissed than concerned.

Bucky doesn’t feel the patience to deal with talking anything out, he’s too busy thinking about Daisy. But he feels like he should at least say something so he can get everyone off his back, “What is it?”

Steve looks at him likes he’s crazy and then manically gestures towards the entrance of the club, probably pointing to where Daisy just left through.

“Bucky, what the heck was that? Who was that? You know her?”

“I didn’t know her. No.” Bucky doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud.

He’s shaking his head to himself, mumbling.

“Bucky, who are you talking to?” You’re growing even more concerned by the second now.

The silence was broken by his strong voice.

“You’re real.”

She smiles in a way that makes him smile too. It was contagious and bright. He caresses her skin one more time.

He felt her own hand come over his and she whispers, “I’m real.”

“Not real.”

You are more than concerned at this point.

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe it was the fact that my body had finally developed into a women’s body. My breasts were now fully perked and my legs were long and porcelain gorgeous; all I knew was they figured I could be put to good use.”

He shook his head and Bucky blinked away heavy tears.“I-“

The pretty woman rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, revealing a long slit that ran up her dress. It was just enough skin for Bucky’s hand to get sweaty.

He waited until the perfect opportunity when the man had walked towards the direction of the stage, making his way into the back behind the curtain.

“It wasn’t real.”

“You do his dirty work for him?”

“It wasn’t real.”

“My father’s not a good guy.”

Bucky remembers them poking him with IV drops and then sticking his head in a blender. His owns screams fill his head. It was so painful.

“Reason unknown, ongoing investigation"

“I wasn’t going to let you keep her. She enticed you. She won you. It was always supposed to be you.”

“…blonde 21 year old was found shot…”

“Daisy,” he whispered. He traced her features with his hand, and just like that the fear escaped his eyes, and instead of scared he was now feeling complete love and he was ready because knew this is what he wanted forever. He wanted her, “Will you marry me?”

“…Her family has been under investigation after her father’s disappearance —…”

“But you jeopardized it, Soldat. It wasn’t real.”

The memories are sucked out of him like a vacuum and his dark eyes meet yours, again, across the bed.

You had never seen his pupils so blown before.

You were terrified.

Your eyes go down to his flesh hand that is twitching against his thigh.

“Bucky.” You say cautiously, one more time. It was almost like you were afraid to get closer to him.

“I—“ his voice was hoarse.

He looks away and clears his throat. He blinks away the heavy daze, allowing it all to sink in until it settles in his stomach in a surprising pool of acceptance.

He sees you again and for some reason he feels okay.

It scares him.

It scared him how you took something that had been bothering him for so long, away that quickly.

In that moment he knows.

“I remembered something.” Your eyebrows came together suddenly. Nearly moments ago he looked heartbroken but now he just looked shocked and angry.

“What did you remember? I thought you had your memories back. In Wakanda.”

“I-I did,” he squeaks out running a hand through his hair, “maybe I’m just remembering differently, or adding pieces together, I don’t know, I can’t tell. It has to be, because it makes sense. It makes so much sense now, and I can’t—and she—”

“Bucky you’re rambling,” he stops and you continue to look at each other. His face drops all traces of anger and it softens, “Talk to me, I’m right here.” You whisper.

Bucky looks down at you and nods. No hesitancy.

“Give me your hands.” You say, reaching for him. He doesn’t hold back from doing so, and once you have his hands in yours, you pull him up onto the bed so he’s kneeling on it next to you.

Bucky takes a few minutes to compose himself before he says it:

“I think Daisy and her family were Hydra.” He says it like he’s afraid of his own words.

As if every word in that phrase was a curse word.

Somehow, it relieves him.

His chest feels light, shoulders worn. He can breathe.

+ + +

“I should’ve known it was too fast. Too perfect,” you’re also stunned as he tells you everything, his hands still in yours, “but—but I don’t think she was always hydra. I think she wanted out when I was captured and they killed her for it.”

You don’t deny it, that hurts. Despite never knowing the girl and secretly holding envy for her, it pains you.

“Oh, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing together.

“But it was a lie. She enticed me, she fucking—“ Bucky sucks in a deep breath, “she was trying to lure me in. There was nothing real about it.” He says the word like it’s venom on his lips.

You feel him rub his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You don’t know that -”

He shakes his head again, “She was Hydra!” He doesn’t say it angrily as much as he says it in a way to announce it to himself.

He needed to say it out loud. He needed to let it sink in.

You watch Bucky as he becomes completely numb, and somehow free, in front of you.

For some reason you expected more heartbreak from him for discovering something so horrible about a woman he claimed he loved so much, a woman he wanted to marry, but instead all you got from him was anger and acceptance.

Little did you know, Bucky was in the same boat as you.

Why wasn’t he as heat shattered as he’d expect?

“I-“ he’s speechless as he looks around, trying to find something, but he does’t know what.

You think you’re more shocked than him and you quickly grab his arm, bringing him against you for a tight hug.

He hugs you back immediately, hand running up your shoulder blade and onto the back of your hair.

Minutes pass by. Many minutes.

“It was all a lie,” he whispers still holding onto. you, “All of it. I really was alone. I thought I finally had someone, but—It wasn’t real.”

You don’t know what to say as you run your hand up the back of his head.

It’s not until you pull him in tighter that he realizes it.

It was you.

You were there reason this didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. His heart no longer wanted to be with someone who was long gone.

It wanted to stay here.

Here.

He never thought he would ever feel this way ever again, and he never thought he would trust this hard ever again.

Realizing truth relived him of buried pain, and he wanted you to keep holding him, to keep helping him go through this.

He says your name softly.

“Yes?”

“I want to talk about everything.”

You stiffen for a moment as you let his words sink in. You weren’t exactly sure what he was talking about.

“What are you talking about?” You ask.

“All of it. Everything that I did. I need to get it out, I can’t keep doing this, holding it in, keeping it inside —”

The euphoria through your blood is addicting.

“Tell me.”

He loved slow dancing.

He loved the Yankees.

He loved math and Howard Stark.

He went to the Stark Expo every year.

He loved The Hobbit and he loved jazz.

He loved New York City.

He loved Brooklyn the most.

He misses flat hats.

He loved telling jokes.

His mother died when he was young.

His sister was taken away from him.

He cried when he couldn’t see her.

His father died not too long after.

He never enlisted despite his love for the military.

He was drafted.  

He experienced World War II but on the enemy side.

He fought with Hitler’s and Hydra’s men.

He was loved by the KGB.

He loved Prague.

He trained the girls in the red room.

He remembers every young girl.

He was told to kill four kids on a mission once in Bucharest.

He was tormented, beaten raw, and kept in a concrete cell between cryo periods.

He was only occasionally fed, most years spent asleep.

He was treated like an animal. They tied him to the wall once in the cell, with a chain around his neck.

He was brain washed.

He was sexually assaulted by Hydra.

He doesn’t remember if he was raped, which could be his brain’s way of protecting himself from more trauma.

He reminds you that loved Howard Stark.

He killed Howard Stark.

He killed Maria Stark.

He was the one that stole the super soldier serum from the Stark’s and provided it to Hydra.

He was the fist of Hydra.

He killed many other good men. Over two dozen assassinations.

He killed JFK.

He never wanted to do any of it.

He remembers all of it.

They named him a hero on the Wall of Valor before S.H.I.E.L.D fell.

He was taken into Wakanda, freed of his trigger words.

He still loved New York City.

He was pardon him, despite everything.

They named him an Avenger.

He remembers it all.

You’re laying down facing each other and you continue to watch him as he tells you everything.

It’s one of the most surreal experiences of your life and you find yourself in total awe.  

This was the Bucky Barnes you had been longing to see. This was the man you knew was hidden beneath layers of hurt and anger.

You had seen it before he even told you.

The fact that he even trusted you enough to be this transparent with you is what makes you so happy.

His eyes brightened as he played with a string on the blanket between you.

“And Friends,” his voice is small and there’s a little smile on his mouth. Your heart swells as you watch it, “I love Friends.”

You bite your tongue as you smile.

Bucky stared at you, just as amazed at himself as he was at you. He couldn’t believe he told it all to you.

It was as if Daisy’s image had begun to dissolve and he was finally seeing clearly.

He didn’t hate you. He never hated you.

His fingers peak out slowly to take a hold of your pinky.

It was the opposite. He wanted you.

He feels himself breaking when you pull away from his touch. His smile falls.

“I’m proud of you,” you say quietly, sitting up again, “For finally talking about it.” You mean it, “Thank you.”

It takes him a few seconds to eventually look away and he turns onto his back. Bucky drapes an arm over his stomach, letting out a long breath of contentment.

He felt free.

To do what?

He looks over at you again as you pull your book back out.

This. This is what freedom got him. You.

But it you weren’t his. He clears his throat.

“How are things with your boyfriend?”

You don’t like talking about Pietro with Bucky.

“It’s fine,” you answer anyway, “We only had one date. And I got sick, so hopefully the next one will be better.”

Bucky swallows thickly. Why was he feeling like this? He should be happy for you. You wanted this. You deserved this.

“What do you plan to do when it’s time for us both to leave and go back?” He asks.

You don’t miss the way he mentions both of you to leave and your eyes quickly flicker to him.

“I don’t know yet,” you say hoarsely, filled with unexpected relief.

+ + +

Bucky doesn’t remember experiencing this kind of happiness since he was nineteen and him and Steve went to go see a baseball game after scoring a date with two pretty girls on the F train.

He’s happy.

Ashen peaks up at him from behind dark lashes, smiling so hard his eyes peak up at the side, turning them into thin slits. Bucky’s aren’t too far off as he mimics the boy’s laughter.

“Connect four?” Bucky asks, chuckling.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta try it. It’s so fun.” The Ashens says happily, pulling out the little game from underneath his bed. Bucky wants to ask him why he has it hidden, but he doesn’t. He just reminds him that they need to stay quiet, “plus, it’s the only game I have anyway. But it’s fun Mr. Bucky.”

“Haha, alright lets try it.” Bucky says.

They sit across from each other on the floor, setting up the little game and dividing their colored chips. Ashen’s goes first, dropping in a yellow one.

Bucky picks up a red one with his flesh hand and drops it right next to the yellow. They continue for a bit until Ashens notices Bucky isn’t connecting his colors.

“No, you have to try to get a straight line and connect it!” He laughs, “you suck at this."

“Oh, no! What did I do?” Bucky exclaims, laughing.

“You’re not very smart for an Avenger.” Ashens remarks.

“Okay,” Bucky points at him playfully, smiling, “That’s mean.”

“I’m sorry but it is true.”

“Cut me some slack.” Bucky says, smiling.

They play for a little longer until Ashens ends up beating him.

Bucky sticks his tongue out at the boy, but smiles. He eventually caught on to the game and let him win. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Mr. Bucky,” Ashen says after he slides the game back under his head. He brings his legs up to his chest and hugs them, "Will you tell me now why you are here to save me?”

Bucky licks his lip and sighs. He looks out Ashens' high rise window and then back to him again. “Not yet.”

“Should I be afraid.”

“No. I won’t let anything happen you. I promise.”

Ashens doesn’t say anything as he lets his Mike Wazowski slippers hit each other.

“Do you have any kids? Like my age?”

The question surprises Bucky, and for a moment a feeling of longing hits him. “No. I don’t.”

“Aww okay.”

Bucky stares at Ashens little sad face and his heart breaks.

“I always wanted to, though,” Bucky whispers, “But that was years ago.”

“When you were in world war one?”

Bucky smiles.

“Two, not one, but yeah,” it’s not a lie, Bucky knows that if his loved would’ve went a different way, he would have definitely had kids. To know he could never go back to such simplicity broke his heart, “Something like that.”

There was something, that even so many months later, still bothered Bucky. It was something so small, and it probably didn’t really affect you as much as it affected him, but it was something you said to him.

It was one of your many fights and the way you had spatted at him about buying you plan B after you had sex.

He didn’t want to burden you. What you two had done had been irresponsible. An atmosphere like this was no place and time for an unwanted baby.

You weren’t ready for one, let alone his.

At the time, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t want the baby, if you were to have gotten pregnant, he would have loved that child with everything. He was thinking about you.

He hated to think that he gave you that pill as a gesture to say that he wanted nothing to do with you.

If so, you were wrong.

He wanted you to be happy, just smart.

He cared about you.

And now, possibly more.

As he continues to watch Ashens giggling over his slippers, that feeling of longing washes over Bucky again.

He knows he needs to tell you.

+ + +

You still weren’t feeling well. Maybe it was your nerves. The end of the mission was getting closer by each day and you never expected you’d have to leave with a little kid. You still hadn’t met Ashens, but Bucky says he’s a delight.

Ashens has changed him. You took notice immediately and it made you happy. This whole experience would be good for him.

After Bucky had poured out his heart to you, you knew you needed to get away again. That was the dance now. You get pulled, you take a step back. You couldn’t let yourself go there anymore, no matter how hard it was.

Pietro would be the driving force to help you.

You just wish Bucky would stop doing things that he probably realized he wasn’t even doing. The way he touches your face and your hand, or some times the way he looks at you, was not appropriate for two fuck buddies who stopped…fucking.

You were still convinced that he wanted you two to go your separate ways at the end of this mission. Him indirectly saying he was going to walk out with you made you happy, it could’ve been Ashens that helped him have a change of heart, whatever it was, this thing between you had to dissolve anyway.

You couldn’t keep doing that to himself, even when he would blur your lines.

You really wished he would stop doing that.

That night you after the ball, you were almost sure that he was developing feelings for you - finally - it’s why you tried to get him to finally tell you why the kiss bothered him.

Bucky never told you the truth, and you were too tired to keep digging.

You were glad that was the last time.

It was over. All of it was over.

Your stomach churns again and you decide to make yourself some tea and head to bed.

@snakeeatery17 @utterlyhopeful-fics , @marvelfan1017, @iheartsebastianstan , @annathesillyfriend , @redhairedfeistynerd, @perksofbeingabookworm, @amyrose051, @meegggoooo, @morganclaire4 , @captainchrisstan, @bxndys , @shoesonpointe ,  @writerwrites, @rainbowkisses31, @lindatreb , @littlemissner98 , @dezzylou24, @ayeitslelee , @hardygal69 ,  @emmabarnes , @redbarn1995@thequeenreaders@ilovemysupersoldiers@maximumplaidzonknerd@ceapa-mica @s-trawberryv-eins@buckysknifecollections@sobangie@lindatreb@theseuscmander@nervous-plant @wildmoonflower @aya-fay@appreciating-fanfics@kaitlynisinfinite@justreadingfics@kaitieskidmore1 @mrsdancing​ @everythingiloveandcherish @shinykoalacat​ @dragongirl31 @kaitlynisinfinite​ @alwaysclassyeagle

[zeewritez]

Maggie x Reader Drabble

Fandom: Walking Dead

Era: Farm (Season 3)

Pairing: Maggie Greene x Fem! Reader

Summary: Gay and sad 

Warnings: Usual Walking Dead gore

Under The Dogwood Tree

The sunlight shyly peaked between the leaves above our heads. They painted our skin in complex designs we couldn’t quite make out. Her smooth legs looked like marble. I softly circled my thumb across the patterns on her calf.

Everything in that moment was perfect. The world was dying around us but we were as alive as ever. Together we thrived in the remnants of the world we once knew. Nothing mattered except that.

“Y/n,” Maggie said softly. I turned my face to look up at her. 

“What?” I asked. 

“I love you,” she said like she’d told me so many times before. Yet no matter how often she said those words, it felt like the first time we quietly confessed those words in our shared dorm. 

“I love you, too,” I replied, for what else was I supposed to tell a woman so perfect? 

This moment of bliss was short-lived, however, as were the many others I experienced with her.

“Maggie!” Hershel yelled from the home. It was a tell-tale sign that he needed assistance with a chore. 

“Coming!” she replied loudly. 

With a regretful smile, she looked down at me. 

“It’s okay,” I said as I sat up, immediately missing the warm cushioning her thighs had provided my head. “We’ll have plenty of time to spend together. It’s not like we have to study for college anymore.” 

“We also have all night to spend together now that we’re sharing a bed,” she noted before giving me a quick kiss on the lips. Vibrant images dance through my head of her body and mine pressed together, but I had to stow those thoughts away. 

I rolled my eyes with a grin. “That too.” 

She stood from the ground and made her way towards the large farmhouse where her father waited on the porch for her. It was so odd for me to be outside of the big city, but I was happy to be with Maggie. Her family was originally surprised to see that she had a girlfriend, to say the least, but I was quickly accepted into the family. 

The images of light dancing through rustling leaves came back to mind as I laid on the grass that was surely now soaked in the red that poured out of my stomach. I held onto that memory for comfort. Sounds and voices around me became blurry as my life force left my body. I could feel a fever coming closer by the minute.

Amongst the chaos of the farm being overrun, I had become victim to one of the walkers. I slipped up. While trying to stab one in the head, I tripped over a rock and tumbled to the ground. In this moment of weakness, the undead woman tore a chunk of my flesh from my stomach. In the heat of the moment, I hadn't noticed, ut once we’d gotten into the car and my adrenaline wore off, I looked down to see my stomach covered in blood. The bite would catch up to me soon enough, however.

Rick had helped Maggie place me on the grass off the side of the road. She placed my head softly upon her legs and softly caressed my face. Others gathered around us, trying to comfort Maggie and convince me that I could make it. Yet, I knew I couldn’t. Instead, I basked in the last moments I had with Maggie. 

“I love you,” Maggie whispered like she had just earlier that day. I could hear from the tremble in her voice that she was crying. I finally found the strength to open my eyes again after hearing those words.

“I love you too.” I looked at her face, her beautiful, angel face. Then, I noticed above us familiar petals. Not pink, like the ones at the farm, but white. Pure white, untainted by the gore of the world around them. 

Once again, I closed my eyes. I envisioned the white and pink petals of dogwood trees. I thought of the day that Maggie and I sat under that tree in the summer sun and held onto that feeling until I felt nothing anymore and everything vanished.

[melethwi]

before i go home

read it on ao3

word count: 3.2k

summary: Before Ellie makes the trek back to the farmhouse, she has a stop to make in Jackson.

notes: this is the first one of my fics i’ve posted here on tumblr since restarting my account! this is my (probably cheesy, probably been done before, but hopefully still good) take on the ellie-goes-back-to-jackson-to-beg-for-dina-to-take-her-back trope lol. i hope you enjoy :) 

Ellie sucked a breath in, taking in the massive perimeter walls of Jackson. 

Home. She was home. 

Well. She wasn’t really home. It wasn’t the sunny, wallpapered farmhouse she would’ve preferred. But that would have to wait. She had a stop to make before she ventured past Jackson. Besides, her back was absolutely killing her, and she suspected sores riddled her feet. 

She tightened her backpack straps a little further, providing some more support, and stepped out of the tree line. She’d be spotted any second. 

Fresh faces dotted the guideposts above the gate. The sign to her left where it had always been, reading: Stop. Identify yourself before approaching gate. She didn’t know if she still had a working voice to do it. Along with her laundry list of other ailments, she’s pretty sure she contracted a nasty throat infection about a week ago. 

One foot in front of the other. That’s how she got to Santa Barbara, that’s how she’d gotten back, and that’s how she intended on making it the last few steps into Jackson. 

“Stop!” Ah. She’d been seen. 

Looking up into the blaring sun, she tried to reach a hand to shield her eyes. She kept walking, one foot in front of the other, at a trudging pace toward the gate. 

“I said stop!” The voice repeated, wavering. A guard that had just been posted, she thought. Never had to deal with someone they didn’t recognize showing up. And she was truly unrecognizable. 

She had no intention of stopping until the gate was open and she was through, but one of her feet stuck in the mud. Ellie fell to her knees, hands slapping against the wet ground- she grit her teeth as dirt seeped into the cuts between her fingers. A ringing pierced through her ears, the voice telling her to identify herself. She sunk deeper into the earth, coughing. 

When she finally stopped, she mustered the very last drop of energy she had in her to look up. Her eyes burned in the bright afternoon sun directly overhead.

The voice again. “Holy shit.” A small smile from Ellie. “Someone get Tommy!” 

The world went black as she fell unceremoniously back into the mud. Tommy. She was safe.

-

She awoke sometime later in a bed. Eyes blinking the fog away, she didn’t recognize where she was, but she knew the unforgettable smell of gunpowder and whiskey- Tommy’s house. Or at least it probably was. She didn’t know where he was after taking some time apart from Maria. 

A heavy wooden clock ticked on the wall, threatening to fall off and smash to bits on the ground. In her daze, Ellie thought to herself how stupid it looked. 

Everything hurt. As she began to come to consciousness more and more, she surveyed herself in the shimmering morning light coming in from the window at her side. 

Bandages everywhere- hands, arms, legs. There was a steady pounding in her head, rhythmic and in time with the ticking of the clock. 

“Heya, kid.�� 

Her eyes shot over to the door at a speed that actually made them hurt. Tommy stood in the doorframe, tall and brooding and holding a mug of something steaming. For the first time in her adventurous youth, she hoped it was just water. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had reliable access to clean water. 

“Hey,” she managed to squeak out. She hadn’t had to talk to anyone in months. 

“It’s good to see you awake,” Tommy said, taking a step into the room. A step closer to Ellie having water. “It’s good to see you alive,” he emphasized, walking further in. 

“You’re telling me,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

“Took a real nasty spell out there, I hear. Just about scared the gate crew to death,” Tommy chuckled. 

“Sorry. I’ll be sure and think of them next time.” They quietly laughed together. 

A moment of silence passed by. “So how are you feeling?” Tommy asked.

Ellie took a moment to think it over. “In general? Not great. Terrible. I feel like I could sleep for days.”

“You did sleep for days,” Tommy pointed out. 

“What?” She craned her neck to look at him as he grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and moved it to sit by the bedside. 

“Yes ma’am. When they pulled you inside, you were out like a light the whole time they were fixin’ you up until just now. Two days later.” 

“Wow,” Ellie said. “I guess your mattress was just that comfy.”

“I bandaged that hand up for you,” Tommy said solemnly, ignoring her jibe. “Think I got to it before anyone saw it if you were worried. Shouldn’t be a problem with the folks here. ” 

Ellie’s smile fell. She didn’t even think about what would’ve happened if that secret had gotten out, especially by accident. Her head throbbed once again. The scar was mostly healed over, some cysts and lesions scattered around the edge. It looked remarkably similar to the one she’d suffered on her arm, on a slightly smaller scale. Running her finger against the rigid skin, it felt cold to the touch.

She didn’t even want to think about the missing fingers. She could still feel them when she closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Tommy nodded and a moment passed in silence. A poignant question hung in the air. Tommy didn’t know how to ask it, and Ellie wasn’t sure how she was going to answer it.

If she told Tommy the truth about what happened in Santa Barbara, he might never forgive her. He might turn his back on her forever this time, shun her for letting the girl go in peace.

She knew he could understand why she did it, but she didn’t know if he was ready yet. She’d spent weeks weighing the odds of ever seeing the girl and the little boy again- Ellie didn’t even know where they’d gone, and she’d be starting from scratch if she ever wanted to go looking again.

Ellie sunk somehow further into the mass of pillows propped behind her head, and shut her eyes until Tommy finally asked. Two simple words, but her answer could change their relationship forever.

“What happened?”

What happened… What didn’t happen? She thought to herself. Over the months she was gone she lost herself, found herself, and lost herself again. She’d hoped that she’d be able to find herself again in Jackson. She’d seen the scum of the Earth, some of the worst people she’d ever seen since leaving the Boston QZ as a child. She’d faced death and walked away. She’d been death and let someone walk away.

How could she ever begin to tell him all that?

“I took care of it,” she eventually said. “It’s over now.”

Tommy leaned forward in his seat, interested.

“You killed her?”

Ellie bit her lip. She realized that she couldn’t answer that question honestly in the way that he wanted her to.

But she couldn’t lose Tommy. Not after losing Joel. Not after pushing Dina away.

Dina.

Ellie turned to face him.

“She won’t be hurting anyone ever again.”

Ellie believed it with every fiber of her being. She had to.

Tommy seemed satisfied. He relaxed back into his seat, accepting her answer. They both released a breath.

-

By the time Ellie felt up to walking around, she’d already been hounded by Maria five times. She didn’t have all that many visitors- She asked Tommy and Maria to keep people away. She didn’t know if the news of her arrival back in Jackson had made it through the population.

Ellie felt one absence harder than all the rest, though.

Finding Dina was the one thing that kept her fighting to get out of bed. From her second-floor window, she watched people walking to their shifts in the gardens and the stables. She didn’t see Dina, though she looked vigilantly. Could she still be at the farm?

Through the time that she was gone, she had to fight to imagine Dina staying at the farmhouse. At her core, she knew Dina must have left. It would be too much for her to upkeep all the animals, the house, and the garden all while being a single mother.

The idea of getting back to her family fueled her further to shove food in her mouth. She finished every meal that was put in front of her, forced herself to sleep every night. She knew she needed to heal. She needed to get back to her family. After not eating in any sort of way that could be considered ‘stable’ for months, it was a chore to even keep the food down. The meats and vegetables they gave her were rich, and the milk they gave her fresh from the cows was thick in her throat.

Her first steps out of Tommy’s house were hard. She didn’t know how she had made it out of her bed, let alone down the stairs and to the front porch. The fresh Wyoming air hit her very suddenly, filling her lungs for the first time in a week. It was fall now, and the air was cold and beginning to bite against the skin of her cheeks. She had to go back inside to get another layer.

It took another two days before Ellie felt steady enough to walk past Tommy and Maria’s front gate. Though she lamented and begged to be allowed back to her garage behind Joel’s old house, the couple insisted she stayed right under their noses where they could watch her recovery personally.

Ellie just figured that they didn’t want to walk past Joel’s house multiple times a day to bring her food and check on her.

She found that to be a fair request.

Once she finally cleared the gate, she made it to the street. She marveled at how weak she was now. This was the same body she dragged half alive back to Wyoming from California. She didn’t know it at the time, but now she realized that she had been running on pure determination. Now, swaying on the dirt road, she was paying for it.

Maria took her for a short, supervised walk. They didn’t go into the more heavily populated ‘downtown’ part of the Jackson encampment, just taking a stroll down the road the house was situated on. After a couple days of this, she was finally allowed to take walks on her own.

She didn’t know if this meant that she was allowed to go back to her garage. That wasn’t her first priority.

Maria hadn’t brought up whether she was to report for duty once she had recovered, and the silence was deafening.

Ellie had one question she wanted to ask more than anything. Something she knew Maria would know the answer to, as she kept track of practically everyone coming in or going out of Jackson.

Where was Dina?

Ellie didn’t fault her for not visiting.

She decided her first outing would be to the graveyard to see Joel. To tell him what she had done, and to ask for his help.

It was a Sunday afternoon when she finally worked up the strength to head out in the direction. The sun was out, but autumn was in full force, and she was bundled in one of her jackets that someone had fetched for her from the garage.

She didn’t feel ready to head into town. For months, she hadn’t talked to anyone but the occasional traveler- and herself. She wasn’t ready to be surrounded by people just yet, especially not happy people who would want to talk to her. Ask questions about where she had been. What she had been doing. How she was feeling.

The walk to the graveyard wasn’t extremely long, but she still felt winded by the time she made it there mid-afternoon.

She rolled her eyes and almost turned around when she saw a figure kneeling in the center of the cemetery. Ellie had come here specifically so she could be left alone. She wished silently that whoever it was would leave her alone, would honor the sanctity of the area and just keep their mouth shut.

Until she got closer.

It took her a second to identify the figure, but she almost fell over when she did.

“Dina?”

The dark-haired girl whipped around, not believing her ears. She jumped a bit in surprise and stood up.

“Ellie?”

Ellie took a beat before responding. She didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t planned on seeing Dina yet and thought she would be able to see her on her own terms. Not in this way, getting hit out of nowhere with it.

She’d spent months writing a script in her head about what to say in this situation, but it suddenly flew away in the autumn breeze.

“You’re holding flowers,” Ellie said with an air of curiosity. It occurred to Ellie that Dina had been kneeling right in front of-

“I bring him flowers every week,” Dina explained, scratching the back of her neck. She turned around and placed the small bouquet down in a little vase that had been placed in the ground next to the headstone reading Joel Miller. “I do it when I come to see Jesse.”

The two girls stared at each other for a few more seconds, neither knowing what to say.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere better than this to talk.”

Somehow Ellie knew that they were going to be okay.

-

Dina wanted to take Ellie to a nice place on the North gate where they could get a nice view, but quickly realized Ellie wouldn’t have the strength to climb up the ladder.

Almost poetically, they ended up sitting on the front porch steps of Joel’s former house. Ellie was glad that they still hadn’t given it to anyone.

“I missed you,” Ellie said, breaking the awkward silence that kept manifesting between them.

“Oh, Ellie,” Dina said sadly, putting her face in her hands. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Ellie winced, hurt but expecting that sort of response.

“Do what?” she asked.

“This,” Dina emphasized, waving one of her hands in Ellie’s general direction, running the other one through her hair. Ellie noticed that she was wearing it down for once. “I can’t sit here and act like I haven’t been dying every day that you were out there hunting for Abby.”

Ellie winced again, not wanting to hear that name.

“If it makes you feel any better, I can’t act like I wasn’t dying either.” She rubbed her left hand thoughtfully, the fingers no longer bandaged.

“Oh, Ellie,” Dina repeated. Ellie looked over and Dina was staring directly at her hurt hand. Reflexively, Ellie wiggled the remaining fingers and looked down. “Are you… okay?”

“Physically? I’ll recover. Mentally? I’m fucking drowning, Dina.”

Dina looked away from Ellie’s hand, slumping over.

“Me too.”

The script suddenly came back to her.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I never should have left you. I never should’ve left Wyoming. It was a fool’s errand. I’m sorry.”

Dina stared up at the sky, contemplating. Anger laced her voice when she spoke again.

“So you didn’t even find her?” Dina asked.

“No, I did find her.”

“So you killed her.” Dina practically spat.

“No, I didn’t kill her.”

Dina froze.

“So you left me here, alone with a baby, and you didn’t even kill her?” Dina asked, the words flying out at a mile a minute. It was like a switch had flipped. “I thought that was the whole point, Ellie!”

Ellie bit her lip to avoid matching Dina’s anger.

“It was the point, Dina,” Ellie answered, feeling the heat grow in her face anyway.

The two of them stared at each other, neither saying a word.

“I let her go,” Ellie whispered, turning away from Dina, and hugging her knees up to her chest. “I had her. I let her go.”

“What?” Dina asked incredulously.

“When I got to her,” Ellie started. “She was half alive. I tried- I tried to make her fight me. And she did. But then-“ She paused, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Her chest felt tight, her mind putting up resistance against reliving the moment she was trying to describe.

Ellie felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She knew it had to be Dina’s, but it still shocked her. She had felt the resent radiating out of Dina’s skin like heat from the sun. How had it changed so fast?

Did Dina think she had done the right thing?

Could it be that easy?

“What happened, Ellie?” Dina said gently. Looking over at her, Ellie saw her arm fully extended to reach her. She looked like a spooked deer, like she was going to run away at any second.

Hot tears escaped Ellie’s eyes. Fuck. She didn’t know what to do.

“I couldn’t do it. I- I know I left you and I know that makes me the worst person in the world and the biggest jackass ever, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let her turn me any further into a monster.”

She bent further over her legs, burying her face in her knees. Breathe. She needed to breathe.

A chest pressed into her side. Arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“When you left, I swore to myself I would never take you back.”

Ellie’s heart took off running in her chest.

“I told myself I would treat you how you had treated me. That if you somehow managed to survive getting there, fighting her, and coming back, I would just turn my nose up at you.”

What was the purpose of telling her this? Ellie longed for a simple rejection. A ‘no’ would suffice.

“But now I don’t think that was fair to you. I think you needed to go, as much as I’ll hate it every day for the rest of my life that you left. I’ll never let you forget it, no matter what you do,” she snorted. “I also don’t think it was fair to me.”

“What do you mean?” Ellie asked. She sat up a bit, leaning into Dina. The contact had to mean something, the way Dina was supporting her. Dina had always supported her. Was this time going to be different?

“We live in a world where everything you love can be taken from you in the blink of an eye. You know that.” Joel’s small smile flashed in Ellie’s mind, fading into Dina’s dark eyes.

“Yeah,” Ellie said dumbly.

“I swore to myself I would never take you back,” Dina repeated. “But every second I’ve been in your presence today has outweighed every second you’ve been gone. So I have a question for you.” Ellie raised her eyebrows, asking what is it? “Is it done?”

The air rushed out of Ellie’s lungs. Somehow, she smiled. “I promise, I swear to you. It’s done.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Let’s go home,” Dina said with finality.

-

Ellie bounded down the front stairs of the farmhouse, treading back into the woods where Dina waited, a small child at her side. Dina smiled up at her. A wagon with the first load of their things waited just outside the tree line away from the house.

“I’m ready.”