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moonlights-inkwell · 4 years ago

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Why Don’t You Just Tell Them All to Fuck Off Love, And Be Mine

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,670

Summary: You and Jaskier partake in a game of pretend, with some unexpected consequences.

AN: The sequel to Oh Can’t You Hear The Scratching that no one asked for. Oops.

Warnings: Smut. Oral (female receiving). Dirty Talk. Feelings.

“You know,” Jaskier says lightly, cutting through the silence of the empty tavern, making you look up to meet his eyes. “You wore that dress the first night I met you.”

You had almost forgotten Jaskier was still in the tavern. He was being strangely quiet before speaking up, so quiet you could have sworn he had gone home when the drinkers had, yet there he is. Sat there, still holding his Lute on his knee and watching you like a hawk. He’s taken to performing on nights when you work. Locals love him, bards seldom come through your village, and those who do don’t stay for long, so Jaskier's songs have been well received, even if your employer has been shooting your lover death glares every night he has performed. You don’t know if he recalls that it was Jaskier that swept you out of your life in the village so long ago, or if he’s just jealous of how you allow Jaskier affection so freely, but the older man scowls and jabs and jibes, and with him going through the coins earned tonight upstairs, there has been silence. Just you and the rag and a silent Jaskier.

It’s true though, you did wear this dress the first night you met him. It’s a white and wine-coloured affair, pretty enough to flatter your frame but easy enough to move in during your hours working. It’s nice, flares out when you turn too quickly and dips to a respectable if a little coquettish square neckline that makes your chest more obvious. The dress is usually enough to encourage men to be more generous with their coin without hearing any comments about your being some sort of whore, and your hands leave the rag you had been using to clean to smooth the fabric about your hips. You hadn’t paid that much mind when you tugged it on this morning, but under his watchful eyes right now, you flush as though it had been deliberate. Clothing has never been something you pay much mind to but, with how Jaskier is eyeing you, you can tell that he has paid attention to it, and you realise something you hadn’t noticed earlier. He too is wearing the exact same thing he wore the night the two of you met, deep violet and sky-blue doublet and trousers, pretty and attention grabbing- but somewhat toned down compared to his usual garb.

“it was clean.” You say shyly, tucking a few stray curls behind your ear to hear him chuckle quietly.

“It’s beautiful. You're beautiful.” Jaskier says things like that as if they’re obvious, unintentionally making you feel foolish for any insecurity. A pathetic laugh comes from you and he tilts his head like a pup, the island of the bar between the two of you makes you feel safe; he'd never hurt you, that much you can stand your life on, but the distance between you keeps you from doing something foolish. Like kissing him.

He’s been distant since the first night he returned to you, never letting his touch linger longer than would be considered chaste, his kisses never turning passionate, never finding his usual respite between your thighs as he once did. He sleeps beside you, presses kisses to the space beneath the corner of your lips, still sings and leans into you but doesn’t... touch as he once did. It’s as though you've fallen into some sort of time warp to before the first time you were intimate, when he was so concerned about making you uncomfortable that progressing seldom seemed like an option at all. You have no clue how to fix this rift that has developed, unsure if this distance is simply because of the time you spent apart or because he’s no longer interested in you as you’re interested in him.

“It’s just a dress.”

“It’s a dress that makes you look beautiful, Little Miss.” The bard insists, settling his Lute down on the newly cleaned surface of the table before walking around it to approach you. Be it nerves or something more embarrassing than that, you turn from him to continue your cleaning. “...The moment I saw you wearing it, I knew I’d laid my eyes on the most divine creature the lands have ever known.”

“The moment you saw me you had a woman hanging off each arm.” You retort. It’s intended to be playful, but comes out colder than expected, and you cringe at the sound of your own voice. Petty. Absolutely fucking petty, because you know as well as him that once you smiled his way and brushed past him to serve drinks to a group of patrons his lady-friends were gone, and Jaskier had sat at the bar and spent the night talking to you as if you were the only person in the world. You aren’t jealous, truly you aren't, the person your Dandelion had been before you had even known him has never been your concern, and now you sound like an envious adolescent. It’s enough to make your flesh crawl with shame. Were you paying more attention to anything but your own words you might have heard Jaskier say your name firmly, but no, you remain in your own head until your stomach is pressed gently against the counter, kept in place by his warm, firm body behind you. “Jask?” Stupid question. Who else would it be?

“I thought you were the most beautiful woman I could ever lay eyes on.” He breathes into your ear, sending shivers down your back. “A muse, a godsend, beautiful and intoxicating and...” His voice trails away to nothing at all while his hands rest on your hips. “Gods above and below, Missy. The sight of you alone had me willing to spend a whole night ignoring everyone else, content to spend my night obsessed with the Beauty before me and fisting at my cock until i slept to the thought of you rather than try to find someone else to spend my night with.” His voice is little more than a growl, and breathing is growing harder with every honeyed word that drips from his lips. “You, beautiful you, who didn’t care about my songs or my reputation- just so kind and perfect and fucking beautiful.” Cold hands slide upward from your hips to rest in the dips of your waist. “So perfect I asked you to come with me. So perfect I feared telling you how I felt. Skilled with a sword and with your tongue and so much better than I will ever deserve.”

“Julian.” You start, but no other words will follow his real name. You could worry that he's going to do something foolish, or give in and push his hands up to your breasts, but instead you simply sigh and relax into his touch. His lips press to the expanse of your throat and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Even before I asked you to be mine, I wanted you. Needed you. Came with my fist in my mouth to the thought of you so I wouldn’t wake you. So, do not question when I tell you how I feel about you.” His growl is enough to send a rush of heat to your cunt with each word, and a painful sort of warmth to your heart. “Even without being with you, my heart has been yours since the moment I met you.”

Logical thought dies an honourless death at the suggestion of Jaskier's want for you. Weeks of nothing at all and he decides that he ought to break that run by informing you that the first night he had even met you he had worked himself to climax to the thought of you. That the thought of you alone was enough to have him spilling onto his hand even before he had so much as kissed you. You swear you could choke at the thought, but there’s something more you want to choke on. Still, he pulls back from you, the world is off kilter and you swear you’re going to fall to your knees until you turn about to press your back to the counter, it takes less than a second for him to all but throw himself onto you- mouth over yours, tongue dipping into your mouth as though he's some adventurer trying to map out uncharted land.

Eyes shut, his mouth on yours, you feel the tavern around you fall away, the wind gusting through your hair and along your décolletage. There is no tavern, no employer, no cleaning, no childhood home that will almost definitely be cold as death by the time you get home. None of that exists, none of it matters at all. All that exists is his mouth, his tongue, how he manages to somehow be everywhere and nowhere at once, intoxicating and intangible. You could be anywhere, everywhere, with your eyes clamped shut as they are. With no effort at all, you could imagine yourself anywhere, the hidden spot behind a curtain while a ball happens less than a foot away from you, the sandy alcove of some far-off beach, but the place your mind settles on is somewhere you don’t know at all, making you fill in the gaps to create something out of your own memories. Oak coloured, and warm, furnished all with deeply coloured leather, books and instruments, like Oxenfurt, but cast half in shadows by flickering lights and scented like smoke and molasses, like Yen's home. In spite of all of that, or maybe because, it feels like home: especially when Jaskier's lips dip down from your lips to the corner of your mouth once more to kiss at the space he calls Your Kiss.

Lettenhove, your mind supplies the name for the place it has created, faster than you can remember where you know it from. Jaskier's home.

He’s mentioned it to you once, maybe twice, in all the years you’ve known him, only ever to complain and insist how he hated it and would never return, but here you are, creating it in your mind. It seems only right, that he has kissed you in your childhood home that you can at least imagine his. It feels wrong though, even if the thought remains, like a sick secret.

“Darling?” He asks softly, drawing your attention back to him.

“Yes?” You ask gently while his fingers trace circles into your waist.

“You look sad, Dear Heart. I know I’ve been distant but please tell me that look is not disappointment as I assume.”

“No, no. Just thinking.”

“A dangerous past-time.” Jaskier says solemnly with a shake of his head which you ignore.

“Why have you been so distant of late?”

“I. I've had a deal to think about since. Well, since.”

“Since the mountain.” You finish the sentence for him. He nods and you nod in return. He hasn’t told you what happened, except that Geralt and himself had parted ways on less than amicable terms. Why that has meant the two of you haven’t been intimate is beyond you though, and you feel awkward to ask such a question.

“I didn’t want to do anything while my mind was not entirely focused on you, My Muse.” He admits, tracing fingers across the details of your face. “I spent months without you, trying to remember just how your skin turns pink as you climax, the delicate arch of your back, the contortion of your lips. Months of cumming to a memory, and months of cumming to fantasies of you before I had you. I wanted the real thing, and to appreciate it. And that meant not being distracted.”

“I could have put my mouth on you. That always relaxed you.”

“A sweet offer, truly. Probably would have taken you up on it too.” He admits, “But I want to pay attention to you.” Traitors that the mind and mouth are, you can’t find a single word to say, but your lips turn up in a subtle smirk and you pull away from him, slipping from his grasp.

“Darling-" he argues at your sudden movement, but you press your fingers to his lips with a soft shushing sound.

“Play a game with me a while, Dandy?” You ask intently, which catches him off guard, his hand wrapping around your wrist. Pet names are his forte, wordplay his bread and butter, so it doesn’t take a hair out of you when he calls you by one, but you use them fairly infrequently and they always have him blinking like a startled doe.

“Name the game.”

“First impressions.”

“Can’t pretend I know that one, Dear Heart. If it’s anything like Gwent I can’t see my being any good either.” He chuckles and you pull back from him with a laugh of your own.

“Not like Gwent. More of a playing pretend sort of game.” You clarify, though saying it makes you feel childish. “We... we pretend this is the first time we have met.” He smiles at that, head tilting to the side.

“A pretend game.” He repeats, smile growing as he mulls over the idea. “I like it.”

“I’m glad.”

“Are there any rules to this game?” He asks and you blink. Rules had not even entered your mind, but he was right. A game should have rules.

“...We can’t acknowledge anything we’ve been through.” You say easily and he nods. “And we can do whatever we wish we could have done when we first met.”

“Sounds good to me. But one thing before we start?” He asks gently, leaning in and loosening your hair and pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Perfect. Now I can pretend not to have known you.”

“I... think we ought wait for Kacper to leave for the night.” You whisper meekly, and though Jaskier lets out a pained little groan he nods slowly, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss the heel of your palm.

“Fine. Can’t have that vile little man watching as I have my way with you.” That makes you choke, staring at him, wide eyed and gaping like a fish out of water while he smiles down at you like he’s simply commented on the weather.

“You. You say that like I would have let you- “ You falter and snap out a quiet, “That vile little man is the reason we can afford food and clothes!”

“Little Miss, please.” He interrupts you flippantly before bringing his lips down on your own once more, albeit only for a second or so. “I have eyes. I’ve seen how the bastard looks at you. I’ve seen how every bastard looks at you.” You dont know what he means. Kacper, yes, the man is uncomfortable and not someone you want to spend any time about, but everyone? He’s a fool, and a paranoid one ay that.

“Be that as it may!” You say, hoping he doesn’t realise that you’ve essentially agreed with him. “You’re acting as ifi would have let you bed me having known me less than a night.”

“We'll be playing at having just met, not completely forgetting everything. And besides, you said we could do anything we wished we had when we first met, no?”

“I. I did.”

“And, from the moment I met you, I’ve wanted to taste you. And I have every intention of creating a first meeting between us where I was not such a coward as to not even attempt it.”

“I never thought you a coward, Jaskier.” You argue but he shakes his head.

“I know that, Dear Heart, and I wouldn’t change our time together. But it’s just a game of pretend.”

“Just a game of pretend.” You agree.

...

“I’ll be off now, Missy.” Kacper says tiredly, holding onto the door for purchase. “No bard?”

“He's home and asleep by now.”

“You should go home yourself. I can walk you if you-"

“No, no. I'll finish cleaning, it oughtn't take too long. Go rest.” You reply easily, pushing the hair that’s escaped your bun away from your eyes. “I'll be fine. I’m a big girl. I can cope.”

“You can stay in my house if you want to avoid the walk.” He says insistently. Your flesh crawls at his lecherous smile but you fake a smile all the same.

“I’ll be fine, Kacper. But thank you. Sleep well." The response is sharp and firm, and the older man ducks his head in a suddenly sober nod. “Good Night.”

“Goodnight Child.”

Child. The looks he gives you should not be given to a child.

The tavern is empty, and you wipe at the counter in front of you out of boredom until you hear it. The click of the latch lifting followed by the soft squeal that tells you the door is opening. Your eyes stay focused on the wet surface. In this pretence of a night too long ago, you consider pretending to serve drinks to patrons that don't exist, but decide that to be a step too far and instead drop the rag to toy with your hair, leaning against the counter as if watching people that are no longer there.

Try hard enough, and you can make out the people who had been there that night; the table of drunken older men playing Gwent who had always been especially generous in tipping you in the hopes that you might stay a while and bring luck with a smile, your own friends gathered about a table and shouting old pet names to lure you back to their table with ale, the gaggle of older women cawing and cursing about how wrong it is for a girl of your age to be working in a pub, tempting their husbands and sons. It’s familiar and alien and nostalgic all at once, making your heart ache. It was like that not four hours before, and you hadn’t had any such feelings then, but now that it is empty it feels like watching ghosts lingering at empty tables, phantoms sat in empty chairs.

“Is it always so busy?” A voice asks from beside you, making you let out a squeak of surprise. You take in the bard as if you’ve ne’er seen him before, and it’s strange. Gods, he’s beautiful, that you already knew, but the way he’s swept his hair to one side has you convinced he’s testing your patience on purpose. He deliberately loosened your hair so you looked closer to how you had, but his hair is swept to the other side entirely. Bastard. You know he’s done it to see if you will immediately try and sort it out. You’re tempted.

“Oh? It’s early in the morning on Freya's day at a tavern. It’s always busy.” You’re surprised how level your voice is, tinged with sarcasm. “You aren’t from here.”

“Beautiful and Observant. Are all women in this town like you?” He smirks and leans on his elbow, not realising how wet the counter was until it slides along the surface, making you cackle unexpectedly.

“Only in that lines like those won’t work on them, stranger.” You struggle out between laughs. “Ale? Wine? Food?”

“Wine, please.” He grumbles out, pushing himself off of the counter. Any mortal man would be ashamed of having almost knocked out their front teeth on the bar, but not the bard, his lips turn up in a smirk. “And the name of the radiant being in front of me.”

“Wine it is, Stranger.”

“Not a stranger. Stranger has some awful implications, Pretty Thing, and a stranger is only a stranger when you know not their name.” A pale, calloused hand is thrust towards you. “Dandelion. Well, Jaskier, famed bard. Surely you've heard of me.” His voice is overcome with confidence, and you can’t help but lean on the driest part of the counter to observe him closely before breathing out your name, which he repeats.

“That’s my name.” You say simply, leaning back to seek out a bottle of wine and pouring out a glass for the bard in front of him. “And I can’t pretend I know who you are, Bard. But if you’re famed then I presume that you can pay for your drinks.”

His face falls at that, and he begins to ooh and awe, looking through his pockets which you already know to be empty.

“Now, Angel of the Ale, famed doesn’t necessarily mean rich-"

“And, Bard, pretty eyes and notoriety doesn’t necessarily mean you'll get a free drink from me.” Your hand covers the brim of the glass and begin to slide it backwards toward you. “This is an establishment, not a charity.”

“Now, Missy. Let us not be too hasty.” He argues, with a small smile. “surely a song is enough payment for a single glass of wine?” This elicits an unamused sigh from you, and you lift your hand from the cup.

“Fine, Bard. Have it. But not a word of this to anyone. The owner will have my head if he finds out.”

“No song, Missy?” He asks and you laugh and shake your head.

“No, no. I’m. I’m hardly one for a song. You would just be wasting a song.”

“A shame." Jaskier drawls out, taking a sip of wine before settling you with a smile that is just on the right side of leering. “I like to believe my songs are good enough even for those who don't know much of music. I hear I have a very clever mouth, and a talented tongue."

He has a bastard of a tongue. The sort that has you flushing without obscene words, and with them? Oh, Melitele's tits you feel like you'll fall apart. The shock written across your face is true, and he chuckles like it’s a funny joke between just you two. It is, you suppose, or would be, were it not for the vile looks that your employer sends your way when he thinks your eyes away from his.

“Excuse me-?”

“Come, Pretty Thing, play at a role that suits you. Shocked virgin might be believable at your age were you not the most beautiful woman I could ever lay eyes upon.” Jaskier says dismissively, eyes unblinking and following you as you escape from behind the bar. It’s easy to feel like prey under his watchful gaze.

“Not that my sexual activity is any of your business, but I am.” You respond, shakily; watching as Jaskier saunters to you, holding his chalice in one hand. “A. A virgin, I mean.” You all but whisper the last sentence, and he grins; terrible and beautiful, all teeth and gums, and he reminds you of the wolves that lived in the woods during your childhood. But then he slinks closer still, the comparison between Jaskier and wolves are not quite right. No. Geralt, wherever in the world he is, is a wolf; built to survive hardship. Close enough to resemble a person who could be kept, but far too large and dangerous for that. No. Jaskier is no wolf.

Jaskier is a fox. Slim and small and ready to rip out your throat. Easily mistaken for a pet, even willing to play at the role, but as soon as you stop eyeing him, he returns to a state that is closer to feral than kept. You feel like a chick, eyed like a feast, waiting for him to just. Strike. And he does, just not in the way you expected- he cups your cheek gently and swipes his thumb across your cheek.

“Then everyone in this village must be blind, if they aren’t willing to fight to the death to Kiss you, never mind bed you.” His voice is smoke and molasses and you feel like you could drown on dry land.

“They’ve wanted to.”

“But you haven’t?”

“Never met someone who I had any interest in.”

“Is your... employer here?”

“N-no.”

“Then, at the risk of pushing, darling-maid, I’d rather show you what pleasures the flesh can hold.”

“Push. Please.”

.....

Games of pretend as an adult are much different than they were when you were a child. As a child you toyed at being a princess, a dragon, a knight; now, you’re pretending not to know the love of your life as he buries his face between your thighs, shoved over a table that you cleaned while his clever tongue works it’s way inside of you from behind.

The wood under you is so, so cold, but his mouth is intoxicatingly warm. Having his mouth on you is nothing new, not at all, but it has you feeling drunk: like having gulped down a tavern's worth of wine, giddy and all appendages tingling. It’s right and comfortable and new all at once. This position especially, face down on a table with him down on his knees before you, the Bard insists on seeing your face- be it so he can kiss you or see the minute changes in your face that tell him that you’re close, but tonight all you can see is the floor and not the mop of brunet locks and wide, blue eyes. The change is fine, welcome, but not enjoyed as much as the alternative.

He’s made a romantic out of you, you don’t know if you should like or despise that fact. Women in the pub ask often about your musical lover and his talented tongue and fine fingers, asking if the length of them extends to other more personal parts of his anatomy, which you always laugh off. Small villages such as this thrive on gossip and you couldn’t bear it were your intimate goings on to become the talk of the town, but really, you’ve other reasons to be silent on the matter. How do you explain to someone that it’s not about the fingers that crook within you as it is the fact he always knows exactly where to do so? Could you ever find the words to describe that talented though his tongue may be, it’s the fact that you feel him use it to trace the words I love you against your most personal flesh, as he is right now? Can there be a means of saying that large as your lover's cock might be, and that he is well aware how to use it and that he uses it well, your pleasure comes more from the softness in storm-coloured eyes that bore deep into your soul all while that thick length fills you to the point of no return? Never mind a romantic, he's made some poet out of you. You never knew poetry and syphilis were transmitted the same way but you'd rather the former than the latter.

Missing his eyes on you, you whimper and reach back for his hair only to have it pinned to the table beneath you. With a long lick from your clit down to your entrance Jaskier pulls back, only to stare at your sex while panting- the warm air passing along your soaked cunt and making you quake .

“I was right, Pretty Thing. People should fight to the death to Kiss you. Especially kiss these lips you so cruelly hide.” He sounds as drunk as you feel, words slurring over themselves.

“Bard. Bard please.” You whine, digging your nails into the table. There's a breathless chuckle behind you, followed by a wet kiss to the meat of your thigh, where leg meets arse.

“Do you want something, Angel of the Ale?” He chuckles, nipping at the skin.

“Julian~” You whine loudly and Jaskier lets out a whisper of something that sounds suspiciously like finally, followed by a sharp swat to your cunt, wet slap echoing through the empty air. You'll never be able to work comfortably again, instead you'll be haunted by the memory of Jaskier's most triumphant performance to date: being able to bring you to the brink of orgasm without talking. No compliments, no whispered coos of Little Miss or Dear Heart to encourage you. Just his tongue.

“So much for your game of pretend, Little Miss.” Jaskier sighs, but there's nothing but amusement in his voice. “I thought we were strangers?”

“Changed my mind.” You choke out while his fingers spread the lips of your entrance wide open. “If I wanted to fuck a stranger, I would. I want my Buttercup to make love to me.”

“Make love to you, eh?” Words fan across wet flesh and you could swear you have reached nirvana.

“I want the love of my life to stop playing silly buggers and fuck me until I sob, yes.”

He moans at that, weak and wanton as he bucks his hips into your calf, the proof of his want dragged against your skin like a dog rutting. Ever since he called you that in Oxenfurt, it’s been a secret sort of weapon for you. Losing an argument? Tell him he’s the love of your life. See him glaring across the tavern at a man whose eyes have been on you a second too long? Love of your life. It might be cruel were it not true.

“Gods, Dear Heart, you're a cruel mistress.” You feel him smile as he bucks against you once more, thick and hard under layers of fabric. “Play pretend, Jaskier. Make love to me, Jaskier. You're the love of my life, Jaskier. What next? I simply won’t rest until your cock is in my mouth, Jaskier? You're going to be the death of me.” He smiles, you can feel soft lips as he kisses up from beneath the crease of your arse to the thickest point. “I’m half convinced you’re trying to kill me.”

“Never.” Comes the earnest reply. “I can hardly spend forever with you if you’re dead.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re half convinced you’ve gone too far but a thought creeps unbidden into your mind to fill the gaps. Something he said in Oxenfurt, which slips from your mouth with honest ease.

“I'd marry you this second if I could.”

Eyes slip closed as if waiting for some inevitable fallout, but none comes. Instead, you’re rolled onto your back and tugged up with such an intensity you worry the table might capsize.

“... A hell of a place to propose, Little Miss.” He returns your own words back to you, eyes soft while his hand comes up to frame your face, fingers ghosting across the scar on your eye. The wound that kept you apart so long. The other rests on the crook of your neck, where if you cast your mind back far enough, you recall a wound being once, from some sort of vampire. He’s held your life inside you with trembling hands more often than you would like to think about, and you reach up to rest a hand over the space on his chemise where you know his heart ought be. It thunders along at a pace too fast for you to know it as you normally would, reminds you of how your own feels after fighting, fucking, but your own heart is beating slowly, pumping along at a relaxed pace under the touch of his fingers.

“Well. I’m no poet.”

“No. No, you aren’t.” He agrees. “I. I recall someone else saying that once before too.”

“Well.” You reply melodiously, fingers straying from the fabric to the thatch of hair across his chest. Downy, dark hair, always keeping you a layer away from him- thick enough to keep you from seeing the flesh beneath but fine enough to feel his warmth seeping through. “He never got about to proposing, so I assumed I could take the line for myself.”

“Excuse you, Dear Heart!” He sounds scandalized, like some rich old bat who asked for petunias and was gifted peonies by mistake. “I think you will find one of us refused to propose in his old place of education and spent every day afterwards trying to earn coin enough to buy you a proper ring, and as soon as I did you near died- oh. Oh shit. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You. You bought me a ring?” You ask incredulously. It doesn’t sound real. Jaskier bought a ring. For you.

“Of course.”

“You. You, Jaskier, bought me a ring?” You ask again, mind unable to fully understand what it is he's said.

“I told you I wanted to marry you!” He replies sharply, eyes narrowed a little as if anticipating a fight about it, but all you can do is grin up at him.

“You want to marry me.”

“I do.” He confirms, softening from the annoyance as easily as he hardened into it. “Not where I wanted to propose-"

“Then don’t. Not here.” You insist. “Melitele's tits, I like to think I'm quite free and easy about these sorts of things but I’d rather you not propose in the tavern I work in.”

“Good. Especially as I don’t have the ring to hand.”

“As long as you plan on marrying me, I don’t mind when it happens.”

You mean it too, but he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you softly on the tip of your nose.

“You commandeer my proposal, destroy the element of surprise, make me tell you my plans. What am I to do with you?”

“Keep me forever?” You prompt and he smiles and kisses you gently, hands sliding down to your hips, tugging your skirts up once more to eye your quim. “Jaskier?”

“I need to get you home right now.” He whispers softly, eyes moving from your sex to your eyes. “So that I can make up for lost time.”

“...Why not start here?”

“It’s hardly romantic after admitting I want to marry you.”

“Bath and Bed?” You offer but he chuckles.

“I think some things may need to go in the middle and the end.”

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier x you #witcher x reader #witcher smut #jaskier smut

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oldfritz · 3 years ago

Note

I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one.

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’ Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

#frederick the great #elisabeth christine #countess orzelska #madame von wreech #asks #anonymous

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wrctings · 4 years ago

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Tony Stark x Steve Rogers | Fearless

this evening may i present you with stevetony + taylor swift fluff to celebrate the release of fearless (taylor’s version) 💛

fandom: Marvel summary: Where Steve listens to Taylor Swift and Tony is fearless. word count: 1.6k

If there is one thing that Tony Stark is undeniably the master of, among other skills related to the insightful understanding of technology or the adroit use of screwdrivers, it is without the shadow of a doubt the ability to find Steve Rogers inside the Avengers Tower. Whenever the two are separated, it seems Tony has gotten particularly good at guessing what Steve might be up to in the meantime: he knows that Steve likes to enjoy a cup of tea in the evening, two hours or so after dinner, so the kitchen would be the best place to spot the Captain, the soft look on his face paired the casual clothes he usually wears at the end of a long day; if not in the kitchen, it means that Steve already made himself comfortable on the living room sofa, catching up on the latest book he's been reading or chatting with one of the Avengers who might have passed by. And when Tony shows up, he is sure that Steve will give him one of his signature smiles and wait for him to take a seat by his side before nestling beside him, exchanging kisses and hugs when no one is around to disrupt their intimacy.

But on that evening, as Tony walks into the kitchen, looking for Steve, nothing but empty space meets his eye in the place where his boyfriend would usually stand. The same happens in the living room, where Steve definitely doesn't seem to be anywhere around — there isn't even the trace of a cup or a bookmark, all signs of the other man's presence having mysteriously vanished from every angle Tony's gaze sweeps. And if Steve isn't in the kitchen or in the living room by 8 o'clock... The echos of Tony's footsteps reverberate through the staircase as he makes his way down the tower, toward the workshop, a mug of tea in hand After the Avengers saved New York for the first time, officially becoming a team, Steve had taken the habit of visiting Tony in the workshop from time to time since their friendship had started to grow stronger. At first, he mostly came down when he needed to clear his head, bringing Tony coffee and quietly settling on the workshop couch with sheepishness that betrayed his worry of maybe not being welcome here (in spite of Tony's insistance that it's fine, Rogers. Not everybody has the chance of seeing my genius at work, and Steve's face would light up, and he'd nod thankfully). He would sit and watch Tony tinker and rattle his brains, somehow soothed by the clicking and banging sounds all around, before getting up and leaving when he felt he overstayed his welcome. A few months later, Steve's visits were accompanied, alongside coffee, by stolen kisses.

As his ideas often prove to be, Tony is right. There Steve really is, spread out on the workshop couch with folded legs, knees pointed toward the ceiling and revealing the comfortable grey sweatpants he's thrown on, a fitting choice considering the simple t-shirt that he's traded his Captain America suit for. Tony can't help but smile affectionately (thank God no one is around to notice just how dumbly in love he is) at the sight of Steve's domestic looks: how is it that Steve Rogers always manages to look so unbearably lovely no matter what he does? Then, he notices something else — on the floor, right next to the couch, lies Steve's phone, a pair of headphones connected to it. Listening to music, Steve must have not heard Tony coming in, so the brunet takes another step closer, torn between watching his boyfriend's relaxed features, which he finds adorable, and signalling his presence.

Tony isn't sure whether Steve is still awake, but he must have established himself in the workshop not too long ago as his hair appears darker than usual and brushed back, still wet from a shower (he would usually take it after his morning run, but on that Sunday the pair had stayed in bed instead, deciding on getting themselves a reward for the success of their latest mission), so after watching him for another couple of seconds, Tony tries his luck. Taking a seat on the end of the couch, he waits to see if Steve has any kind of reaction. And he does.

Steve's eyelashes flutter as his eyelids lift up, blinking to readjust to the light of the room, and when he straightens up on the couch his eyes immediately meet Tony's.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty," Tony teases fondly from the other end of the couch as Steve removes the headphones. "I was looking for you. Figured you'd be down there."

"Hi." Steve smiles at him with one of these warm smiles that make Tony melt even after all this time, then leaves him room to scooch over by regaining a normal sitting position. "Sorry, I just came down here to take a break."

"No need to apologize, this is as much my place as yours now," Tony shrugs, handing Steve the mug. "Since you weren't in the kitchen, I figured you'd need your tea."

"Thank you, Tony. You know me too well," Steve takes it gratefully, wrapping his fingers around the warm surface of the cup before drawing it to his lips and taking a sip. "Days shouldn't be so full of paperwork," he chortles tiredly, alluding to his occupation of the afternoon.

"That's only because you're so stubborn, you never take breaks before you finish."

"Says you."

"Alright, you may have a point," Tony shakes his head, unable to suppress a fugitive smile. "So what're you listening to?"

"I thought I'd catch up on what people are listening to nowadays," Steve explains, cheeks flushing slightly as he scratches the nape of his neck. "Well, here goes nothing. I was listening to Taylor Swift. I know this is not the kind of music you usually listen to, but it's actually really good. I mean, it's so different from what he had in the 40's, but I think I would've liked to have that back then."

"Hey, you know I'm not judging you, right?" Tony hates to see Steve so self-conscious around him, especially when Tony in truth likes Taylor Swift! Only, he would rather keep it private because of how deep it could actually dig through him, unlike other less penetrating music. "Plus, I like Taylor Swift," he confesses, because it's Steve, and Steve makes him fearless (pun intended — Taylor Swift did brilliantly put lyrics on feelings). "Everyone should."

"Really, you do?" Steve's excitement makes Tony's heart somersault: seeing how much happier he's gotten over the weeks never fails to move him, the contrast being stark indeed with the first time they met, all clenched jaws and tension.

"Yeah."

"You know, in the 30's, we didn't have this... Teenagehood thing," Steve explains, his voice tinged with the recollective tone Tony has often been aware of when whenever the Captain remembered his past. "After school, you'd be out working, you had no time to try and figure yourself out. This kind of makes me catch up on what I missed out on."

"Now's the time then. What songs have you been listening to?" Tony's eyebrows arch curiously, stirring Steve's mind away from sadder thoughts.

"Well... Fifteen. On repeat for the past fifteen minutes," Steve admits with a guilty chuckle. "It's really good, but so is the rest of the album. I've never gone through anything like that, but ever since I'm with you, those sappy love songs make perfect sense."

"You're so corny Rogers, has anyone ever told you that?" But Tony's face is bright with a grin, and he runs his fingers through's Steve's humid hair, rolling his eyes. He just can't resist him, can he?

"What do you want?" Steve leans into the palm of his hand, smiling slyly. "I jumped and fell into you, it seems."

"I got that reference," Tony laughs before bringing their lips together in a playful, loving kiss, his spirits so light with elation he might just burst out singing Taylor Swift lyrics for Steve. Who's the corny one now, Stark? He can already picture the Captain's remark. "Soldier, hand me your phone."

Steve obeys, bending over so he can pick it, and hands it to Tony with an inquiring look, watching him unplug the headphones and busy himself with the object. It isn't long before notes of music suddenly swirl through the air, emanating from Steve's phone as Tony sets it aside, and the blond recognising the guitar intro to Fearless, which he's listened enough to set it aside among other tracks. Steve's heart catches in his throat, cutting his breath short from the intense rush of affection that washes over him at once: he is so ridiculously smitten, he might just do something absolutely silly. He definitely will, or else, he wouldn't really be Steve Rogers, would he?

"Will you offer me this dance?" Steve suddenly asks, springing to his feet and extending his hand toward Tony. It doesn't matter that he's wearing sweatpants and that they're in Tony's workshop — actually, he wouldn't have changed anything, not for the whole goddamn world.

"And I don't know why..." Tony begins, smiling so widely he struggles not to throw himself at Steve instantly in spite of another amused eye roll. "But with you I dance," he takes Steve's hand resolutely, getting up himself.

"I must warn you now, I don't know how to dance though," Steve laughs softly against Tony, trying to find an appropriate position. "But you make me fearless, so, I guess we're doing it anyways."

"We are. That's what Taylor wants us to be."

And, as they twirl through the room, honouring the song's passionate fierceness right there in the middle of the workshop, Steve and Tony both really do feel unafraid; as long as they are together, nothing can stop them.

#stevetony #steve rogers x tony stark #stevetony fanfiction #stony #stony fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #based on a taylor swift song #stevetony fluff #stony fluff #writing #my writing

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years ago

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Scene Stealers

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Seo Changbin

Warnings: mild language, they both go through a lot of angst, but I can’t resist making it better with fluff at the end.

Genre: Violinist AU; College AU; Friends to Enemies to Lovers (AKA the Golden Triangle)

Word Count: 4.5K

Summary: Y/N and Seo Changbin share a tentative friendship, but when it comes to claiming first chair violinist for their school’s upcoming orchestra, their reasons for wanting the spot might just tear them apart.

A/N: Shoot, I was kinda mean to Changbin, but it was important for the sake of character development.

I had been playing the violin ever since I could first hold the instrument in my hands, smooth and luxurious paint glistening under the lights of my bedroom. It was the first time that I had ever fallen in love with something, and I passionately gave my heart and soul to the music I created. As a result, my entire life became consumed by my incessant desire to improve and rise high above the ranks of my classmates.

However, it wasn’t until I started university that I realized what competition truly looked like because everyone in my liberal art’s school was insanely talented. These were the same people who had also split their blood, sweat and tears into the pursuit of perfection. They shared the same aspirations, and their thirst for the very top was just as all-consuming as mine.

Ironically, our professor told us that we were acquaintances, first and foremost, and needless taunting and fighting would not be tolerated without serious consequences. But my classmates and I found ways around their rules, and the relatively harmless pranks usually sent strong messages to those who we perceived as threatening. Of course, there were also the occasional cliques that formed, and they usually consisted of like-minded individuals who knew that they could use one another to help their self-motivated aspirations.

But I never thought that I would join any of them until I met Changbin.

Because he seemed just like another face in the crowd, despite being alluringly handsome. Yet, when he managed a score a perfect A+ on our mid-semester examination, everyone immediately knew that he was not to be underestimated. Interestingly, Changbin often kept to himself in spite of my classmates’ approaches. They wanted him to join their circles because it was better to cement your status by joining with the best that our school had to offer. Plus, it allowed you to keep a close eye on the competition, and I had seen my fair share of friendships destroyed because of a petty disagreement.

But Changbin never seemed interested in making friends, and I admired his tenacity, which might explain why I allowed him to sit next to me at lunch since our other classmates were otherwise occupied with their own friend groups. And I certainly never considered that he had any ulterior motives, until he randomly started a conversation with me. At first, I was taken aback by the surprisingly timid greeting that he extended in my direction, but I decided that Changbin was harmless.

You see, I never intended to extend our relationship beyond casual lunchtime conversations, but he started sitting next to me in class as well. I wanted to protest the sudden change until Changbin changed my mind because he was helpful with our menial class assignments, and he even offered to help me with my general education courses. It registered as a kind-hearted gesture that seemed out of place considering our highly competitive field.

But I accepted his help because I genuinely appreciated anyone who could tutor me through basic calculus, and he was patient with me, walking us both through worksheet exercises with a calm and steady approach. After that, I didn’t mind acknowledging Changbin as a friend since he was always considerate and helpful, and his personality naturally complimented mine. Where I was quick-tempered and active, Changbin was laidback and gentle. I balanced him when he was struggling to find enough motivation to finish his assignments (even though he was a certified genius), and he managed to convince me to take breaks from making hundreds of highlights in my textbooks.

Yet, at the back of my mind was a constant reminder: Changbin was still one of my competitors, and I valued my future far more his friendship.

Present

I could tell that something interesting was about to happen when our Professor walked into class for our morning lecture. He smiled at the rows of students beaming back at him in expectation for whatever it was that he might be planning. “Students,” he said, pacing across the front of the room. “We have our first orchestral concert coming up.”

There was an excited murmuring that swept through the classroom, and I turned my head to the side to meet Changbin’s excited gaze. “Are you ready?” he asked, and I inhaled sharply around the smell of his cologne.

“Of course,” I said in response before looking back at our Professor.

“Most of the positions have been decided,” he continued. “But we still need someone for first chair violinist.”

My heart nearly skipped a beat inside my chest at the advertisement, and I clutched tightly to the edge of my desk. “This Saturday, I’ll be holding auditions at noon. Don’t be late.”

I leaned back in my desk while doing my best to restrain my excitement. Our Professor had already commenced the beginning of his lesson, but I couldn’t focus on anything else other than the coveted first chair auditions. It was everything that I had been working towards my entire life, and I was consumed with ideas for my song performance. Should I go for something classical? Or would that be too expected? Perhaps I should create something original?

The ideas were endless, and I waited until the end of class before I started speaking to Changbin in a rapid tone, hoping that he might give me some insights into my unfortunate conundrum. “I don’t know, Y/N,” Changbin said, scratching at the back of his head like he was nervous about something.

“You’ll come and support me, right?” I asked him. “I’d like to see you there.”

Changbin looked away from me. “Yeah, but I’ll be auditioning too.”

I immediately froze in my steps, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “Oh?”

“I thought you knew that,” he said, chuckling at the awkward situation that we found ourselves experiencing. “I’m not really interested in first chair, but my father said that he would be pull me out of the music program if I failed.”

I blinked at him, feeling like the entire universe had just been knocked off-kilter. “I guess you’ll have to try, then.”

“We can always practice together,” Changbin said with a note of desperation. “Just like we always do.”

“Sure,” I said, but the lie sounded inauthentic even to my own practiced ears. “Maybe we can try to schedule a time.”

“Tomorrow,” Changbin said, and his stare was intense. “I can meet you after class.”

“I’ll see if I have a free hour,” I said, and Changbin looked surprised that I didn’t agree to his offer.

“Do you already have plans?”

“One of my professors has office hours,” I said in return, even though we both knew that I rarely took advantage of meeting my instructors outside of scheduled classes.

Changbin nodded, but I could tell that he wasn’t easily convinced. “What about lunch? We can find something cheap in the dining hall. My treat.”

I resisted the urge to sigh. “Rain check?”

Changbin scoffed, reaching out for my arm to hold me in place. “Are you really mad about the audition?”

“Of course not,” I said, pulling my arm free from his unexpectedly tight grip. In actuality, I was far more disappointed than I was angry.

“Y/N,” Changbin said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t lose this.”

“I know,” I told him with a nod. “But this has been my dream since I was eight-years-old.”

“I get that,” Changbin said, and I could tell that he was frustrated. “It’s a competition, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t hang out.”

“You’re right,” I agreed with a tight smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around later.”

I thought that it seemed casual enough, but Changbin was nothing short of incredulous, shaking his head at me before I watched him retreat in the opposite direction.

The Next Day

It was late at night when my phone vibrated against my nightstand. I let out a groan as I rolled onto my side to silence the notification, pausing when I realized that it was a text message from Changbin: there’s a party tonight, Y/N. You should come with me.

I frowned at the mention of a party, especially when it was such a random request from Changbin. He had never invited me to this kind of thing before, so why was he asking out of the blue? Especially considering our earlier argument from the previous day.

Maybe he was trying to distract me, I thought to myself, snatching my phone and sending a reply back to him: Not tonight. I have plans.

It wasn’t necessarily true since I had initially planned to stay in my dorm room, but I suddenly thought of something that I could do to occupy my time. And it would also benefit me in regards to the upcoming auditions. But then again, when I really thought about it, I realized that Changbin was a contributing factor in pushing me to the edge of full-blown panic, and I was suddenly anxious to ensure my position for our school’s upcoming performance. Likewise, when I considered the situation, if Changbin was going to a party, then there was a good chance that our other classmates would attend as well.

With that thought in mind, I grabbed my violin case from its position against the wall because I had just received confirmation that I would have the practice room to myself - allowing me the rare opportunity to improve without the others around. And that most certainly included Changbin. It was enough to get my heart racing, and I secured my coat tightly around my waist before rushing outside, inhaling the cold, crisp winter air as I found myself practically jogging to the music building.

As I suspected, it was empty inside, and I turned on the lights and set-up some of the more expensive equipment that I wasn’t privileged enough to use outside of regular instruction. Satisfied, I sat down on one of the stools near the front of the room, tucking the violin against the familiar spot between my neck and shoulder, and I started to play with a huge smile pasted across my lips. Because this was when I felt the most comfortable, and everything was familiar, listening to the notes and chords form the beautiful melodies that had fascinated me as a child.

It was my favorite way to lose track of time, and I didn’t pay much attention to the late hour when I finished my entire set, pausing at the end of my performance to take in a deep breath. Was that okay? I wondered to myself, regretting the fact that I hadn’t bothered to record my practice run. Because it had become the best way to single out the little mistakes - whether it involved my irregular posture, or the slight hiss of a note that might go unnoticed by the untrained ear.

Whatever the case may be, I was too tired to revisit my prepared performance again, so I carefully cleaned up the practice room and stowed away my violin inside its case. Afterward, I took one last lingering look around the practice room before I was walking back outside. Thankfully, the building automatically locked itself behind me, so I knew that a Janitor had come by at some point, and the night was relatively quiet and undisturbed as I started walking back to my dorm alone.

However, any semblance of loneliness was quickly ruined by the unexpected vocalization of my name: “Y/N!”

I turned around, resisting the urge to roll my eyes when I saw one of my classmates running down the sidewalk. “Hey,” I said, keeping my tone inflectionless on purpose.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she said. “I thought you might come to the party.”

“I had other plans,” I told her dismissively.

“Yeah, Changbin said that he invited you,” she said, and I froze at the mention of Changbin. “He seemed pretty upset about it.”

I narrowed my eyes because I couldn’t quite figure out why she would feel the need to tell me that. “He knew I was busy.”

“I guess,” she said as if finally figuring out that I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation.

I nodded tersely, jerking my head in the direction of my dorm. “I was on my way back.”

“Oh, right!” she said, shaking her head as she took a step away from me. “I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“It’s fine,” I said dismissively, spinning on my heel as I continued the short trek back to my dorm room, and I tried to ignore how my mind seemed stuck on the revelation of Changbin’s dissatisfaction with my decision to stay away from that stupid party.

The next morning, I could tell that something was off with Changbin when I sat down next to him at our usual section. His gaze was cold when he acknowledged me, but he didn’t say anything as he continued flipping through the sheet music waiting in front of him. It was completely out of character, but I had bigger things to worry about, lending my attention to our Professor when he walked into the lecture room to begin our lesson.

However, at the same time, I was irritated with my train of thought because I found myself wondering about Changbin instead of the History of Mozart. It was a cumbersome predicament because I wasn’t the type of student who became so easily distracted. In fact, I once spent nine hours straight in the library researching for a project that wasn’t due until the end of the semester.

Get it together, Y/N!

“Okay, everyone,” our Professor continued. “We’ll pause here for a moment and you can discuss the Mozart Effect Theory with a partner.”

I immediately looked at Changbin who sighed as he allowed his pen to fall from between his fingers. “What do you think?”

I hesitated because his question could easily be taken out of context, and it could be applied to something far more personal than the Mozart Theory. “It’s interesting.”

“I agree,” Changbin said, and I could see his jaw clench. “I heard that you were in the practice room last night,” Changbin added, and his tone was strangely cold.

How did he even know that? I wondered, but I knew there was no use in lying. It had never even appealed to me. “I wanted to make sure my performance was ready,” I replied.

“You lied to me,” Changbin growled, and I decided that I didn’t like the way that he was talking to me.

“I never lied,” I said. “I told you I had plans.”

“To practice?” Changbin scoffed. “You’re the one who always tells me to that you can’t push yourself too far, but I’m beginning to think it was all some kind of plot to make sure that I stayed behind you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “I would never intentionally jeopardize another student’s success.”

“Really?” Changbin questioned. “So, why was sneaking away to the practice room more important than taking the night off with me?”

His questions were becoming harder to answer, and there was a part of me that didn’t want to deal with unnecessary drama. I had always been told that I had an unfavorable personality, but it usually involved my inability to deal with these kinds of situations - when someone thought that my time was theirs to utilize as they commanded. Then again, maybe it was my fault because I had simply allowed Changbin to get too close, and I could easily rectify that problem.

“We were never friends, Changbin,” I said, refocusing my attention at the front of the room because the words hurt to vocalize aloud. “You should know better than that since we’re all competitors.”

“Is that what you think?” Changbin asked, and he looked at me closely, searching for something that I knew he wouldn’t find. “I’m sorry that I wasted your time,” Changbin concluded, and he returned to his work without another word.

On the day of the audition, I was surprised when I received a phone call from my mother asking to meet me for lunch before my scheduled performance. It was a breath of fresh air - a necessary distraction because my stomach hadn’t settled ever since I woke-up that morning. In fact, I was experiencing an onslaught of unexpected nerves that I hadn’t felt since my required entrance examination. Overtime, my confidence had steadily built to a healthy level, but the idea of the audition was enough to crumble the entire foundation.

But my mother’s smile was kind when she invited me into a familiar embrace, and I inhaled the smell of her sweet perfume. “Y/N,” she said, pulling away and looking at me closely. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” I said, and she gave me a knowing look before inviting me inside the little cafe that we had agreed to meet at for our scheduled lunch.

“What would you like?” my mother asked as she stood next to the front counter.

“Whatever you think...” I trailed off, and my eyes settled on someone that I hadn’t spoken to ever since our cold exchange in class the other day.

The sight of Changbin sent another pang to my churning stomach, and my mother called my name when she noticed my distraction. “Is he a friend?” my mother asked, and I met Changbin’s gaze just before he decided to turn away from me.

“A classmate,” I said, and the words tasted bitter on my palate.

“Well,” my mother said, exchanging a few words with the employee behind the register. “I ordered us something light.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, jerking my head away from Changbin. “I’ve felt nervous all morning.”

“That’s not like you,” my mother said, and she gave me a concerned look.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I offered as an explanation, and I made sure that we sat far away from Changbin at the other end of the cafe.

Eventually, my mother clapped her hands together when a waitress brought our food. It seemed tantalizing, and I took a bite of my sandwich before quietly sneaking another glance in Changbin’s direction. The action was automatic, and I was crushed to see that he was gone. “Are you sure that boy was just a classmate?”

I sighed because leave it to my psychologist mother to understand everything better than anyone else. “I don’t know.”

My mother offered me a sympathetic smile, and I watched as her hand enclosed over mine. “Tell me about him.”

“I think we were friends,” I offered hesitantly. “But I screwed everything up.”

“What happened?”

“He was mad because I decided to practice instead of going to a party with him, which is really stupid since we have auditions,” I said. “I mean, we weren’t really ever that close.”

“Are you sure?” my mother asked, and I groaned at the look on her face because I had seen it many times before. “Did you spend time together outside of class?”

“Well, yeah...”

“Doing what?”

I considered her question, recalling my first meeting with Changbin as something inconsequential. But afterward, it seemed that our time started to matter more, like when Changbin came over to my dorm in the middle of the night because I was panicking over a calculus exam. Or, when he took me aside after class because I made a dumb mistake and he reassured me that it would only make me stronger. And then there were the little things in between those moments - casual conversations during our classes and lunch, walks to and from our dormitories, and hooking Changbin on one of my favorite dramas that I liked to watch when it felt like the world was too difficult to manage on my own...

I glanced up at my mother, and there was a sad smile waiting for me. “Y/N, I think you’ve made a mistake.”

Her assessment was difficult to accept because I had spent my whole life believing that I couldn’t afford to make mistakes. I always panicked on anything that strayed from perfection, and my mind was stubborn and impenetrable when it came to the smallest of errors. And considering the idea of losing Changbin as a mistake? It was an enormous blow.

“What can I do to fix it?” I asked my mother, and I was startled by my own voice because it sounded so small and insecure.

“That’s up to you to decide,” my mother said. “Some mistakes can be fixed in a million different ways, but some are so severe that you have to really think about the consequences.”

The nerves that I had experienced before were suddenly affecting me tenfold, and I knew that there was only one thing that I could do to remedy the worst mistake of my life.

Stage fright used to be a foreign concept to me, but when I walked across the stage for my audition, the heat of the overhanging lights added to the sweat glistening on my skin, and it seemed like I was experiencing tunnel vision when I managed to single out a familiar face. As such, I could see Changbin in the audience, watching me with narrowed eyes. It was a look that I never expected to receive from someone who was normally so quiet and reserved. And I couldn’t stand to know that it was because I had been so cruel to a man who had stood loyally by my side.

“Y/N,” my Professor greeted me warmly, shifting through the papers on the table in front of him. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I tightened my grip around my violin, positioning it between my neck and shoulder as I had done a thousand times before. But this time was different because I already knew the outcome, and there was a tremendous weight being lifted from my shoulders as I pulled the bow across the string with too much pressure. The accompanying screeching noise was jarring, and I could see some of my classmates flinching in reaction.

Meanwhile, my Professor’s mouth had fallen open in shock, and I closed my eyes and sighed. “Thank you,” I said, bowing in front of my stunned Professor before I walked off the stage.

It was hard to remember what happened thereafter, but I recalled ignoring the voices of my classmates backstage, fighting the crowd for the fresh air waiting outside. But the sunlight was the first thing that I really felt, and it was warm and reassuring against my skin as I inhaled with several, deep breaths. It was a beautiful day, and I found myself smiling as I walked over to one of the little benches waiting along the edges of the giant auditorium building.

For a moment, I wondered what my younger self would think about this strange turn of events. Surely, past Y/N would launch into some sort of tirade about how irresponsible I was being with our future, telling me about the “path” that we needed to follow in order to find success in life. And it was stunning that one kind-hearted boy, with dark hair and eyes, had managed to show me what it was like to appreciate something more than music. Because it wasn’t everything that life had to offer, and I really wanted to take advantage of the other exciting adventures that I had scorned in favor of longer practices or reading textbooks about the countless theories of instrumentals.

What a waste of time, I thought to myself, craning my head back until I could feel the pressure lessen in my neck.

“Do you understand what you just did?”

I opened one eye, finding Changbin standing in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest. My heart reacted to him before my brain, and I scrambled for the right words to describe everything that had happened. “I thought about it beforehand.”

“And it seemed like a good idea to you?”

“Considering the circumstances,” I said, giving him my full attention because he deserved nothing less. “I want our Professor to nominate Seo Changbin for the first chair, and I made sure that I couldn’t get in the way of what you deserve.”

Changbin was quiet for a moment, even as his arms fell to his sides. “You did that for me?” Changbin asked with eyes that were alight with wonder.

“Yeah.” I nodded, savoring a passing breeze. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Why?” Changbin asked, and there a slight hint of anger in his tone that told me he hadn’t forgotten my dismissal of him from earlier this week.

However, I was calm when I answered him, like an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders. “For most of my life, I had this idea that there was only one future for me, and I needed to follow some kind of weird, strict plan...” I paused, patting the empty space on the bench next to me. Changbin hesitated for a moment before he sat down. “But lately, I’ve started to really hate that kind of thinking, and I hate the fact that I thought playing music was the only thing that could give my life any sort of meaning. Because it’s really not.”

“Do you believe that?”

I smiled at his innocent question. “Meeting you taught me a lot, and I’ve finally realized that I want other things in my life.”

It was a solemn declaration, and when Changbin looked at me, I knew that it was true. “Like...friends?”

“Yeah, friends,” I agreed, knocking my shoulder against his. “I also want to be a better version of myself. Someone who’s less obsessed with perfection.”

“You want me to think that I’m responsible for this epiphany?” Changbin asked, and his accompanying laugh filled my heart with a bright feeling of happiness.

“It starts with you,” I admitted. “I want you to ace that audition.”

“Well, after hearing all of that...” Changbin trailed off, and he straightened his shoulders. “I have some things that I should tell you.”

“Me?” I repeated, giving him an incredulous look.

“You.” Changbin confirmed, and the way he wrapped an arm around my shoulders was nothing short of delicate. “I like you a lot, Y/N,” he confessed. “This whole fight...I’m glad that you seem happier, but I would’ve never let it last. I need to be around you, and I want you to understand because I’m hoping for something even bigger than friendship.”

I swallowed hard, processing his words. “What do you mean?”

“Something like this,” Changbin said, and I wasn’t expecting the soft fingers directing my head to the side. But I really could’ve never anticipated the first touch of our lips together - gentle and inquisitive. They were soft like the rest of him, and it reminded me of a velvety touch that was impossible to resist. “Look at me, Y/N,” Changbin requested, and I forced my eyes to open to meet his gaze. “Forget about competitions or cliques,” he said. “Let’s just make it Y/N and Seo Changbin. I think that might benefit us both.”

I laughed at his explanation, but there was nothing humorous about the affection in his dark gaze or the beautiful intimacy that could only be shared between two people who had finally made their peace with the union of our two very different souls.

#stayverse #stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #skz #skz fanfic #seo changbin #seo changbin fanfic #seo changbin angst #changbin fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Love, Maybe? {23}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Mild Cursing, Plot, Slow Burn, Fluff

Word Count: 4K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

***Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 23: The Four Musketeers

-Chris-

He’d never been more scared in all his life, and that included when he was ten years old walking him from school after he’d cut Jenny Park’s hair. He was afraid because he had to face his mother and whatever punishment she came up with and then had to face his sister Carly. It was not a fun afternoon. Matter of fact he didn’t have any fun for a month.

He was filled with the same feeling of dread today, standing outside his sister Carly’s house where his siblings were inside waiting for him. Thanks to Scott and his big mouth they all knew, and he knew it was a matter of time before his mother also did. Now there was this new bit of information. Sighing, he walked the path to the front porch. Once in front of the door, he lifted his hand to knock, but the door flew open, and he was face to face with Carly and Shanna who each had a similar look of anger and confusion. He groaned and thought to himself it was going to be a long day.

He walked inside and to where Scott was no doubt hiding, the kitchen. Sure enough there he was sitting at the island sipping a beer. When he walked in, Scott turned and gave him an apologetic look. “Ya didn’t even last a day!” Just like that they all began talking at once, over each other. He heard what they all said and responded as they spoke their next sentences. It went on this way for a full ten minutes before Carly let loose a loud whistle. Everyone stopped and looked to her.

“Everyone shut your yaps!” He groaned and lamented the oncoming conversation and questioning. He walked to the fridge and took out his own beer. After opening it against the side of the wooden island he took a few heavy gulps.

“Chris, sit down,” Carly instructed. “I’d rather stand for now.”

“I’ll sit down,” Shanna said, sinking into one of the stools at the island. Silence filled the room, and he realized all their eyes were on him. He rolled his eyes.

“Okay, let me start,” Scott began. “Oh, I think we’ve had enough of you starting,” he interjected.

“It slipped out Chris; I didn’t mean to say anything. I’m sorry.”

“Why were you trying to keep secrets from us anyway? What the hell, Chris!”

“I didn’t know how to tell you guys. Plus I knew once you knew then ma wouldn’t be far behind.”

“Oh, ma is gonna kill you. Explain!” He raked his fingers through his hair and leaned on the fridge.

“Who is this woman? How the hell could she keep something like this from you? What kind of woman does that?” Carly was livid. He didn’t know if her anger was more directed at him or you. He didn’t want his family hating you, but he knew once the truth came out the possibility was likely.

“We had a fling in Vegas a while back, one or two nights. She went her way, and I went mine. I didn’t know until maybe two months or so ago.”

“Two months? Chris,” Carly sighed out. “Where was the protection?” He scoffed and drank more from his bottle.

“The one time it didn’t cross my mind.”

“Jesus Chris.” She paced then spun around. “Who is this woman!?” He’d heard the question the first time, but he bypassed it. He couldn’t now.

“Just a woman.” Shanna jumped up then and scurried to her bag then came back with a magazine in her hand. She flipped through the pages and dropped it on the island top. “Is this her?” He took the magazine and leaned closer to the blurry image. It was you he knew it. It looked like it was taken outside the same place you both were bombarded in front of her restaurant. He clenched his jaw and sent a text to his incompetent lawyers to get to work on it. He didn’t want you hounded.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” All three of them grabbed the magazine and dug their noses in it trying to make out what they could. He was grateful they couldn’t make out anything.

“Don’t worry about who she is. You have a niece. Her name is Ella, and she will be two soon. She’s perfect.” He put his phone down showing them the picture you’d sent him earlier that day of her eating a cookie. Shanna and Carly both gasped then let out a collective “aw.”

“She has your eyes, Chris,” Shanna informed. He nodded. “She’s gorgeous,” Carly added. He smiled unable to hold it back anymore.

“What kind of woman hides a child from her father?”

“She says she didn’t do it out of spite. When we knew each other, I wasn’t this stable. Remember me almost three years ago?”

They each slowly nodded. “You were pictured with a different woman almost every night,” Shanna very vocally announced. “It was not every night.”

“Yeah, it was. You couldn’t keep it in your pants little brother,” Carly added. Scott snorted and tried to stifle his laughter.

“Whatever. I was single and enjoying life. Anyway, who I was then—a kid—there was no way that would have worked. I’ve done a lot of thinking and assessing mainly taking my feelings out of the equation. From an outsider looking in which is what she was, I was a hot mess.”

“Are you saying you condone what she did?” He looked at Carly’s big eyes. She was shocked. He was too. Two months ago he would never have been able to admit you were right, or think about the fact that your worries and concerns were valid. He could do that now. He didn’t condone what you did, but he was able to understand your choices; especially after spending time with Ella and feel the smallest part of the weight of having a child. He wanted to protect her from anything and everything. He understood how you felt.

“I don’t condone it, but I understand where she was coming from. I don’t like it, not at all, I missed a lot, and I’ll never be able to get that time back. Sometimes it makes me angry and resentful, but I don’t want to live in the past anymore. I want to find a way to make this work. She’s incredible, and I want to be her father.”

His siblings stared at him, then their smiles appeared.

“Wow, little brother all grown up, a baby,” Carly said as tears filled her eyes.

“Shut up you sap.” They all laughed then hugged in a group. He was grateful this wasn’t too bad, grateful that they weren’t angry with him for keeping this secret and thankful they’d accepted it so easily. He’d imagined tens of different scenarios where this went a whole lot differently.

“Ma is going to kill you.” Again, they all laughed, but it wasn’t a humored laugh. It was a nervous one, one they shared because now they all knew the secret.

The four of them sat at the island and ate some of the lasagna that Carly made while they asked tens of questions about Ella, questions he happily answered, and the more he answered he realized he knew a fair amount about her. That fact alone made him realize how far things had come.

By the time he left his sister’s house it was nearing nine. He made a stop at his friend’s house to pick up Dodger and went for a long walk hoping to clear his head.

As he walked down the familiar streets of his childhood, he allowed his mind to wander without controlling it. He smiled when he caught a whiff of apple pie. He could go for a slice. He followed his nose and made it to the nearby bakery and ordered a pie. As he drove back to his place his mind ran on you. He wondered what you were doing right now and imagined you were lying in bed scrolling through the tv lineup or working nonstop. He got the feeling you were a workaholic. As his mind drifted to what you may be wearing he took notice to how his palms began to sweat.

In the last week since the night on the cliff he’d had plenty of dreams about you, some were innocent, and others were so far from innocent they would make the worst sinner blush. He’d thought long and hard about what he may be feeling, and where his head currently was. He knew he didn’t hate you; he also knew that he still found you attractive, he also knew his body still reacted to you like oil to flame, and he struggled more lately to keep tight reins on his wanton thoughts.

The news that you were in fact still married was a huge monkey wrench for him. He’d just gotten used to the fact he had a daughter that he didn’t know, only just got used to the fact that you’d lied to him for so long. He’d just gotten over most of the hurt of knowing all of that and was beginning to figure out his place in Ella’s life. Now he still had a place in your life as well.

When he walked inside his home, he let Dodger roam free then laid out some food for him. He decided to hop in the shower. He hoped the steam would help him unwind. After ten minutes of thoughtlessness he was ambushed by thoughts of you again.

“Does she even want me in her life?”

The question was one he’d asked himself before, but it was concerning Ella, always with Ella. Now he was thinking of you alone. Your actions were polite; they didn’t point to either possibility. It looked as if you could take him or leave him. Your indifference made him a little insecure, and it drove him crazy. He wasn’t used to the feeling. He was always secure with himself. You gave off the feeling like you wanted to keep space between you. Every time the two of you seemed to be having a good time, or conversation was flowing, and the air around you changed something always happened, and in seconds it felt like the ice age. He didn’t know what he’d done. He began to wonder if this was from the present or the past. He wanted to bring it up, but he also didn’t want to ruin what was. You’d just gotten to a point where he didn’t lash out because of your actions, and you didn’t become angry defensive. He liked where you were now, but he couldn’t ignore the part of him that wanted more.

“I want more.” He sat on his bed still wrapped in his towel, staring out shocked by it. “How much more?” That was now the question. “Does she want more? Bro, she doesn’t act like it.”

Groaning, he dropped back onto his bed and sighed out trying to push the thoughts away. Suddenly his eyes snapped open. “We’re still married. Maybe if I keep it that way it’ll give me a chance to get to know her—outside of Ella.” He sat up and thought about his half-brained plan. “Maybe I should date my wife.” The words together had him laughing; it was ridiculous.

When he finally sat back down, he had the apple pie with him. He turned on the TV in the bedroom and allowed dodger to jump up on the bed. It was there they stayed. When his phone rang he reached over for it and saw it was a Facetime call from you. He smiled as he answered.

“Hi.” Your face popped up, but you didn’t speak. Your eyes also weren’t looking in his. He looked down and realized he was shirtless. He thought to turn the camera away to pull on a shirt but decided against it.

“Let’s do a little experiment.”

“Vixen?” You shook your head and cleared your throat. “Sorry, hi.” He smiled and straightened his back against his headboard.

“Did I wake you? It’s after eight.”

“Uh, no, it’s actually close to midnight where I am, and no you didn’t wake me.”

“Where are you?”

“Remember I told you I had to go back home for a day or two?” You closed your eyes and hit your head.

“I forgot, I’m sorry. Wow there’s been so much going on here.” He smiled and nodded; he completely understood. You worked too much.

“It’s okay; I get it. You’re doing a lot, being supermom, your restaurant, it’s a lot.” You didn’t speak again for a few moments. You just stared at him.

“Um, I was uh I was thinking about Ella’s birthday.”

“It’s coming up, right?” You nodded. He smiled getting excited. “What are you planning?”

“I wasn’t sure. It’s like so many things are different now.”

“What do you normally do?” You took a deep breath, and it was then he realized you were in bed. The nightgown you wore was a low cut one, and he could tell you weren’t wearing a bra. He shifted in the bed forcing his brain to focus on what you were saying.

“Well, it was her first birthday we did a party. I wanted to do one this year too but you’re—present and no one knows. I haven’t told my parents.”

“You’re not alone there. I told Scott my brother told him not to say anything, he did, and now I just told my sisters. My parents still don’t know.” You were looking down. “You okay?”

“Do they hate me?” You looked scared, and he had an overwhelming desire to protect you. Again, he shifted in the bed.

“I won’t let them hate you.” You looked to him with a shocked expression on your face.

“Don’t you hate me?” He began to wonder if that’s what you’d thought this whole time. He sat up and leaned closer to the camera and licked his lips. Your eyes fell to them.

“Vixen, I don’t hate you. If I’m being fully honest I tried to hate you. I tried really hard, but I couldn’t.” Several more moments passed with neither of you speaking; you just stared at him. He wondered what you were thinking.

“Why not?” You were really asking the tough questions, questions he still had yet to ask himself because he was afraid of the answer.

“Guess you’re just that likable.” He took the punk way out; he could live with it for now. You looked down, and it was then he heard Ella’s screams. You smiled then bent down, and Ella’s face came into frame. His smile spread.

“Cwis!” she waved excitedly into the camera, and he did the same.

“How are you?” She nodded then laid her head on your chest, which brought his eyes to your exposed cleavage. He was glad the camera stopped just below his chest.

“Why don’t you tell Chris what you did today, Ella.” She smiled sheepishly then began talking, and he just sat there listening to her broken words as they mixed with some proper ones to form a very detailed description of her day. He could listen to her talk all day, and he was getting better at understanding her words.

By the time she finished talking, she ran off, and he was left with your smiling face. He released something close to a content sigh. “You okay?” he nodded.

“I’m telling my parents tomorrow.” You make a yikes face then lay back onto your pillows. Your bed looked like it smelled of candy and flowers.

“It’s okay if you let them hate me. I understand.” You sounded defeated. He knew they wouldn’t hate you. They’d be angry and concerned for him. They’d also worry you may be like the women they’d warned him about in his early Hollywood days.

“They won’t hate you. They’ll be cautious,” he clarified. You snorted and shook your head.

“That's just a nice way of saying polite hate.” He smiled and sunk in his bed. Dodger dropped a paw across his face.

“Oh my god, is that a dog?” He shifted the camera to show Dodger, and your eyes bugged out.

“Oh my god, you have a dog. Duh. Wow.”

“What do you mean duh?”

“Through the years I’d seen magazine pictures of you and your dog, and heard you mention him in interviews. I just forgot.”

“Are you saying you’ve been keeping tabs on me these last few years?” Your eyes bugged out again, and you looked like you wanted to die. He pinched his lips thoroughly enjoying the fact you were embarrassed.

“Uh—I didn’t—I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did. you followed my interviews and tabloid sightings?” You were squirming, and he loved it not only because you’d let something slip but because you looked so tortured.

“Wow, that is not what I meant. In passing you’d be on magazine covers and friends would read the articles and talk about it,” you stuttered out. You then groaned. “Shit, not what I meant. Damn, fine yes I’d see things about you from time to time. How could I not you’re everywhere.” He laughed, and you soon joined in. “I wasn’t stalking you.”

“Oh, I know. You would never, right.” You shook your head and rolled your eyes. Again, he put dodger into the frame. “This is Dodger. Can you say hello Dodger? This is Vixen.” Dodger licked the camera, and you smiled.

“Hi, Dodger. You’re such a cute little thing. Yes, you are.” Dodger barked then yelped into the camera which prompted the cutest little smile he’d ever seen. It was then Ella came running back in. “Doggie!” she proceeded to marvel over Dodger who was equally interested in this tiny human. Ella grabbed your phone and from then on it was her and Dodger, neither you or he could get any screen time.

After almost an hour, Ella was finally asleep on your chest, and Dodger whimpered clearly missing his new fixation. He was okay being replaced as long as it was by Ella. Your face came back into frame, and it was then he felt like he’d gotten hit upside his head with a brick. This was what he wanted. He wanted to hear Ella talk all day and all night until she passed out mid-sentence. He wanted to watch her, and Dodger interact and love each other, he wanted to watch her cuddled to you at night, he wanted to be domesticated. His chest felt heavy and tight all at once. He grimaced as the tightness intensified. He’d never felt like this before, and if he didn’t know his body he would think he was having a heart attack, but he knew that wasn’t it.

He wanted Ella, and he wanted you. He wanted lazy mornings, and he wanted fun-filled afternoons no matter if they included the meltdowns of an almost two-year-old. He wanted calm nights filled with The Little Mermaid and every Disney movie ever created; he wanted playgrounds, potties, tea parties, dress up, unicorn themed dance parties and everything else that came with that little girl. He wanted to be by your side when you accomplished every goal you could dream up. He wanted to see every smile, wipe every tear, and give you that beautiful life Zack wanted to. He wanted his family.

“Hello, Chris!” your voice pulled him out of his haze. He didn’t know how long you’d been calling him.

“Yeah, sorry.” You smiled as you held Ella to your chest.

“It’s okay. I’m going to put her down. Do you wanna go or stay?” It was a loaded question for him; it didn’t mean ending the call or not; it meant so much more. He swallowed and heard the gulp. It was so loud that Dodger shifted and looked at him with concerned eyes.

“Stay. I wanna stay.” You didn’t respond or get up right away; instead you studied him. It was as if you’d heard the double meaning in his words. You shook your head and gave a small smile, a smile that spoke of timidness. You didn’t expect him to say it.

“Okay, I’ll uh—um—I’ll be right back then.”

You placed the camera down, and he got a view of the sheets and your exposed thigh before you stood and slowly walked toward your door, the hem of the nightgown danced just under your backside and the reminder of his desire nudged against his sweatpants. He closed his eyes and tried to take some calming breaths. He’d only ever gotten this reaction from you—no one else. He’d taken notice the first person he’d been with after you, of course he pushed it to the side and out his mind and worked to keep it buried but there it was.

His mind went back to their night together at his house. It went over every detail again until he opened his eyes. Leaning over to the nightstand, he took up his wallet and took out the folded paper he held there. He took a deep breath and opened it and reread your words.

When you get the paperwork, send it here and consider it done. Have a nice life. 5578 Carsington Way P.O Box 2687, San Francisco, California.

“Have a nice life” was all his eyes saw. The way he read that sentence three years ago was nonchalant; he didn’t take too much time to think about how you’d meant them. Now he kept thinking about how’d acted the last few weeks; your house in Ella’s room, avoiding him, in the rain, the cliff and every encounter since then. Everything pointed to you not being interested just as you must not have been interested then. He studied the note and continued to debate with himself. When he saw you walk back into the room you leaned forward giving him a perfect view of your cleavage but his body did not react. Insecurities he’d held at bay for years rushed him.

“Sorry that took so long she left a bit of a mess in there, had to clean it up. She laid on her side with her hand holding her head up. The new angle of the camera gave him the perfect view from your head to your thighs. You looked like a dream. His dream.

“But am I hers?”

“Is everything all right?”

He shook his head, “Yeah, sorry, I’m—lost in my head tonight.” He rubbed his face trying to snap out of it.

“It’s okay. You’re entitled. Um, I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days,” you began. His breath hitched, and his pulse sped.

“About what?” You chewed your bottom lip and toyed with your fingers.

“Um—well—the last few months have been great. You’ve gotten to know Ella better, and she’s gotten to know you. She likes you, not a little either, like a lot. You’re really good with her, and I can tell you care about her.”

“I love her.” You froze, and he saw the glisten of tears in your eyes before you lowered your head. After a few moments you cleared your throat.

“I know we haven’t gotten everything ironed out with how we’ll co-parent, but you said you wanted to be involved--.”

“I do, more than anything,” he added. You nodded.

“So--you’re going to be around.”

“Yeah, definitely, as much as you let me. I’d love to be around more for her too.”

You didn’t speak again, you looked down, and his insecurities said you didn’t like that. For all he knew you probably didn’t want him anywhere. Looking at you he felt more insecure than he’d ever been. It was a feeling he didn’t like.

“It’s late,” he began. A look of shock washed over you before you covered it with an aloof expression. Irritation filled him.

“Yeah, night,” you responded and quickly ended the call. He sat there lost in his thoughts and unsure what he’d said.

~~~~~~~~~~~

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#love maybe fic #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic #chris evans smut

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harley-sunday · 5 years ago

Text

10 Things I Hate About You [03]

Summary: Based on the RomCom ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ we follow the reader as she tries to win over Bucky Barnes so his best friend can finally go on a date. Entry for @arrowsandmixtapes RomCom Challenge

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (f) & Steve Rogers x Maria Hill

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2.5k

AN: Woo boy, this one’s a roller coaster of emotions. Hope you enjoy :) ♥

Masterlist

“Hello, Petra,” Nat says with a grin as she joins you in the locker room of the shooting range. This is the way she always greets you before your Sunday afternoon session and so you know what comes next in her spiel, “Make anyone cry today?”

“Sadly, no.” You look up at her and wink, “But it is only four-thirty.”

She laughs, “Atta girl.”

Opening your locker you take out the Glock 17 that you’ve had ever since you started in this business. It’s lightweight and easy to take care of, and even though you have tried several other guns you always come back to this one. Clicking the chamber in place you check that the safety’s on before you tuck it into the holster that’s around your thigh.

“Hey Nat,” you say, letting the protective earmuffs you’ve just taken out of your locker hang around your neck as you close the door and let the combination lock hang loose - there’s nothing of value in there now anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Just exactly how much of I date do I need to go on with Bucky before Hill can ask Steve out?” you ask, arms folded in front of your chest as you wait for her to get ready.

“Why?”

“We’re going out for drinks Friday evening,” you say, a little surprised that you’re actually looking forward to spending some time with him without anyone else around. “So, I don’t know, maybe that’s enough?”

She holsters her gun and catches up with you at the door before you walk to the firing lanes together. She turns to you then, a sly smile playing around her lips, “If you can get him to go to Tony’s party with you next weekend-”

“Oh please,” you scoff, “consider it done.”

“- and report back to me when he does, then I’ll let Hill know she can ask Steve to be her date.”

During Thursday’s training session he wants to test your endurance which he claims is for scientific reasons but you think is just to piss you off. He sets out to have you to do five Cooper tests in a row and even though you suggested going outside, he argued the treadmill would give him more accurate results and so here you are, on the piece of workout equipment you loathe more than anything. To say that by now you’re in a bad mood would be an understatement.

The first two twelve-minute runs were fine, you managed 2,5k both times, although the second one was definitely a challenge. He’s relentless though and so now you’re already halfway through your third test, cursing and sweating while he’s standing there, stopwatch in hand, encouraging you to keep going with a shit-eating grin. You'd like to be able to say that after a while you find your rhythm, that it gets easier, but the truth of the matter is you hate every second of it and so once your time is up you step off the treadmill and reach for your water bottle.

“Two more,” he says from somewhere behind you, “come on.”

“No thanks. I’m done.”

“I’m sorry,” he stands in front of you now, hands on his hips, “what?”

“I’m done,” you repeat before you take another sip of water. “I hate running. Passionately. Like, I firmly believe people should only run as a child or when they’re being chased.” You look up at him, “And right now, I’m neither.”

He tries to keep a straight face but he fails and laughs, “Can’t argue with that logic.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile. Small victories and all that.

“You are amazingly self-assured,has anyone ever told you that?”

You shrug, “I tell myself that every day, actually.”

He shakes his head and dismisses you with a wave of his hand, “Go. Hit the shower.” He laughs then, “We’re done for today.”

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask as you grab your towel and water bottle.

“Yup,” he nods, “I’ll meet you out front at eight.”

“Ooooh, someone’s got a hot date tonight,” Natasha calls from across her room.

You throw her what you hope is a death glare, making your way to her closet without even asking for permission. You locate what you came here for within seconds, pulling them out with a triumphant, “Ha!”

“Sure. Of course you I’ll lend my black biker boots,” Nat says, her voice laced with sarcasm, “no need to ask.”

“You’re the whole reason I’m even going on this date,” you bite back, “I’d say you owe me one.” You sit down next to her on the couch, putting on the socks you brought along before you squeeze into the boots.

“Come on,” she claps her hands once you zip them up. “Let’s see the look.”

You stand up, not giving her the twirl she’s asking for out of spite. You’re wearing a simple grey top, paired with black jeans and Nat’s biker boots. “I figure I’d wear that jean jacket with it?”

“Ugh, no,” Nat scrunches her nose in disgust. She gets up then and starts rummaging through her closet, pulling out a black leather jacket not much later. She thrusts it into your hands, “here.”

“Thanks,” you say, and you mean it. It completes the look perfectly and you throw her a kiss before you head back to your room again.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she calls after you.

You let out a laugh and yell back, “Already doing it!”

He’s making you wear a helmet that covers most of your face, which is a good thing because you’re sure you’re looking like an absolute idiot, grinning from ear to ear ever since you climbed onto the motorbike about an hour ago. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, even though your hands never quite meet. Your chin is level with his shoulder as you take in the winding road you’re driving on, admiring the beautiful surroundings. It’s still warm outside and so the wind that accompanies you while you’re driving is actually pleasant.

There’s this weird feeling in the pit of your stomach, like you could start crying at any moment even though there’s no reason to, and you wonder if this is what happiness feels like. He turns into a sideroad then, pointing to a building a little further down the road and so you don’t really have a chance to explore whatever it is you’re feeling, now curious to see where he’s taking you.

The building turns out to be a pub which, from the outside, looks like it has seen better days. He parks the bike right out front, and waits for you to get off before he lets it settle on the kickstand and joins you on the curb.

“That was amazing,” you say as you hand your helmet to him.

He just smiles, running a hand through his hair to get it back into shape. “Come on,” he says as he nods towards the door.

You’re a little hesitant, because the place definitely looks worse for wear, but then you follow him inside and a quiet, “Wow,” escapes you. It looks like time has stood still here, but in a good way, the wood of the bar and the tables and the stools polished to a shine, the floor looking like it was put in just yesterday, and the decor flawless.

A few other people are scattered across the room, two of them sitting at the bar but not together. Must be regulars, you figure, because it’s definitely that kind of place. Bucky leads you to a table in the far corner, waiting for you to sit down before he does the same. “This place is stunning,” you say as you look around you, taking it all in. The walls are covered in black and white pictures, mostly men in uniform with big smiles on their faces.

“You should be able to find me and the boys in here somewhere,” Bucky says with a sad smile, nodding towards the frames, “I remember they took our picture right before we were shipped off to Europe.” His eyebrows knit together then and he seems a little lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

Even if you wanted to ask him about it, you can’t, because it’s then the bartender joins you at your table and asks what he can get you. You order a Heineken, while Bucky gets a coffee because he still has to drive back.

“Promise me you’ll at least let me offer you a beer when we get back then?” you ask.

“Sure,” he says with a grin.

“What?”

“You’re actually a lot nicer than people make you out to be.” The bartender’s back then, and Bucky waits until he’s put the drinks on the table and is back at the bar before he continues, “I guess we both have a reputation, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nod solemnly, because yes, you do. You look back at him, “What’s your excuse?”

“For?”

“Acting the way we do,” you say as you take a sip of your beer, hoping he won’t be offended by your question.

“I don’t like to do what people expect,” Bucky admits easily even though he doesn’t look at you instead turning his coffee cup around on the saucer. Then, with a shrug, “Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?

You smile, “So you disappoint them from the start and then you’re covered, right?”

“Something like that,” he agrees. He looks up at you then, “What about you?”

“Same, I guess.”

He stretches out his legs and gently kicks your foot under the table, “Then you screwed up.”

You’re in the middle of taking a sip of your beer and so it takes you a second to reply, “How?”

“You never disappointed me.”

He takes the long way home after you told him how much you love it on the bike and so you don’t get back to the compound until it’s almost midnight where you both agree to take a rain check on that beer you’ve offered him.

You’re a little stiff from being seated for so long and so you lean heavy on him to get off the bike, letting out a groan when you toss your leg over. The visor of his helmet’s already up and so you can only see the laughter lines in the corners of his eyes when he looks at you from over his shoulder, but it isn’t hard to imagine the smile that usually goes along with it.

You hand him your helmet and watch as he places them in one the racks that line the walls of this particular garage. There are a dozen or so other motorbikes in here, and you recognize the one that belongs to Nat, a vicious machine custom built to suit her needs. You prefer Bucky’s bike though, a Triumph ‘64, which honestly you only know because he told you earlier tonight.

Once he’s finished putting everything back where it belongs he joins you and together you walk to the elevator bay. For a moment you worry about running into someone, about rumors being spread as so often happens around here, but it’s late and the hallways are empty and so it’s just you and him.

Once the elevator dings to let you know you’ve arrived on your floor you start to say your goodbyes, because he’s one floor above you, but he cuts you off, “I’ll walk you to your door, come on.”

“Thank you.” You look up at him, “For tonight, I mean. I really had a good time.”

He nods, “Yeah, me too.”

You arrive at your room then, and so now it’s a little awkward. He’s standing next to you, hands in the pockets of his jeans, eyes darting across the hallway. You punch in your access code on the keypad that’s mounted to the wall and wait for it to unlock before you push the door open, turning to him when you do.

Placing one hand on his shoulder for balance you stand on your toes and gently kiss his cheek, “Goodnight, Bucky.”

He nods, smiling then, “Goodnight.”

You watch him as he starts to walk away, hands still in the pockets of his jeans but his head held a little higher now. “Hey, Buck?”

He turns around, a curious look passing over his face, “Yeah?”

You take a deep breath, actually feeling a little nervous? Weird. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go to Tony’s party with me?”

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and you want to tell him, never mind, because you know he never really goes to these sort of things, but he surprises you, “I’d like that.”

You’re not sure what happened because he wasn’t supposed to be there. The shooting range is not where he usually hangs out on Sunday afternoons, which you know because you’ve never seen him there during your sessions with Nat before. And so it’s what you keep telling yourself as you go after him. He wasn’t supposed to be there.

You can see him ahead of you, walking with that murder strut you know from the footage you’ve seen of him when people still called him The Winter Soldier. He looks menacing even from behind with his shoulder squared and you actually have to start running if you ever want to catch up with him. The irony of that, what with his fucking Cooper test last week, is not lost on you, thank you very much.

You hear Nat and Maria call something at you but you’re too far away and so you hold up your hand to let them know you didn’t get any of it. It doesn’t matter anyway, all you need to do right now is catch up with Bucky and explain. He’s only about thirty or so feet ahead of you and so you step it up and set into a sprint down the long hallway.

“Bucky, stop!” You’re panting now, coming to a halt in front of him.

For a moment it looks like he’s about to walk straight through you, but you hold your ground, finding his eyes to let him know you’re not budging. You expect him to look angry, or maybe even ready to kill well, you, but he actually looks hurt which makes it ten times worse. It makes you want to cry.

“Fuck,” you mutter quietly, because you’re more out of breath than you’d like to admit, a sheen of sweat covering your face while you try to catch your breath.

“Is it true?” His voice is low and it’s not that you’re scared of him per se, but now you understand why people tend to avoid him. If you didn’t know any better you’d probably do to. He might look hurt, but he sounds fucking dangerous.

“Yes.” No point in lying, you decided when you went after him. You’re not here to give him excuses, you here to tell him the truth. If he’ll let you of course.

“So you only went out with me as a favor to Hill?”

You contemplate your answer for a moment, but it looks like the damage is already done and so there’s really no use trying to defend yourself, “That’s not the full story, but yes.”

He steps around you then, “We’re done.”

#Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fanfic #RomComWC #Harley Sunday x Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes

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storytime-hoe · 5 years ago

Text

Tough Love Ch.16

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x O/C

Summary: Story picks up during season three as the group goes into Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor. However, they pick up another prisoner of Woodbury, Emma (O/C). She is a thief who fears friendships after her hard losses. She stays on the move, studying communities from afar and then robbing them blind. She has stayed alive this way for a while until the Governor catches her in the act. Now she finds herself with the group from the prison in a mission to kill the Governor for what he has done to her. She plans on stealing supplies from the prison group after the Governor is killed, but she might be growing a little too close to the groups members, especially one man in particular: Daryl Dixon.

Warnings: Slow burn, language, usual twd violence, mentions of abuse/rape

Authors Note: I really like this chapter so I hope all you amazing people do too. Also, I am thinking this might go to about 23 chapters. Maybe? That is not a definite number yet but somewhere around there. The way I am ending it leaves room for a sequel too if people would want that by the time it is over and of course if I have time and want to keep writing, which I probably will.

Previously: Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10 Ch.11 Ch.12 Ch.13 Ch.14 Ch.15

Once you’ve spent a night sleeping next to someone you care about so much, it leaves you with an empty feeling when you have to sleep alone again. Take my word for it, it fucking sucks.

I stirred through the entire night, not staying asleep for more than twenty minutes at a time before a nightmare or a tremor woke me up. And when I was awake, all I could think about was Daryl wanting me to stop looking for the Governor. Then, eventually, my mind went over the all of the events up in the guard tower like how fucking incredible he felt against me while we dance, and then the memories always ended with the sound of me slapping him and the stupid hurt look on his face right before I left him.

I shouldn’t have hit him. That wasn’t right of me, but I was so fucking angry and I can’t contain my emotions well, especially if I had just downed a bottle of vodka.

I wanted him to know that I didn’t mean to do it, but then again, he deserved it. He couldn’t ask me to give up on something as big as the Governor. I had practically dedicated my life to revenge on that man. Daryl knew that.

So fuck ‘em both.

I gave up on sleep just before the sun started rising. I got ready in a few minutes and started to head out like I had every mouthing for months. This time I wasn’t in a perky mood. I wasn’t going to turn the corner and see a shinning Daryl waiting to go out with me.

No, today I was determined. Everything about me screamed “fuck off” from my resting bitch face to the power in each of my steps.

Outside of the gates I started down the trail that I had taken a dozen times, going to pick up right where I had left off the previous morning. I thought Daryl might actually leave me alone out here after I had slapped him last night, but that was stupid of me to think, because his heavy footsteps were pounding up behind me ini minutes. He obviously wasn’t trying to conceal his presence here with me.

"I told you. Trail went cold." His voice dripped attitude already; he was out here for a fight and I was ready to fucking give him one.

"Yeah, well that's not good enough for me," I spat, keeping to my trail and not bothering to stop and look at him.

"Ya can't come out here by yerself. S'not safe."

I gritted my teeth and spun around to face him. He was closer than I thought he was to me. We both straightened up dominantly, trying to win over the other.

"I don't know what part of you isn't understanding,” I hissed at him, letting the venom roll off my words. “But I don't give a fuck. I'm not stopping and you can't fucking make me."

He grabbed my arm as I tried to storm away from him. Bastard didn’t learn from what happened last time?

"Let me go," I growled lowly at him.

"Nah."

I turned and slammed the palm of my hand against his chest. "Let me go," I screamed at him and tried to twist out of his grasp. "Daryl fucking Dixon I will break your arm if you don't let me go."

"Go ahead," he yelled back in my face, his breath blowing over me. He was inches away and I smelled the cigarettes on his breath. "Break my damn arm. But I ain't lettin’ ya get yerself killed."

My next move was definitely the reckless part of me taking over. It made the slap last night look like a kind gesture actually.

In a rushed and frantic impulse I pulled the gun from my belt and pointed it out in front of me, leveled at his head.

He stared down the barrel of the gun without a sliver of fear in his eyes. "Ya ain't gonna kill me." He sounded so sure of himself that I was tempted to shoot him out of spite. "Ya couldn't kill me if ya tried."

I felt my lip quivering and I rapidly blinked away my tears. Why did he have to be right all the fucking time? Of course I couldn't kill him. He was the only damn person that was keeping me living right now. I could never make myself pull that trigger on him. He was fucking everything to me, without him there was nothing.

His fingers, still wrapped around my wrist, tightened immensely, and he pressed his forehead directly on the gun, daring me with his piercing eyes to blow his brains out.

"Go ahead," he growled out so low it send a shudder through my body. "Add another ghost to haunt you."

I held his gaze through it all and almost couldn't choke back my tears. Every face of the people in my life who were torn out of it flashed across my mind, making me feel guilty about being alive. The squeezing in my chest was almost too much to bare, breathing was becoming considerably harder by the second.

"Can't you just stop caring about me so much?" Desperation. That’s how I would describe how I felt and sounded, how every moment with Daryl was breaking me because I wanted him so fucking back, but I wanted to prioritize other things before him. Other impossible things like finding the Governor.

He stared down the gun at me forever, his eyes searching mine wildly. I could see him deciding what to do in his head. He was debating his next action and let me be the first to say, he made the right choice in the end.

I didn't register what he was doing at first. I only heard him growl out a simple "no" as his crossbow clanged to the ground and he yanked on my arm, causing me to crash into his chest. Simultaneously, his other hand came up to hold my face to his in the most desperate and hungry kiss I'd ever had, my arm holding the gun to him moving aside to give him access. He pulled back quickly, thinking he had just made a life changing mistake with risking the kiss. But I wasn't letting him get away that easily.

I toss my gun aside and grabbed onto his vest before he could take a step back and roughly pulled him back into me. The kiss was sloppy from neither of us having done this in a long time, but that’s what made it perfect.

His hand finally let go of the death grip on my wrist and went to my waist. I drank him in thirstily, unable to control the groans that escaped my lips. This only encouraged him more, and I lost my breath when his hands snaked up under my shirt.

I stumbled backwards as he walked me up against the trunk of a tree. He pinned me against it, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, which I welcomed with another moan. My hands trailed up his arms and up under his vest so I could slide it off of him.

He must not have realized I was unbuttoning his shirt until it was off and accompanying his vest on the ground because once it was, he broke away from me in a hurry. All those times I had struggled to read him, he was like an open book now. I saw the insecurity written all over his face as my fingers roamed over his scarred back.

I had seen his back only once, he even always slept in a shirt to keep me from seeing him. It was a complete accident when I had, but he had thrown a hissy fit that ended in me showing him my own scars. The only difference between us was that his were old and from his father, while mine were more recent looking and from his brother. Weren't Dixon's just charming? At least I got lucky with this one.

I cupped his face in my hands and made him look up at me. The shame didn't waver from his eyes as I held them with my own. My mouth quirked up at the corner and in one swift motion, I stripped out of my shirt and discarded it onto the ground too, letting the crisp morning air hit my own scarred back.

"There,” I breathed out at him, “Now we're even."

He scanned my own scars adoringly and when his lips met mine again it was with a new passion. I was consumed with the adoration he felt with every kiss that he trailed down my jaw. I tangled my hands into his long hair, thinking back to how many times I had dreamed of this. His arms held me tighter against him as he kissed down my jaw and to the sensitive skin on my neck where he sucked at my pulse. His low growl only enlightened me more and I tipped my head back in pleasure, the heat rushing between my legs as I held his head to me.

God, he was everything I never knew I needed. I couldn’t get close enough to him, couldn’t drink him all in fast enough. Daryl Dixon was a drug and I was now an addict.

The moment ended when a gunshot rang out through the air, and we flew apart from each other just as fast as we had come together.

I stared in the direction of the prison with wide glazed over eyes, still breathing hard. Daryl had his wits back much sooner than I, already having his shirt back on and partially buttoned up, scooping up his crossbow from where he had dropped it.

"Came from the prison," he said without another glance back at me. "Come on."

I watched him run off as I rubbed my hand over my mouth and sighed. What the hell had just happened? My mind couldn’t comprehend why or how any of that had come about, but I didn’t fucking care as long as it happened again.

I shook out of my stupor and yanked my shirt back over my head, snatching up Daryl’s forgotten vest as well, throwing it on over my shirt to free my hands up for whatever the hell was going on at the prison.

I ran in the direction Daryl had gone, my heart still fluttering in my chest. But all the giddy good feelings in me were gone when we reached the gates with Michonne on our heels. More gunfire came from the prison, Rick sprinting up the yard from his crops as Carl came to open up the gate for us.

Walkers swarmed around all sides of the three of us, drawn to the noise coming from inside the solid walls.

Michonne jumped from her horse and started chopping down the fuckers beside me. Carl had retrieved a gun, the first time he had held one since Rick had confiscated his so long ago, and fired a direct hit. Maggie was frantically running from the guard tower, coming to our aid as well.

But this was nothing compared to the pure chaos we faced once inside.

“Block D,” was all I caught in the frantic conversation that was being shouted around me, but I followed Sasha and Rick into the block, Daryl hot on my heels.

Inside Block D the horrific screams of people dying, of people mourning, of people scared, and all of the fucking above echoed around the cement.

We went to work immediately. Daryl snatched a gun from someones hands and pushed them out of the cell block, handing me the rifle, which I didn’t hesitate to put to use.

I ushered what few living people there were in the block out and to safety while picking off any Walker that was on their heels. I spun around at the sound of a crying kid just in time to see Daryl use his crossbow to put down a Walker and scoop the kid up effortlessly.

My mind was on autopilot, adrenaline coursing through me in a much different way than if previously was in the woods with Daryl. That had been a dream, but this was a literal nightmare. How had this even fucking started? It wasn’t a breech, it was someone from the inside.

Once everyone was out of danger, I followed Rick and Daryl up the steps to the second level of cells in the block. Glenn was already up here, looking out over all the bodies that were now littering the place when another Walker, one we must have missed, came from the room closest to Glenn and nabbed him.

“Get down,” was the guttural command from Daryl as his arrow released, taking down the final threat.

I swiped a hand down my face as I looked around me, I could feel the blood mixed with sweat that coated me from head to toe. “Well, time for cleanup,” I muttered and went to start on the downstairs.

We all dragged bodies out and cleaned away blood and killed any straggling Walkers. This was the most haunting part about this shit, the aftermath. I kept to myself, listening to a girl sobbing over a body that had been covered up with a sheet.

Damn, there was so much loss all the fucking time. I was getting so sick of all the grave digging. For once, I’d like people to die of old age and natural causes, not from war or fucking getting bit. It was all a load of bullshit.

My eyes tore from the sobbing girl as Karen stood at the doorway. I didn’t know her well, but she was one of the first from Woodbury. Tyreese too, and here he was coming up beside her to offer some kind of comfort. The look they gave each other said it all, said how terrible everything was but yet how grateful they were that they still had each other.

That’s when my stomach dropped. That could have been Daryl lying dead on the floor with me sobbing over him. We could have ended up on the bad end of this shit.

I gulped and watched where he was standing upstairs over a body with Rick, Hershel, and a few others. They were talking about the cause of death. It wasn’t a bite or anything, there were no wounds, it was a sickness. It was caused by internal lung pressure building up and when it was to the top it came out of everywhere, ears, eyes, nose, mouth... It was horrifying.

“All of us in here,” I heard Hershel say, “We’ve all been exposed.”

I involuntarily flicked my eyes to Daryl, only to find that he was already looking at me.

I couldn’t imagine if he got sick. I didn’t want to believe he could get sick, but it wasn’t something he could shoot and fight off, this was something he had no control over protecting himself from.

I shuddered at the thought and had to look away from his piercing eyes. I couldn’t let myself think about that. I had more important things to do than worry my head about something that was out of my hands. I couldn’t dwell on what had already happened as I dragged body after body out of the cell block. I couldn’t worry about whatever the hell had happened between me and Daryl in the woods just moments before this.

And like Daryl tried to tell me, I couldn’t worry about the Governor anymore either.

***

Taglist:

@daryldixonandfrogs @jodiereedus22 @xchrisxevansx @bvbwestfall @my-current-fandom-is

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imaginationlane · 5 years ago

Text

The Assistant [Part 7 of ? // Bill Skarsgard x Reader Imagine]

Warnings: Adult Language / Themes, Angst, Sexually Suggestive References & Minimal Gore References (in relation to a dream / nightmare sequence).

Author’s Notes: Because I know that a lot of you have been waiting forever for this, I am back and I am so sorry for the wait. This chapter was supposed to be posted a little while ago, but I wanted to tweak it as this chapter will be important, and has major plot developments -- that will have an effect on future chapters. Plus, the wonderful, talented and amazing @andthereisawoman just recently created a new cover for this fic for me -- that I can’t stop marveling at! How wonderful is this new cover, guys? I’m in love, and I’ve officially found my forever cover lol.

As for this chapter: I will say this, it opens up with a dream / nightmare sequence in Bill's POV -- and the nightmare sequence alone has given me the most hell with this chapter. You guys have no earthly idea how much of a fight that this one scene gave me, for an entire year lol.

Also, the nightmare sequence sort of plays into the fact that Bill admitted shortly after the first IT movie came out, that he had nightmares for a few weeks after filming. While this nightmare will not be centric to the IT film in any way, I can say that the stress of playing such a complex character, and well... an affair, are heavily contributing factors in this scene in the story.

Finally, I’d like to give a big “thank you” to @theswedishblonde for her time in translating several of these dialog lines into Swedish for me. I really and truly, couldn’t do this without their help, and I sincerely appreciate the time they afford to me, whenever I need their help!

I’d also like to publicly thank @poeedamerons & @greenofallshades for literally putting up with my incessant back and forth on this nightmare sequence -- for the past year on Whatsapp lol. Also not tagged (because she’s not here on Tumblr), but no less important, Tav!

Musical Inspiration: I Still Wait For You by: XYLO

Missed the previous chapters and need to catch up? Please check out The Assistant -- Masterlist, here.

Summary:

A night out on the town for a few drinks, was all I had signed up for. But in reality… I got way more than I had ever bargained for when my boss and close personal friend, Bill Skarsgard, asked me to join him during a wrap party that the crew was hosting that night. In hindsight, I should have seen this coming. After all, we were both having issues in our own respective relationships and for some reason, we had found it easier to just confide in each other – rather than in our own significant others. Yet in the end, do the reasons ever truly matter when you begin an affair with your friend who also happens to be your boss? I often ask myself just how selfish could we be; he and I? The answer is: we’re completely selfish and neither of us really cares if this secret burns us alive – because it’s within each other, that we have finally found the things we had been looking for the whole time…

___

Stockholm, Sweden --

Feather-light kisses sprinkled themselves carelessly, all over Bill's shoulders and chest, as he began to stir out of his sleep. Gently luring him out of his serene slumber, a pressing weight could be felt on top of him, as he shifted his body to stretch out on the mattress slightly. Soon enough though, those sweet innocent kisses that he felt tickling against his skin, turned into open-mouthed pecks; leaving a small trail of saliva exposed to the open air. Closer and closer, the affectionate kisses drifted towards his mouth before finally -- Bill opened one eye and peeked at the woman who was adorning his body so tenderly with affection, this morning. Y/N's hair was marginally messy, but in spite of that minuscule detail, she was still a vision of absolute beauty to him. A content sigh filtered through his nose, while a peaceful smile inched its way across his face.

"Good morning to you too," he mumbled gingerly, as she peered up at him and returned his smile with one of her own.

"Mmmm... Good morning baby."

He could tell by her voice that she was perfectly happy, and had probably been awake a little longer than he had. In this perfect moment, there were no worries and absolutely no stress; it was just tranquil bliss. Everything with her was so easy. It always had been, and he was legitimately sorry that it had taken him so long to see it; yet, it was undeniable to him that he was happy that he had finally gotten out of his own way -- and made her his.

Streams of golden sunlight poured through the flimsy and airy curtains, while a gentle breeze blew into the room from the cracked bedroom window. Their home was one he didn't completely recognize, but instinctively, he knew it was theirs. It was a perfect late spring morning, and he could almost smell the scent of freshly cut grass lingering in the air. The tranquilizing sound from the wind chimes outside, meandered throughout the room, as he took a deep breath in from his nostrils; feeling the air expand in his chest. He could smell her faint perfume from the night before; and it instantly made him want her in the worst way -- all over again. Judging from her actions, however, he deduced that he wasn't the only one in the mood again this morning.

Grabbing her face with both hands, he pulled Y/N up towards him -- closing the gap between them and kissed her ever so affectionately. Bill could feel her relax into his warm embrace; coxing out a renewed spark of passion from him. Her breathy little moan, virtually undid him right then and there as his tongue intertwined with hers. Before he knew it, he pushed her down on the bed and hovered over her perfect body that he couldn't get nearly enough of. Y/N broke the kiss just long enough to pull her tank top over her, and Bill was more than pleased to assess that she wasn't wearing a bra. For a moment, he closely contemplated telling her that there was a new rule between them: She was no longer allowed to wear any bras. It had to be considered a crime against nature to keep something as magnificent as her breasts, hidden under such an annoying and burdensome garment.

Returning his attention to the task at hand, Bill's lust-filled eyes wandered back to the gorgeous woman in his arms; a woman he simply couldn't function without -- no matter how hard he tried. Her breath came out as ragged pants and gasps, as he continued kissing her neck and working his way down to her perfectly shaped peaks.

"As much as I'm enjoying this attention, and trust me Bill, I'm enjoying the hell out of this -- I did leave our breakfast on the stove," she hummed softly, hoping to divert his attention away from his task.

Begrudgingly, he pulled away; not wanting to actually stop just yet -- but willing to do so if she insisted.

"Is it still cooking or is it already made, and just waiting on us? Because if it's already done, I don't see why we just can't keep going," he chuckled lightly, causing her to giggle as well. Gingerly, she pushed him back once more.

"It's still cooking, babe. I just came in here to wake you up. But I'll make you a deal... I'll go finish preparing the rest of our breakfast, without my top on -- and you can even watch. Deal?"

He had to admit, the promise of watching her prepare breakfast topless, was a tempting prospect indeed.

"Fine," he sighed tiredly, moving off towards the side and allowing her to get up. Y/N slid off of the bed, leaving her shirt abandoned on the floor; just as she had previously promised with a wicked little glint in her eyes.

"Get up slowpoke, you don't want to miss out on this..." She teased back, hoping to coax him out of bed faster.

Bill smirked at her; stretching his long limbs across the bed as he watched her tiptoe out of the bedroom. The muscles in her back flexed elegantly, while she made her way out the door and into the hallway -- closing the bedroom door behind her. Running a hand over his face, he laid there for a moment trying to collect himself before heading out to join her. After all, she did leave him in a semi-hard state, and he was tempted to follow her out there and bend her over the kitchen counter to take care of this pesky problem. Smirking to himself, he couldn't get over how lucky he felt in that moment. She was here, with him, and there was nothing in this world that could kill this joyous feeling he felt. Everything felt whole and right within the world.

Y/N was perfect in every single way, and she was finally his. He had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity for this; and If the rest of his life would play out this way, then Bill found himself hard-pressed to find anything to complain about...

Throwing the covers off of his slender, yet muscular body, he sat straight up and tossed his legs off the side of his bed -- running his right hand through his messy bed hair. The moment his bare feet touched the floor, it was only then that he noticed the entire floor was soaked through with murky water. Finding himself absolutely perplexed by this, he leaned his head off to the side -- trying to discern what exactly was going on.

"Y/N? Why is the floor all wet?" He curiously called out to his lover.

However a moment or two went by, and there was no response at all; which was highly unusual.

"Y/N?" He hollered out once more, hoping to grab her attention. And yet again, there was no reply.

Now, Bill was finding himself feeling apprehensive at the situation.

Where the hell was she?

Soon thereafter, he gave up hope that she would even return to their room; so he stood up and proceeded to walk over towards the bedroom door; all the while, dirty water sloshed around his feet -- causing him to grimace. But it wasn't until the very second, once he opened that wooden bedroom door, that he knew something was inherently and terribly wrong.

It took more than a moment for the sights, sounds and smells to genuinely register within his mind; regardless, once they did – there was truly no mistaking the atrociously horrifying scene that laid before him. Everything that had once resembled the hallway in their shared home, was gone. Instead, it looked as if either a bomb had gone off, or a storm had come through and ripped their home to shreds. Large parts of the wall were either cracked, knocked over and completely blackened. Broken picture frames were either smashed on the floor, with glass shattered like intricate spider webs in the frames or hanging lopsided on the only parts of the walls that were left standing. Wires that were once hidden away, out of sight and out of mind, were now exposed and dangling carelessly from the ceiling; and randomly placed holes seemed to have appeared in different parts of that very same roof -- from out of nowhere. Electrical sparks shot freely from the exposed wires and flew only a few precious feet ahead; their loud pops and bright flashes caused him to jump back violently and turn his face away momentarily.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what had happened or even how he had even missed it happening. He should have heard the unmistakable sounds of his house being ripped apart, shouldn’t he? None of it made any sense, and he was left second-guessing himself on if he was actually seeing all of this.

"What the f..."

He couldn't even finish his sentence before the shock finally began to set in, and the bone-crushing chill in the air made the hairs on his arms stand at attention. Something wasn't right about this, and now, he was beginning to feel afraid for both himself and Y/N. Eventually, he took a hesitant step forward, causing the water that swished around his bare feet to echo slightly in the darkened and damaged corridor. Once he took another step ahead though, the bedroom door that he had just walked out of slammed shut behind him with a resounding and thunderous bang -- causing him to leap back into the nearest wall. With his heart hammering wildly within his chest, his eyes glanced back at the door in wide-eyed surprise. After he managed to take a brief moment to calm his nerves, he rushed back over to the door trying to open it, only to discover that it wouldn't budge. It was well and truly stuck; almost as if someone had sealed it shut -- from the inside.

No matter how hard he tugged, pushed, pulled or rammed his shoulder against the door -- it refused to give. Bill soon found himself surrendering hope on the idea of trying to get the door to open for him again, and instead, he turned his attention back to the eerily dark and smelly hallway before him. The odors that hit him were rancid and offensive; practically singeing off his nose hairs, and if he had to take a guess, he wouldn't be surprised if the wastewater from the sewer had managed to get backed up into the house -- thanks to whatever had caused all of the damage that he saw all around him. Treading lightly and thoughtfully, he decided to press on and try to locate Y/N and find out what exactly happened here.

"Alright, pull your shit together," his quiet words, served as the only other sound around him with the obvious exception of the electrical pops being thrown off from the nearby wires. Without a shadow of a doubt, he swiftly figured out that he needed to get his bearings in order if he had any hope of making it out of here alive. "You're going to find Y/N, and you're going to get the hell out of here." Yet, in the grand scheme of it all, he wasn't entirely sure if his words were meant to convince himself that things weren't as bad as they looked -- or if they were meant to be a source of self-comfort instead.

Large chunks of knocked over drywall, littered and blocked his path; meaning he would have to crawl over certain spots in order to make it to the other parts of the house. To make matters worse, a haze of smoke filled the small area, making it increasingly more difficult to breathe or see. Nor was that even mentioning the fact that he carefully needed to navigate around the loosing and hanging wires, that were in his way. One wrong move and he could either get a cut on his foot from something hidden in the water, accidentally electrocute himself, or potentially fall over something laying across the walkway. Nevertheless, with his mind made up, he gently prodded his foot forward in order to feel around before taking his next step; hoping that nothing would nic or cut himself in the process.

More statically charged, popping noises exploded from the looming and threatening wires nearby. Just when he thought the situation couldn't get any worse, he noticed how low one of the wires on his left, was hanging dangerously close to the wet floor. Refusing to take any chances at becoming electrocuted, he hastened his efforts to make it past the first piece of wall that was blocking his path. Luckily for him, it was only slanted against the other wall that sat on the opposite side. And as it turned out, this piece would be a lot easier to get by, because all he had to do was duck down and crawl underneath it.

He felt his stomach grow queasy at the idea of crawling through potential wastewater, but the fear of potential death was an excellent motivator in getting Bill to tough it out and complete the simple task that laid before him.

Once his hands hit the water, he had to stop for a minute to give his shaky limbs time to adjust to the temperature. The water felt frigid to the touch, and it was a miracle that his feet hadn't gone numb already. Determination propelled him forward, and steadily, he slid his hands onward under the water; mindfully looking out for any objects that could likely injure him. As soon as he emerged out from under the large piece of drywall, he stood back up and attempted to wipe the gunk from his hands and on his soaked, flannel pajama pants. Of course, it had been in vain, but he couldn't think about that at the moment; there other more pressing matters to worry about.

Coincidentally, there weren't as many exposed wires the further he drifted down the hall, but there were more fragments of burnt cream-colored drywall and wood, that was obstructing the pathway. The next two pieces were large, cracked and sitting side by side, and they required him to meticulously crawl over them -- without possibly falling through and hurting himself on whatever lied underneath. Parts of the insulation were strewn about all over the place, and the smoke was making it harder to breathe. It was a painstakingly slow process, but he managed to lay his body flat against the piece of plaster and wood; pulling himself across the planks with ease.

After he made it over the obstacles and back on his feet, the film of unforgiving smoke started to miraculously dissipate; thankfully allowing him to see a boldly, extravagant tree -- standing right in front of him. Bill stood there with his mouth gaping, feeling dumbfounded and transfixed at the mighty and wondrous sign of life before him; all the while trying to specifically figure out how a fully grown tree -- managed to grow in the middle of his fucking house. It stood there vibrantly, with its dark green leaves standing out brilliantly in a perfect juxtaposition to the wasted wreckage that laid all around him. Instantly giving in to his more inquisitive nature, he seemingly forgot the need to be conscious of where he stepped, as he made his way over towards the tree. It was only after he stepped closer to it, that he realized that it was actually an apple tree.

The magnificent apple tree had have been just over 30 feet tall, with ripe fruit good for the taking. In a moment of all-encompassing awe, he reached out with his right hand and plucked down the first captivating apple that caught his eye. The fruit was a beautiful scarlet red in color, and heavy to the touch. Without even thinking, he was overwhelmed with the urge to take a bite; but before he could -- another apple also snagged his wayward attention. Suddenly, he extended his left hand up and picked off the fruit from the branch as well. This particular one may have been smaller in size, but it was no less pretty or appealing to him.

He stared in fascination, at the apples in both of his hands, utterly blown away by the fact that something so amazing could survive whatever happened here.

It was only after he let out a sigh, that he finally heard it. A noise so uncharacteristic and out of place, that he had to wonder if he had only imagined it.

Quietly, he listened to the sounds that were taking place all around him -- noticing that something was off in the atmosphere. It took a few seconds, but he finally heard that peculiar noise again. It sounded as if something was weakly tapping against a hallowed surface. Curiosity got the better of him, effectively causing him to turn his head to look over his right shoulder. Sure enough, sitting behind the dark, overcast shadows of the room, there was a closed-door that appeared to slightly jolt forward against the frame -- every time the knocking was heard. Inching closer to it, he tried to remain as silent as possible while straining to hear the sound once more. He couldn't be certain if there was a person in there or not. Just as he arrived in front of the door, a loud whisper broke through the intense silence of the room; forcing him to halt in his tracks.

"Don't look back."

The whispered command startled him; causing him to turn his gaze downward in an attempt to subtly peek back over his shoulder. The energy in the room had changed ominously, whilst the air began cackling all around him; practically demanding him to fight against the urge to shut his own eyes. However, the millisecond his glossy eyes drifted down, it was then that he saw the haunting sight that he never expected to encounter. There, in his own hands were no longer two lovely apples he had picked earlier, but instead -- were two warm, slimy and crimson-stained human hearts. A terrified scream tore from his lips; causing him to drop the bloodied hearts into the murky water below -- and turn back around to find the most horrific display he had ever seen in his life...

The once pristine apple tree he was staring at not only one minute ago, was now dead. The leaves and apples had fallen off and onto the greywater saturated floor; instead, what was hanging on two strongest branches in their place -- were the deceased bodies of Y/N and Natalia. Both women looked to be hanging by their necks. Their chests appeared to be hacked open and exposed, with blood still dripping down the front of their white-colored dresses. Horrified by what was happening, Bill quickly stepped back; unable to comprehend the ghastly situation that was playing out in front of his very eyes. His left foot, caught on one of the hearts that was laying behind him, causing him to lose his footing and topple backward; landing harshly on his backside in the filthy water. The confusion and despair that shot through his mind, was raw and unparalleled.

This felt real, too real; and he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack as he realized that when he took what he thought to be apples from this tree -- he was actually ripping their hearts directly from their chests.

Thanks to the horrendous vision in front of him, he couldn't breathe -- much less process what was happening. His eyes filled with tears, as the numbness silently crept in. The skin on both ladies was pale and void of any signs of life, plus their hair was matted to their heads. If he had to take a guess at how long they had been displayed in that tree, Bill would have assumed they had been dead for hours. Blood was splattered haphazardly across their faces, as their toes were tipped and pointed to the ground. He felt his own stomach bile beginning to rise up to his mouth; leaving an unpleasant burning sensation, scratching at the back of his throat -- yearning for an impromptu escape. The tragically twisted view before him had robbed him of all rational, and sensible thought, as he peered up at their lifeless bodies -- and screamed out once more.

Abruptly, and with next to no warning whatsoever, Natalia's eyes snapped open; causing Bill to jump back and let out another scared and confused yelp. Her light grey, cataracted eyes, drew his attention away from the gaping hole in her chest where her heart used to be.

"Come back to me, Bill."

Her voice was strained, while she struggled to call out to him.

He inched closer to her bruised and battered body, whilst wondering how just how on Earth she could even be alive. Those few precious steps, though, were all it took; allowing Natalia to finally reach out and grab his shoulder in her vice-like, death grip -- causing him to cry out in pain, as her nails embedded themselves deep within his tender flesh.

"Come back!"

___

Sitting in her living room, Natalia was calmly smoking a cigarette and watching the smoke waft around, silently drifting deftly out of the window -- and into the cool and dampened, pre-dawn air. She rarely smoked inside her home, but at the moment she didn't particularly care about abiding by her day to day rules. If anything, she needed the preferred release that only nicotine could provide for her nerves. While she snuggled further down comfortably in her favorite chair, she watched the glowing purple and pink hues, light up the early morning skies above her.

A huge part of her plan, would be going into effect today; and depending upon Bill's reaction to what she had coming -- it would also determine if she managed to adequately see the rest of her plan through or not. There was a relatively sizeable chance, that after she enacted this crucial part of her plan -- he could end up splitting up with her. However, it didn't matter because this was a risk she had to take. Admittedly, some part of her, sincerely wondered if he would even do such a thing. He had been home for well over a week and a half now, and he hadn't bothered to end things with her yet. She couldn't help but wonder why.

Why was he dragging ass on this?

It was a question that had been burning in the back of her mind lately. In her view, it was obvious to her from the start, that he had always had long-buried feelings for Y/N. The fact that he hadn't mentioned one measly thing to her about taking a break, being unfaithful, or splitting up for good since he had been back home -- had made her insanely curious into his reasons on why he was staying quiet about this.

Was there a part of him that had legitimately grown to love her? Was he having trouble coming to grips with what he had done to their relationship? Was he feeling guilty about what had happened, and was it eating him alive? She pettily hoped so. More importantly, did he have hidden doubts about Y/N? There had to be a reason, some semblance of an explanation there, and he was doing a great job at leaving her in the dark -- which was not something Natalia appreciated in the slightest.

These days, she had elected to sleep on the couch; pretending to be catching up with her work and wanting to get things done while she had the chance to do so. Thus, in the process, giving herself ample time and space away from Bill -- in order to sort herself out. Actually attaining any sleep though, was practically impossible; and these days, it was beginning to show. However, she was talented enough at masking the dark circles under eyes with concealer and other makeup products, all the while maintaining her regular schedule of activities and appearances. Ever since the first night he arrived back to her shared apartment, and she had attempted to lightly seduce him into bed and he shot the idea down, only for her to discover the reasons why in Ace's email to her after he left their apartment -- she had decided to distance herself from the idea of being intimate with him anyway. It would only put both of them in an awkward position; one that not even she was ready to face herself. Natalia knew he would possibly rebuff her advances if she made any further attempts, making them both feel uncomfortable and embarrassed; plus, she was no longer in a frame of mind to allow him to touch her. He had betrayed her trust, and while she wasn't entirely innocent over the course of their relationship and she acknowledged that to herself privately -- she didn't exactly feel right about rewarding his shitty behavior with sex either.

Not to mention, he wasn't even fucking smart enough to not get himself caught.

The thought alone, caused her to roll her eyes in annoyance.

Over the past several days, her mentally exhausting anguish was beginning to morph into silent fury and anger. If she could get through the rest of this day, with their relationship still intact, then she stood a chance of making sure that she could end this bullshit affair of his -- once and for all. By the time she would be done, Bill's choice would be made for him. And if she were lucky, she would be getting Y/N out of the picture for good.

From across the hall, it was the sound of strained moaning coming from the bedroom, startled her out of her perpetual trance-like state. Remarkably, the noises had sounded as though Bill were distressed. Natalia quickly stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette, tossing it outside and closing her window, as she silently tip-toed over to their shared bedroom door. Leaning her head against the door, her eyes fluttered shut as she concentrated on listening to what was going on inside the bedroom. The moans were becoming progressively more distressed. Going against her better judgment, she slowly clasped the brass handle within her small hand and opened the door -- taking in the scene before her. Bill was laying on their bed, tossing and thrashing about, almost as if he were trapped inside of another hellish nightmare. He had been having them a lot more frequently over the past week. For a second, she wondered just how much his role of playing a psychopathic, child-eating clown in a horror movie -- had potentially messed with his head.

If that were the case, it could certainly explain some of the changes in his behavior recently...

Thinking quickly on her feet, she briskly walked over to his side of the bed and snapped on the bedside lamp sitting neatly on top of her black nightstand. She reached out timidly and slowly began to rub his shoulder; calling out his name.

"Baby, wake up. You're having a bad dream," she mumbled quietly, trying not to startle him out of his dream. It took a few moments, but it finally worked.

Bill shot straight up in the bed, gasping for much-needed air and clawing at his chest. His heart thundered wildly against the breastplate of his chest, and he felt beads of sweat pouring down his face. Off to his left, he saw her... Natalia. And thankfully, she was alive and well.

"Hey, it's me! Calm down! Du har bara haft en mardröm, du kommer bli bra," Natalia tenderly assured him as she pulled herself closer to him, if only in order to help him realize that he wasn't dreaming anymore. Noticing that he was squinting while he attempted to look over at her, she reached back over to the lamp -- quickly snapping it back off as to not hurt his delicate, sleep-ridden eyes.

As furious as Natalia had been with Bill over the past few days, since she found out about his affair with his assistant, she did feel some slight remorse that he was having recurring nightmares over the past several nights. It was obvious to her that his role, of playing Pennywise, had taken a lot out of him -- both mentally and physically.

A part of her, felt a tad bit silly for even caring about his comfort at the moment; particularly given what she had just found out only a week or so prior. But the other half of her, even through the indescribable anger she felt churning away below the surface, did still care about him. At the moment, however, she had to push those warring feelings to the side, because it was imperative that she keep up the appearance -- at all costs.

"Baby, it's okay. Du är säker," she cooed faintly, pulling him into her embrace.

Bill, on the other hand, didn't catch onto her conflicting temperament. His mind was still racing, from the awful things he had experienced, and his breathing was still erratic. He felt her rubbing relaxing circles against his back, as his head rested against her shoulder; graciously taking a free moment of the peaceful serenity she offered to him.

"I'm sorry, Nat."

If she weren't paying attention at the time, she would have nearly missed his softly whispered apology. It was so faint that for a second -- she began to second guess her own hearing. His apology startled her; capturing her completely off guard and totally unaware. Her eyes widened in shock and surprise, causing her hand that was continuously rubbing soothing circles on his back -- to falter for a moment.

"Allt är bra, kom tillbaka till mig."

Almost as if on cue, a sweeping feeling of guilt started to creep into the deepest recesses of his very mind. As much as he cared for her, she wasn't Y/N. And it began to feel wrong to even take comfort in Natalia's reassuring arms. Taking solace in her embrace, wouldn't make what he needed to do, any easier -- in fact, it would be much harder on them both. In spite of that though, he couldn't deny that they did have a complex history together too.

Natalia had surprised him at a time when he least suspected it was possible. She had conveniently arrived in a disastrously messy period in his life, when he had all but given up on the idea of being able to find someone to take his mind off of the one woman he couldn't seem to have. Back then Y/N had John, who was an utter fool that couldn't even appreciate how good he genuinely had it with her, and even though that bastard didn't deserve her for a number of reasons, some that she wasn't even aware of yet, she appeared to be happy with him at that point in her life. It wasn't until shortly after he had gotten with Natalia, that he figured out just how wrong he was in that assessment on Y/N and John's relationship. Even with that knowledge, however, he couldn't bring himself to be selfish with her back then because her happiness actually meant something to him. But somehow, that managed to change for him recently. Now that things had changed and he had Y/N's affections, he knew it wouldn't be able to give it up. She was like a drink of fresh water, on a hot summer's day. There was no way in hell, he was passing up this opportunity to make her his.

When Natalia had shown up at that holiday party he was reluctantly attending, it had seemed like fate had opened up a new door full of opportunities and possibilities. Slowly, but ever so surely -- Bill found himself captivated by her charm and opening himself up to her. It was remarkable in the wonderfully unpredictable way that she managed to weave herself into his life. He couldn't lie, in the beginning, it felt as easy as breathing and he felt as if maybe he could finally get over the fact that he would never have Y/N. Admittedly, he would pull back at times, in the beginning, owing to the fact that it kind of freaked him out just how easy it was to turn to her in his moments of weakness. It was a feeling he wasn't quite used to with anyone else, outside of Y/N. But Natalia wasn't deterred by his reluctance, and she knew exactly how to push him out of his more elusive shell. It was something he had found himself respecting about her... At first.

As time went on though, certain things began to shift between them and it took a while for him to notice the things he had either never observed before -- or had simply overlooked during the time. While it was no secret that Natalia had an unrelenting Type-A personality, and it worked to her favor because she was smart enough to hone in on her emotions, it was also something that Bill really wasn't about on his own individual level. He gravitated more towards being a little more laid back, but also kept himself astonishingly well-organized. He went with the flow of the situations around him, whilst respecting the fluidity that life naturally offered; plus he liked to rationalize his decisions prior to making them, while quickly improvising and thinking on his feet when things changed -- much like Y/N did. It was a major reason why they worked together on both a professional and personal level. Their temperaments and approaches in life, were synced up and matched on a staggering level. Natalia, on the other hand, was incredibly analytical and tactical in her thinking, so when plans changed, she didn't like it as she generally strived to have control over a situation. Surprises tended to make her quite moody. In fact, just about two weeks ago, he had to talk her out of taking him on an impromptu trip to Greece -- when he had gotten back home.

She wanted a take him on a romantic getaway, just for the two of them with no distractions, within a day of him flying back home. It should have been obvious that it may have been cutting it a little close, however, the thought of that flew right over Natalia's head -- or she didn't care. On the other side of this proverbial two-headed coin, while he acknowledged that it was a sweet gesture, Bill had also wanted to spend time with his friends and family at home; catching up with the people he had missed for the past few months, due to his filming schedule. When he told her he was unsure about her idea to travel so far away from home, she didn't exactly take it too well. Of course, it should have gone without saying that the conversation had broken down into another strenuously heated argument between them. It was commonplace at this point. Natalia needed to have control over every situation; and it was something that, more often than not -- had rubbed Bill the wrong way over the past year. At times, he felt her incessant need to have total control over every minuscule aspect of their daily lives and activities, became downright disrespectful; made him feel kind of like his voice shouldn't fundamentally matter. Moreover, it was getting especially annoying since their disagreements almost always were dissolving into screaming matches; matches that left him feeling drained and where he would have to be the first one to apologize -- even when it wasn't his fault. It felt as if she couldn't accept any faults in the issues at hand, and it had been taking its toll on him.

His problem though, was that he hadn't properly communicated any of this. The only time he had said anything to her, was in the middle of their epic meltdowns. Bill was now realizing just how badly he fucked up, and it wasn't a smooth pill to swallow or digest.

This wasn't even counting the times she tried to ask him to get rid of Y/N as an assistant, or to essentially break their ties of friendship altogether. Those requests alone, back in the beginning when Natalia sincerely didn't have anything to worry about back then seeing as Y/N was wrapped up in a committed relationship, damn near drove him up a wall.

Nor, was he even mentioning the fact that over the past few months, she had been putting an astronomical amount of pressure on him to start house hunting with her; as if he didn't already have a jam-packed schedule as it was -- this new issue began to spark off new arguments too. Since their engagement, which was quickly becoming the biggest regret he had in all of this, getting him to commit to buying a new home with her had become her top priority recently and her reasoning was solid on the surface: If they would be getting married, it made perfect sense for them to buy a house together.

Bill understood that, on the surface level. It was the logical next step after all. And he would also be lying if he didn't admit that something was holding him back. He wasn't committing to it, even before things with Y/N started evolving to where they were right now.

Had they really both inherently doomed their relationship, from the start? Bill was beginning to suspect they had. His role, however, was entirely on him. His reluctance to pull the trigger, put his foot down and be more open with his himself, his emotions and face every single little thing he was thinking, feeling and experiencing in between -- that was all on him. That part, would never be on Natalia or Y/N. He needed to own up to that, or else he was doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

He knew what he had to do, but as he thought back to his hellish nightmare -- he felt afraid. He didn't want to hurt Natalia, even though he had quickly been noticing that they wanted two very different things out of life. They may have had contradictory viewpoints with how they each carried themselves within their personal lives, or within their own personal goals and aspirations, but he didn't want to hurt her either.

As soon as Natalia pulled back from his embrace, Bill looked in deep into her pale blueish-grey eyes and noticed for the very first time -- just how tired she looked. There were bags and dark circles under her eyes, and she looked like she hadn't gotten a proper nights sleep in days. Remorse filled his soul, whilst he absorbed her rough appearance. Could she not see that she was miserable too? In a stunning moment of pure clarity, he sadly knew that if they continued down this road that they would end up resentful and potentially even hateful towards one another; and it was in realizing that agonizing fact, that he knew what had to be done. It was time to end this with her. And he would do it tonight, after their joint annual family dinner. Once they arrived back here, in the privacy of her apartment, he would sit her down and talk to her about everything.

He just prayed that she wouldn't hate him forever because of this...

_____

Laughter, merriment and mumbled sounds of social chatter could be heard, floating throughout the air of the Holm's country house -- as Bill and Natalia's family members conversed smoothly with one another in the light and airy dining room. Natalia knew that Bill had always appreciated this little ritual that both of their families came together for. Since he was gone quite a bit to North America, filming for projects, auditioning for others, or even doing press junkets -- Natalia enjoyed being able to pull their families together so they could catch up once Bill was back in town.

Candles were set up all around the dining room, bathing the room in a mild ethereal glow. The wine was flowing generously, and the ostentatious table was covered with a luscious satin white table cloth; proudly displaying a bountiful amount of culinary dishes that made her mouth water. The delicious aroma's caused her stomach to rumble; forcing her to acknowledge the fact that she hadn't eaten properly in days. She was surviving off coffee, water, cigarettes, and the occasional snack. Soon though, that would potentially be behind her -- if, of course, everything went accordingly to her plan. Being seated in front of such a feast, finally got her in the mood to fill up her plate and actually eat a decent meal for the first time in a week and a half.

Natalia's older sister, Agnes, was located across the table from her; holding her six-month-old daughter in her arms -- while her husband William sat to her left. Their younger brother Max, was seated off to the other side of William; thankfully engaging in a conversation with Bill's younger brother Valter. Both young men were in their prime, and not looking to settle down anytime soon; which meant they had more in common with each other -- than they did with anyone else at the table. Bill's younger sister Eija, sat off to Valter's right, with her long-time boyfriend. Both of them were enjoying a tender conversation together, and paying no attention to anyone else at the moment. Natalia smiled at them, as they looked so happy and in love with one another. And beside Eija’s boyfriend, was her own mother -- Monica Holm. Bill's mother, My, was seated to the right side of her father, Viktor Holm who sat at the head of the table. Gustaf and his new girlfriend were both seated on the left side of Bill, and right beside Gustaf's lovely lady, was Bill's eldest brother Alexander -- who also took his place beside their mother.

Opportunities to get everyone together like this, were exceptionally rare. And for a nervous Natalia, it all came down to this. The festivities were beginning to wind down, and soon, her father would begin the round of toasts to congratulate everyone on their newest accomplishments. Her parents were sticklers for positive reinforcement as they were growing up, so it was only natural that they not only continued their tradition after their children had all flown the nest -- but that they also brought the partners of their children on it as well.

Like clockwork, Natalia had just taken her third bite of the jordgubbstårta, that her mother had prepared as a dessert, before she heard the light tapping of a polished silver fork, knocking on a dazzling crystal wine glass -- coming from the head of the table. She smiled adoringly up at her father, as he stood up and locked eyes with her; giving her a wink to let her know he wouldn't mind if she wanted to continue eating. She had truly been the apple of his eye, and he always made sure that his children knew how much he loved them.

"I would like to propose a toast," Viktor began confidently. "For some time now, our two families have gotten together to catch up, enjoy delicious food and to spend quality time with the people we hold most dear to us. Monica and I, always enjoy when it’s our turn to host these dinners and we’re grateful for having you all here." He paused, taking a quick moment to glance adoringly towards his wife of over thirty years. "Bill, son, thank you for introducing all of us to your beautiful family who we have grown to care for as an extension of our own. To my wife, thank you for putting up with me as I destroy our kitchen trying to help you prepare for these gatherings," he gently lamented, as everyone else began to chuckle. "And to my children, you continue to make me proud with each passing day. Skål!"

Everyone raised their glasses, echoing his hospitable sentiments and clinking them together lightly with their neighbors -- before taking a sip at the contents within each of their cups. Time passed, and a few more toasts were given around the table. It turned out, that Max had come prepared to this specific gathering -- as he announced to their parents that he had been accepted into law school. Witnessing their father beam with pride, and their mother's jaw drop -- had been worth the wait on telling them. It was an astonishment, that their mother didn't scream after he told them. It was a universally known fact, that their parents had been worried about what Max would decide to do with his future. Being bestowed with the knowledge that he had an overall direction now, had possibly put them at ease. It was a moment, that had made her immensely proud of her younger brother.

Once everyone had settled back down, however, the moment she had been waiting and psyching herself up for -- had arrived. Natalia cautiously looked around, scanning the room and watching everyone sharing their support for Max as they set glasses back on the table. Now, all she needed was to fester up her courage and get this show on the road. It was time to put those acting chops to good use, and appear more confident than she actually felt at the moment. One wrong move, and she was convinced she would lose her nerve. So she reached for her glass, gulped down a rather large swallow of wine, before taking a deep breath and steeling her frayed nerves...

"Well, I hope you all don't mind but I wanted to share some news with everyone -- since we're all together and it feels like we never get together enough these days," Natalia declared shyly, as she pushed back her chair and decided to begin her speech.

It's now or never. May God have mercy on me, if this shit goes sideways...

"I'd like to propose a toast of my own." She spoke more confidently this time, as she pushed her chin forward in a show of conviction. Bill, however, briefly looked confused by this sudden development, as he caught his brother Valter's eyes from across the table. Turning his focus back to Natalia, he noticed that she was looking down at him with her hand held out for his. Graciously, he smiled back at her and laced his larger hand through hers.

"For a while, I often wondered when I would find someone who would be special enough to love me for who I am; at the same time, I also questioned if I would ever be in a place that would allow me to recognize and accept that person for everything that they were -- once they managed to appear in my life. Alla vet redan att jag kan vara ganska jobbig ibland," her confession caused her siblings to chuckle and nod vigorously in a show of silent agreement. "Yet, when that special someone comes into your life, så vet du bara. With Bill," she paused momentarily, as she stared back at him. "I always knew he was special and unique. He's kind, caring, and compassionate; but he's also devoted, hard-working and best of all -- he's incredibly loyal." Bill felt his heart skip a beat, as he gulped. If there was ever a moment in his life, where he felt like the shittiest person on the planet -- this was quite possibly it. He didn't miss it as Gustaf choked on his wine, causing the elder Skarsgard to apologize and make an excuse about it 'going down the wrong pipe,' before Natalia methodically continued.

"I am so proud of each and every one of his new milestones, and while the road may get bumpy sometimes, I know that he will always be there -- no matter how difficult things may get."

Bill could hear her sister and mother, murmuring their agreements with Natalia comments in the background. The battle within him though was only just beginning; he could feel the pressure beginning to rise, whilst his anxiety stirred to life deep in the pit of his gut. Something didn't feel quite right about this, but nevertheless, he felt like shit as he listened to her sing his praises to everyone in the room. She had absolutely no idea what was coming later tonight, and she was inadvertently making him feel even worse without even meaning to.

"Therefore, I would like to privately announce to our families,"

Without warning, a foreboding feeling slammed into him at full force. The wheels in his head worked overtime, as he tried to piece together her end game here, when abruptly -- it all snapped into place.

Oh no...

Time slowed down to snail's pace. Seconds felt like several agonizing minutes, causing him to hear every beat of his own heart pounding away furiously in his ears. He wasn't an idiot, and he figured out exactly what she was about to do. His stomach felt like it was doing somersaults in his throat, and before he could think of a way to stop her...

"Bill and I are now engaged!" she gushed excitedly, as she pulled out the Ruby and Diamond engagement ring from her pocket, that he had previously given her -- leaving Bill sitting there in stunned silence. Gasps filled the air, as both families happiness caused them to erupt with celebratory rounds of "congratulations," being showered on the couple. The rest of her family stood up to give them hugs while Bill sat there in barely concealed shock; his composure, sloppily falling away momentarily as he absorbed the reality of what had just happened.

Suddenly, he felt the impact of a stiff kick on his shin from underneath the table, as his older brother Gustaf watched him intently. His lip curled up, signaling to Bill to smile. Once more, his mask of indifference slipped it's way back onto his face, as he stood up and accepted hugs and handshakes from her family members that began to surround them.

It was not as if he had any choice in the matter; what the hell else could he do? Just stand up and say, "I’m sorry everyone, but there seems to be some sort of mistake. I actually planned to break up with Natalia later tonight," and believe that it wouldn't cause a massive scene? Unfortunately, he knew that wouldn't go over well. Moreover, he didn't want to subject his mother to the needless drama either. He had too much respect for her, and even for Natalia's own parents, to legitimately consider doing that to them. Besides, when it boiled down to it -- Natalia didn't deserve to be humiliated like that either. Bill was well and truly stuck, with no other choice but to pretend that he was the happy and doting fiance.

In the end, he gracefully acted the role of dutiful fiance and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. It was a brazen move, Natalia would give him that. Deep in her heart, she knew that the real test would be the one that took place later on tonight -- when they were both away from the prying eyes of their families and finally by themselves.

Tactically, Bill took a subtle peek around the table and noticed his own siblings watching the interaction intently. Each of them knew that this wasn't what their brother had wanted anymore. It seemed that even his own sister was giving him the side-eye. Her stern look, conveying a simple message: We're going to talk about this later, you fucking idiot.

Briefly, he wondered if his brothers had told her about his time with Y/N because she certainly didn't seem to be too impressed with him at all; and neither were his brothers. Regrettably, while Bill didn't want to make their judgments any worse, he knew it was coming when he felt his mother wrap her arms around him -- telling him just how proud of him she was. His green eyes glazed over and shut, as he hugged her back. Even though his eyes were shut, he could still feel the piercing stares of his siblings; harshly and silently criticizing him for not standing up and putting a stop to this.

His hands were tied, and there was very obviously nothing he could do, presently, to stop or curb the situation. So with that in mind, he sat back down in his seat and waited for the festivities to come to the inevitable end.

Natalia had well and truly fucked him and his plans up tonight, and there was a part of him that was a little bit angry about it; more so with himself for getting himself into this mess. His plan to end their relationship tonight, was effectively shot to hell. He literally could not leave her right now -- not after this grand little display of hers.

Fuck.

Bill shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing that his older brothers Alexander and Gustaf were probably waiting on what their younger brother's next move would be. They were already well aware of what had happened, between Y/N and Bill, since he had already told them about it -- once he made back home.

On his first night back in town, he had gone to meet up with his younger brother Valter at the local pub -- only to realize that his two older brothers, Alexander and Gustaf, were joining him as a surprise. It was a welcomed reprieve to just be able to sit down and catch up with each of them individually. A few hours and several drinks later, he ended up confessing about the affair to his brothers. None of the men were even remotely surprised by the turn of events; even going as far as to tell him as they all had seen it coming. Valter and Gustaf both cherished Y/N already, and while Alex also thought she was perfect for his younger brother -- he also didn't exactly like the situation they had both gotten themselves into. He was leary of the fact that Natalia would just accept Bill breaking up with her. Of course, Alex was simply speaking from personal experience with that particular subject. It was no secret that he wasn't exactly considered any kind of saint in some of his former relationships. But it was those relationships alone, that had taught him how to spot the signs of trouble yet to come. It was because of that, that Bill tried to take Alex's advice to tread carefully, to heart.

Now, Natalia had him by the balls and if Y/N found out -- any potential future they may have together could be ruined. He had to think, and fast. Because if the looks on his siblings' faces were something to go by, they weren’t going to let this go; if anything -- there was going to be severe consequences for this.

------

Headlights flashed ahead, as the dark grey Audi A3 sedan pulled into the small parking spot located just underneath the decently sized and sturdy white apartment building. The silence in the air was thick and palpable, with anticipation and suspense. Natalia was unsure of what to expect next, as Bill hadn't said a word to her since they both left the dinner party.

If she were lucky, Bill would simply go inside and simply feign sleepiness in order to get out of the discussion with her; but somehow -- she highly doubted that was about to happen. She was far from stupid, and she didn't miss the look of complete shock on his face when she told everyone of their engagement tonight. Of course, he straightened up and smiled; even going as far as thanking people for their well-wishes that they showered upon them -- yet his hesitation was certainly not missed by her clever and observant eyes.

Nervousness seemed to be settling deep within her spirit, at an almost rapid pace. In her defense, this felt like a good idea in her head at the time; back when she had gotten Ace's email, and learned about Bill's affair with Y/N. Hindsight was fifty-fifty though, and she was wondering if her impromptu announcement at the dinner party would push him over the edge -- causing him to leave her for good. If it did, she could conclusively kiss her revenge plan goodbye. To be fair, she knew there was a high likelihood of her getting an adverse reaction from him when she went into it; but when you're wrapped so tightly within the welcoming embrace of pure, uninhibited fury -- you tend to lose sight of the things are that should be undeniable. And although she wouldn't admit her fears so openly, due to her own anger and pride, she was particularly petrified of the possibility of him leaving her for doing this. Of course, when she sat back and thought about it, in the middle of those lonely nights recently, it was definitely considered downright pathetic to be worried about something like that. After all, without a shadow of a doubt, she should be the one leaving him. Yet, when it came down to it, she couldn't seem to pull the proverbial trigger. The love she felt for him, while wounded in the worst possible way -- was still there for him. How it was surviving, was beyond her own comprehension.

It was too late now though. Once her decision was acted upon, she knew she needed to see it all the way through; regardless of the repercussions. Ironically, it was the image of Bill kissing Y/N, which felt permanently seared into her mind -- that propelled her forward with her plan.

Neither of them said a word after she killed the engine to the car. She sat back in her leather seat, anxiously fiddling with her keys as she trained her eyes down towards her lap. A feeling of restlessness surged through her veins and Natalia had no idea why she was so nervous. In her opinion, it should be Bill who should be over there sweating bullets. There was no way he could get out of this, without having to come clean. Yet, even knowing that, didn't calm her down at all. If anything, it just put her on edge even more.

Why wasn't he saying anything?

The longer he sat there quietly, the more jittery she became. Realizing that she didn't plan to spend all night simply sitting in the car waiting for him to finally address her -- she lifted her hand to the silver door handle and propped open the driver's side door. They had some leftovers, in a couple of wrapped up dishes which sitting on the back floorboards, so she went ahead and opened the back door to grab them and bring them inside.

Bill exhaled deeply, as he too, finally opened his door and decided to help her get the food inside.

His mind was in a much different place than Natalia's, and it was consistently swimming between anger and fear. Luckily for Natalia, it was predominately aimed at himself at the moment; well, with the notable exception of his anger at her for once again -- going off and doing something, without consulting with him beforehand. This seemed to be an ever-repeating pattern among them, and quite frankly, it felt as if they could never find themselves sitting on the same page. It was annoying, and bothersome, to say the least.

Upon opening the front door to her apartment, Natalia quietly thanked him for his help as she pushed her way inside and Bill flipped the kitchen light switch on for them. He never said a word, as he took off his jacket, brushed a hand through his thick brown hair, and watched her put the leftover food on the stove in order to pull out her Tupperware dishes. He simply watched her work her way around the kitchen, just as he had always seen her do over the past year and a half -- and thought about how to approach the rather big elephant in the room. As he stood on the other side of the counter, he pulled out a stool and continued to watch her work.

"Nat, can you stop doing that and come here, please? We need to talk."

He noticed the way her back froze, the moment he uttered those words. Setting aside the aluminum foil package, she turned around and took off her own jacket; hanging it on the coat hanger she had next to the door. For the first time, since they left her parents house, he observed that her engagement ring was still sitting on her ring finger. She hadn't taken it off, since leaving the dinner party. The way the bright light in the kitchen hit the diamonds, causing them to sparkle and shine -- had caught his eye.

Instantly, he lost focus and remembered back to the night when he had asked her to marry him. Oddly enough, he proposed to her right here, in this very room of her apartment -- right after they had made dinner together. At the time, he was focused on doing anything that made her feel happy. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt from their numerous pillow talks, that an engagement was something she certainly looked forward to having in their future. Natalia didn't know it, but he had purchased the ring a few weeks prior. Bill knew she adored rubies and thought they were stunning. It had taken him a little bit of time, but he was able to track down the ring that appeared to be perfect for her. A single teardrop-shaped, two and a half-carat Ruby, surrounded by a halo of diamonds -- with a plentiful amount of diamonds adorning the white gold, crisscrossed double band.

In retrospect, even he had to admit that was quite foolish of him to do that simply to keep her happy. It was dawning on him now, that it was a mistake because he wasn't actually ready to commit himself to a marriage; yet -- that didn't stop the fact that he still felt bad about causing this dysfunction in the first place.

"You're upset."

It wasn't a question, it was merely an observation and it hung in the air like a knife, causing him to momentarily flinch at her accusation. Was she wrong? No. He just didn't want this to turn into another row between them either. Enough damage had already been accomplished for one night.

Carefully selecting his next words would be imperative, and he knew it.

"I'm simply wondering why you chose to tell our families about the engagement; jag trodde att vi hade en överenskommelse."

Natalia slid into the barstool, just on the other side of Bill and folded her hands neatly in front of her. Her quiet demeanor only enhanced his sense of dismay, even further. And strangely, the sigh that exited her chest, sounded like one of defeat; leaving him wondering about what was to come next.

It wasn't that long ago, when she used to bring him happiness and a ray of hope to his future. When he thought about it, it was just after he had agreed to start seeing Natalia exclusively, that he began to start seeing a chance of happiness outside of Y/N and Natalia had a lot do with that. She made him feel comfortable, at least during that brief period in time; yet he couldn't lie to himself -- because the idea of fully giving up on his feelings for Y/N never fully resonated in his heart either. Those feelings only sat idly by, like the embers of once raging fire, threatening to reignite once again at the sign of any change in the environment.

And that was exactly what they did; those emotions reignited in a big, fiery and all-consuming way. It was something, he wouldn't let go off.

This was his fault, and he knew it.

"Since you're asking for my honesty, here it is; I'm tired of hiding something like this from our families. I agreed to be your wife the moment you asked me. I'm in this for the long haul. But asking me to keep it quiet, hasn't really settled well with me either. I want to be able to share this with our mothers, my mother -- even my own sister." She exclaimed wistfully; her ice-blue eyes bore into his, imploring him to see reason and understand her valid emotions.

"I have been so incredibly excited just to tell my own mother about this. And you..." She paused briefly, before looking down at the bar; unable to maintain eye contact any longer. "You asked me not to tell anybody about it. Do you realize how hard that is? Or even how unfair it is? To make me keep this news all to myself, that I just truly want to be happy about? And recently, I've been thinking about that; you do know that it feels a little silly to be hiding something this major from our own friends and family -- right? I'm not asking to announce it to the whole world yet Bill, I just wanted to privately tell our families."

Bill exhaled calmly, trying not to let his grip on his patience slip from him. Of course, he understood why she wanted to tell them all; he certainly wasn't impractical or uncaring in that sense. However, there were other underlying issues at the center of why they had both agreed to keep it quiet.

"I get that, I truly do. But Nat, we talked about this and you even agreed to it. You said that you understood the reasons we needed to keep it quiet. I told you, that with IT coming out -- things are going to change. If everything goes the way I hope they do, my career could be taking off. That means more offers, more auditions, more projects, more locations and with that comes more attention. Not all of that attention is going to be good either. If news about the engagement gets out, even through an accidental post on social media from one of our friends or family members, you could be dealing with a hoard of female fans talking massive shit about you, stalking you online, or following you around in real life -- and making your life absolutely miserable. And all of it, would be because you're with me! That's not even including the fact that we've been fighting more over the past almost several months. If I'm being perfectly honest here," he sighed, before turning back to her and grabbing her left hand in his right one. "I'm not sure if that would be something we would survive, because we have more than enough issues without that being added on top of our plates."

Natalia sat back in stunned silence, unable to fathom that he genuinely said that out loud to her. Her act of telling their families, couldn't have happened at a better time, as it became increasingly more evident that he really was planning on ending things with her. All she knew in that instant, was that she had to turn the tide of this conversation, back in her favor and quickly -- or entire plan would only dissolve from here.

"Are you --" her eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over and down her lightly blushed cheeks, while she sniffled. "Are you ashamed of me?" Quickly, she pulled her hand back from his and stood up from her seat. Anger surged throughout her body, causing her cheeks to heat up in embarrassment and tears began to shine through her eyes, as Bill was left with emotional whiplash at what was happening.

"What? Natalia, no! That's not what I'm saying," he swiftly attempted to explain, but he knew it would be no use.

"That's what it feels like you're saying! It feels like you're saying that you don't think I know what lies ahead, or that I'm even strong enough to handle it! Do you really think so little of me?" Turning on her heel, she briskly walked back into the kitchen area and picked up the aluminum foil again -- trying her hardest to hold it together and finish her task of re-wrapping their leftovers.

"Where the hell did you even get the idea that I was ashamed of you? I never said that at all," Bill's frustrations were growing by the millisecond, as he stood up from his own spot at the bar. "I explain to you that I'm afraid of something, and suddenly that somehow means I'm ashamed of you? You always manage to do this! Every single fucking time, Natalia! You run off and do something on your own, never ask me how I may feel about it before you do it -- and then you get pissed off when I don't react the way you think I should. You did it right before I came back home too!" He finished accusingly, as he pointed a finger at her.

Just like that, the fuse was ignited and neither of them was prepared to back down from this long-overdue fight.

Propriety could be damned, he didn't care if his voice was starting to elevate anymore, because this thing right here -- was exactly what the main problem was between them. And honestly, Bill was at his wit's end with the drama she brought to the table in this relationship.

"So that's what this is about! You're still mad at the fact that I tried to book a private getaway for us, for when you got back home from Toronto? Jesus Christ, Bill!" She slammed the plastic see-through dish on the stove, as she shook her head and began to laugh sarcastically. "Excuse the fuck out of me, for trying to spend time with my fiance after not being able to see him for three fucking months!"

"Actually, I wasn't upset about that incident anymore and was more or less using that as an example; but yes -- you go off and do things, all the while, you don't even bother to include me in the equation at all! It's like I've become an afterthought to you! Did it ever occur to you, that I wanted to come home, see my family and actually spend some time with my mother? She's getting older, Natalia! I won't have her around forever!" He leaned across the bar carefully, both arms stretched out with his palms braced across the surface; narrowing his eyes at her.

Natalia pressed her lips together, as she pulled out a sheet of aluminum foil from the pack and set it off to the side.

"You’ve been acting like a jackass, since you've been away." The moment that allegation left her lips, Bill scoffed.

"Me being gone for work has nothing to do with this. We’ve been at each other’s throats even before I left. Have you ever tried considering the fact, that I may be annoyed by the continuous fighting we do all of the time? We fight over the most ridiculous bullshit! And if we’re not fighting, we’re fucking. I told you over the phone a few weeks ago, this shit needed to stop and here we are -- right back at it again!”

The sound of a wooden spoon scraping against the ceramic plate filled the room, as she finally set it down and wiped her hands on the hand towel that was hanging off the oven door.

"Let me ask you a question, do you even love me anymore? Because I love you, Bill! But Jesus fucking Christ, I really feel like you don't love me at all."

That one question managed to hit him dead center in his chest, almost knocking the wind right out of him. Just then, it was as if he were transported back to that nightmare with Natalia and Y/N both hanging in the tree, with their chests cut open and their hearts were laid out his hands. He was fearful of answering that question, because he didn't want to essentially rip the proverbial heart out of her chest and destroy her like this.

Now, it was Bill's turn to sound defeated. Without another word, he didn't wait for her reaction as he turned around and began walking down the hallway. Taking a couple of minutes to clear her own head, she finished wrapping the plastic bowl and stuck it on the bottom shelf in the refrigerator; wondering if she finally pushed everything too far.

Finally, she pushed herself away from the large appliance and decided to follow him down the hallway. If she were expecting to see him feeling defeated, she was in for a rude awakening; instead -- she found him packing his bags again.

"Bill, what are you doing?" The hesitation caused her voice to slightly crack, as she watched him continue to put more clothes into his suitcase.

He never spoke a word, as he ignored and pushed past her. Instead, he moved into their shared bathroom. Once he collected what he needed, he snapped the light back off and made his way back to the bedroom -- packing his toiletries away. After he was finished a few moments later, he belatedly glanced over at her. For the first time since this argument began, he noticed her silently crying as she watched him.

"I fell for you before I ever put that ring on your finger," he stated carefully. "I didn't think I could ever find someone who could potentially make me happy, and for a while -- you did. But we're changing Natalia, and I don't like the people we're changing into."

"So you want to run away, instead of facing our problems? Vad är det som du inte berättar för mig?" Her lips trembled, as she stood there -- waiting for an answer.

"Natalia," there was a delay, as he tried to take a step towards her. Natalia, on the other hand, took a quick step back. Her eyeliner and mascara were running carelessly down her cheeks, creating dark streaks which made him feel even worse.

"I'm saying we should use the time while I'm away in California working, to think about what we both want. Because we cannot keep going like this. It’s not fair to either of us. I’m not saying it’s over right now, I’m saying let’s take this time apart while I’m gone, to think and once I come back -- we can sit down and decide once and for all where we go from here.”

With that, he grabbed the handle of his large rolling suitcase and walked out of their shared apartment. Leaving a shocked and struggling Natalia behind.

He hadn’t ended it with her, but he did let her know that they needed time apart. And that was the opening a reeling and emotional Natalia needed, to enact the next step in her plan.

____

[Extended Author's Notes: Trust me, I'm shaking my head at Bill too! Bonehead! You should have just ended it with her while you had the chance!

I get why he didn't, because that's got to be a mind fuck where you're feeling your back against the wall, flashing back to a nightmare where you think you've ripped out her heart already and you don't want to hurt someone...

But man, I have to hand it to Natalia, the girl knows how to manipulate a situation when things are going off the rails. She saw what was coming, and threw a massive roadblock in Bill's path. She is not the one to play with, and Bill may have bitten off more than he can chew with her. He's obviously figured out, that he's backed into a wall; so it'll be interesting to see how if he's able to keep up the facade and find a way out of the mess he created -- or if things are going to blow up in his face.

One small part of me, feels a tiny bit bad that Bill is in this conundrum. After all, he started dating Natalia, because he was attempting to get over his feelings for Y/N in the first place; which he felt were always going to remain unrequited on the readers end. He and Natalia have had a bumpy road, but overall he did care about her and even asked her to marry him -- only for everything to finally come together with Y/N (who doesn't know about his engagement)... And now, it's all a big mess.

Now, our boy finally has the woman he's wanted all along and had finally mustered up the courage to tell Natalia it was over -- and she blew his plans all to hell!

Speaking of Bill though, I wonder where he's running off to after failing to completely break it off with Nattie... Guess you'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out lol.

____

And finally: If you've enjoyed this chapter, please don't forget to (kindly) leave a vote and/or comment! Each vote and comment helps more people see this story; so please be kind and submit a vote/comment before you leave.

And if you don't want to leave a vote on this particular chapter, just go back and leave on the chapters you liked the most.

I hope you're having a wonderful day/evening/night.

Take care lovelies, see you in two weeks (or less) with the next chapter! --ImaginationLane xoxo]

Tag list: @kikilikes, @readsalot73, @diianawonka, @goswedish, @rougxlips @ffixation, @shadowpriestess6, @vladsgirl, @mrsbillskarsgard, @billgardskars, @adoresfandoms, @mightbelindsey, @we-are-like-a-timebomb, @fandomimcurrentlyobsessedabout, @negan5589, @decayingdeathh, @unicorn-glitter-princess, @voidpaintings, @the-fandom-phantom-fanfics, @mishdennise, @thatonepuremoment, @voidpaintings, @peardream72, @nyleveeee, @rutuliukasg , @daddyssweetpeaches, @ambeazyyy, @billiemalamas, @frappylou, @jinnfruit , @isaxhorror , @totally-magneato, @wayward-dragon, @stanseba, @tonystar3k , @a-lethal-dose , @rachlou , @anastasiaskarsgard , @skarsgarddreams , @greenofallshades , @fichoe21 , @bohemianfortunes ,

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard fan fiction #The Assistant Series

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headcanonsandmore · 5 years ago

Note

I know I already had a fic request but I have another one 🤭 So I know you like Lavender and think she’s a good person (I do too), I’d like to see a break up conversation between her and Ron where she’s the super mature one who figures everything out like “so umm...” “you want to break up right?” And he’s like “it’s really not about you” and she says “I know, you have feelings for Hermione” and they finish on good terms. and some Romione fluff at the end would be nice🙏🏻

Thank you for the request, @allaboutromione! Hope you like it!

Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

‘Endings and Beginnings’

‘What is wrong withyou, Ron?’ Lavender exclaimed, putting her hands back on her hips. ‘Why are youhanging around with her?!’

‘She’s my friend-’

‘In case you don’tremember, she attacked you! For kissing me!’

‘She apologised forthat!’

‘Oh, yes; because thatmakes everything better!’

Lavender Brown washaving a bad day.

Well, more like a badmonth.

Ever since Ron had beenpoisoned, things had gone from bad to worse. To most girls, their boyfriendalmost dying would have been the worst thing to happen, but this is Hogwarts.And Ron Weasley was not new to the concept of almost dying. So far, he had beenknocked out in a giant chess match, and attacked by death-eaters in theMinistry of Magic.

Lavender had been veryimpressed by that. Well, not the ‘almost-dying’ part, obviously. But Ron hadbeen so brave, defending his sister and that Lovegood girl from threedeath-eaters who wanted to kill them. Yes, he had almost died, but that showedjust how much he cared about the people he loved.

She had already beencrushing on him hard by that point, but the department of mysteries had sealedit for Lavender. Ron Weasley was brave, kind, funny, and –as she had noticed atthe start of fifth year- absolutelygorgeous. Lavender had no idea what he’d been up to over the summer, but ithad clearly done him the world of good. The last vestiges of his childhoodpuppy-fat had disappeared from his face, revealing cheekbones to die for. Hischest and arms seemed to have bulked up out of nowhere; his shirts used to hangoff him, now they were straining to retain their stitching.

Then, the department ofmysteries had happened, and he’d got those scars. Normally, Lavender thoughtscars were a little… distressing. But Ron’s scars showed just how brave he was;she’d had no idea what exactly had happened in the ministry that night, but Ronhad been stuck in the hospital wing for a long time afterwards. And when he hadreturned to Gryffindor tower… wow… Lavender’s mouth had dropped open at thesight of him. It wasn’t fair; how was he thatattractive?

This was what Lavenderhad read about in magazines; a “glow-up”. And -boy- had Ron Weasley glowed up!

Why on earth hadn’t anyone-else noticed? Byall accounts, he should have had a queue of people pining after him. He hadalways been cute, but fifth year had changed that; he was no longer an adorableboy, he was now a man. So why did Lavender seem to be the only girl who hadnoticed?

Come to think about it-Lavender thought- barely anyone noticed Ron to begin with. He was always beingshoved to the side whenever those around him got the attention. Which happeneda lot, considering who Ron’s best friends were.

Lavender could relateto that.

Sure, Parvati waslovely and an amazing friend, but she was also the prettiest girl in the year. Theboys were constantly eyeing up Parvati (even if Parvati herself didn’t seem tonotice), and she was never without at least ten different Valentines cardsevery year. Lavender knew she herself wasn’t the ugliest girl by any means, butshe felt a little sad whenever she was ignored.

Especially when herother dorm-mate had a tendency to get a lot of attention as well. HermioneGranger was considered by many (especially the teachers) to be the brightestwitch of her age. Which was all well and good -Lavender knew how intelligentHermione was- but it did get a little grating after a while.

Parvati was the prettyone, Hermione was the smart one, and… what was Lavender? Parvati’s best friend?The silly girl who got giggly over pictures of teen idols? She hadn’t have herown niche; she was just… Lavender. Not beautiful or intelligent. Just Lavender.

Lavender was alwayssomething of an anonymous figure in Gryffindor. Sure, she didn’t slide in thebackground completely, but she often felt like she was being lost in theshuffle.

Maybe that’s why shebecame so attracted to Ron. Despite being shoved to the sidelines constantly,Ron never stopped caring about the people he loved. When push came to shove, hewas the sweetest, bravest, kindest person Lavender had ever met.

Of course, Lavender wasaware of the deal with Ron and Hermione. Parvati had warned her at the start ofsixth year; Hermione had been nursing a crush on Ron ever since the end ofthird year.

But -and this was whatmade Lavender especially angry- Hermione hadn’t done anything. She hadn’t evenbeen present when Ron had won the Quidditch Cup the previous year. Lavenderremembered overhearing Ron talking about it under a tree a few days after thematch; neither Harry nor Hermione had been there. They’d left.

Lavender had been thisclose from marching over to give them a piece of her mind, but Parvati hadpulled her away before her self-control broke. It infuriated her to see Rongetting ignored so often. Ron was always there to support his friends, but theynever seemed to give him the same treatment. He was always having to sacrificehis own achievements to focus on them.

When sixth year hadstarted, Lavender had finally decided enough was enough. She was going to showRon appreciation. Goodness knows, he needed it. The poor boy had always hadtrouble with nerves, but Lavender was damned if she wasn’t to make him feelbetter.

Like a good friend,Parvati had come round to the idea. After all -she said- it wasn’t as ifHermione had any claim to Ron. And the redhead could use someone in his corner(well, aside from Harry, anyway).

Lavender was pleasantlysurprised to find that Ron was very happy about her showing him appreciation.He’d even started strutting after she giggled at him. He’d always had a greatway of walking, but Lavender was especially taken with the new confident way hewas swinging his hips.

Ron Weasley cheerleadernumber one; that was Lavender.

At then –finally-Lavender had kissed him. It had been after a match; Ron had walked into theCommon Room, and Lavender had flung her arms around him.

Sure, neither of themwere experienced at kissing, but that was okay; they were learning fromeach-other. He had so confident, he seemed to stand taller.

And Lavender was glad.She wasn’t just “the other Gryffindor girl” anymore; she was Ron Weasley’sgirlfriend.

Looking back, thenickname wasn’t the best idea. It was designed exclusively for Hermione’s ears,and Lavender had to admit that it was spiteful. But so was setting a flock ofbirds on someone!

Honestly, Lavenderdidn’t know if she could ever forgive Hermione for that. Sure, Hermione washurting, but it was her own fault. She’d spent three years crushing on Ron, andall she would have had to do was be more appreciative of him. But she hadn’t;for once, Hermione Granger wasn’t the smartest girl in the room. She hadignored Ron when he most needed it, and she was now paying the price.

Lavender knew it wasvindictive, but she couldn’t help herself.

As she continued todate Ron, she knew something was up. At first, they seemed to get along reallywell. Yes, they snogged, but they were teenagers, and it was so nice to finallyhave someone who wanted them.

Lavender didn’t reallyknow much about chess, but Ron did try to teach her. It was great to see him sopassionate about something, and so… confident about it. Ron was arguably moreconfident playing chess than he was doing almost anything else. Lavender wishedshe (and everyone) could see this side of him more.

She didn’t know whatpossessed her to get the necklace. That was a bad idea, and she’d immediatelyapologised to Ron after they returned to Hogwarts and got some time alone. Hehad been surprisingly mature about it, saying that he appreciated the thoughtbut it wasn’t really his style. He had been so sweet that Lavender had beentempted to climb onto his lap and snog him senseless.

But then Hermione hadentered the common room, and Ron’s attention had immediately been diverted.

Lavender tried tocontain the fear in her heart. No, no,no… this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go… Hermione had attacked him withbirds… why did he…why did he…

And the truth haddawned on Lavender.

She was not the girl Ronwas in love with. Because the girl Ron loved was the bushy-haired know-it-allwho refused to even acknowledge his existence at the time.

That was, until he waspoisoned.

Yes –as if to furtherunderline this whole nightmare- Ron had to almost die before Hermione would speak to him again. Suddenly, Hermionewas Ron’s friend again. But that didn’t mean that Lavender had forgiven her forthe way she had treated Ron.

Finally, things came toa head. Lavender had seen Ron and Hermione emerging from Ron’s dormitory. Itwas the final straw.

Hermione had hurriedlydashed off to the girls dormitories, leaving Ron to face Lavender’s wrath byhimself.

‘What more can she do,Lavender?’ Ron exclaimed, waving his arms around. ‘I’ve accepted her apology,and you should too!’

‘No, I will not!Despite what you may think, Ron, I’m not an idiot!’

‘What? I don’t thinkthat-’

‘Were you just using meto get back at Hermione? Is that the only reason you’ve been dating me?!’

There was a deafeningsilence. Ron’s eyes widened in shock, and his mouth dropped open.

‘Are you mental? Whatsort of prat do you take me for?’

‘Well, it certainlyseems that way to me!’

‘How? I never thoughtHermione was interested in me, so why would I use you to get back at her? I… Idid use you. But not for that. I just… wanted to get over Hermione. I was sickof feeling like I was never enough, no matter what I did. So… no… I wasn’tusing you to get back at her. I may be a prat, but I’m not that much of aprat!’

Lavender felt her mouthfall open. Get over Hermione? What? Howcould he not see?

‘She- she- she lovesyou, Ron! How could you have never noticed? And why didn’t you break up with meonce you realised just how jealous she was? Why…. Why…’

Lavender trailed off.

Ron was rubbing thescars on his hands. The scars from the wounds inflicted in Hermione’s birdattack.

Oh god…

Ron thought she wasgoing to attack him just like Hermione had done.

Lavender felt her eyesfill with tears.

‘Lavender…’ Ron said,his voice hitching slightly. ‘What… I’m sorry… please… please don’t cry…’

‘I’m not crying becauseof that!’ Lavender sobbed, tears streaming down her face. ‘Do you really thinkI would ever… would ever… attack you like that…?’

‘I’m… I’m sorry, Ron. Iwas using you, too. Not… not to get over anyone, but… to just proof that Iexisted.’

It was true. She wasn’tthe prettiest girl in the year like Parvati, nor was she was the smartest likeHermione. She was the only one in her dorm to not go to the Yule Ball with aTriwizard Champion. She was just… ordinary. Plain old Lavender.

Kinda ironic, givenshe’d ended up dating the one person who could understand that.

She and Ron were morealike than people thought. They were both side-lined, ignored, sick of gettingoverlooked. Trying to find comfort in each-other to block out a world thatdidn’t seem to pay them any attention.

Yes, their relationshiphadn’t been especially healthy, but it was also what they needed at the time.To be noticed, appreciated. To be someone-else’s first concern.

‘I’m sorry, Lavender.I… I’ve hurt you. You… you deserve someone who’ll treat you right.’

‘You deserve that too,Ron.’

The redhead scoffed.

‘Yeah, but who’s gonnabe interested in me?’

‘Hermione Granger. Youknow, the girl you’re in love with.’

Ron’s ears went red.

‘Lavender… I’m… I’m sosorry…’

‘Don’t you dareapologise, Ron!’ Lavender exclaimed, pointing her finger at him threateningly.‘You weren’t the best boyfriend ever, but you were still lovely! Why do youthink I fell for you in the first place?’

‘Er, because I was goodat Quidditch?’

Lavender sighed.

‘Ron, please stopthinking that people are only attracted to you because of things you achieve,rather than who you are. You are amazing anyway; you… you don’t need to proveyourself.’

‘I was going to say thesame thing to you.’

Lavender did adouble-take at that.

‘We’re quite alike,aren’t we?’

‘Yeah.’

The two shared a sadsmile, before Lavender wiped her eyes with her sleeve, turned softly on herheel, and walked up the girls’ dormitory stairs.

Lavender pushed openthe door to the sixth year dorm, to find Hermione sat awkwardly on her bed, asif she had just retreated quickly from listening at the door.

No doubt she had heardthe shouting.

Parvati was cautiouslywatching from the chair beside her own four-poster, her eyes flicking quicklybetween her two dorm-mates.

‘Me… me and Ron havebroken up.’

Parvati stood her, andrushed over, pulling Lavender into a comforting hug.

‘I’m sorry, Lav,’ shewhispered softly, patting her gently on the back. ‘You deserve better.’

Lavender shook herhead.

‘No. Both me and Rondeserve better.’

Pulling away, sheturned her head to look at the bushy-haired witch still sat on the bed.

Hermione flinched as Lavenderapproached. But Lavender felt no wrath towards her.

‘If you ever do so muchas set a single canary on Ron again,you’ll have me to answer to. Do you understand?’

Hermione’s mouth fellopen.

‘What?’ What are youimplying-?’

‘Because,’ Lavender said,her voice hitching. ‘While I might not have been the best girlfriend… I neverphysically attacked him. And I have a feeling that you don’t want to be a worsegirlfriend than me, do you?’

Hermione blinkedconfusedly at her, looking more and more flustered by the second. It was sounusual to see the usually-headstrong girl at such a loss for words. Or maybeLavender just hadn’t asked her the right questions in the past. Maybe theycould have avoided all this if she had.

‘But… Ron…’ Hermionestammered, dropping eye contact. ‘He… hedoesn’t…’

Lavender rolled hereyes. Honestly, for the so-called “brightest witch of her age”, HermioneGranger could be extraordinarily thick about these things.

‘And people accuse Ron of being oblivious. At least he hasan excuse for it.’

Lavender pushed pastHermione, and climbed into her own bed, her eyes beginning to tear up again. Itwas her first real heartbreak after all, despite the sympathy she felt for Ron.

Parvati sat down nextto her, and Lavender leaned into the taller girl’s shoulder, her body shakingas her tears soaked Parvati’s pyjama top.

Hermione discreetlyleft the room, closing the door softly behind her. She would give Lavender abit of space for the rest of the evening, understanding that Lavender probablydidn’t want to see her at the minute.

As she walked into thecommon room, she found Ron, sat quietly in front of the fire, looking verymorose.

‘Er… Ron?’

The redhead turned, anda small smile appeared on his face. Hermione felt her heart give a sudden thud.

‘Hey.’

‘Are… are you okay?’

He shook his head.

‘Well, probably betterthan Lavender feels right now. We broke up.’

There was a slightpause.

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’

Not really knowing whatelse to do, Hermione sat down next to the redhead.

‘I was a pretty badboyfriend to her.’

Hermione shook herhead.

‘Maybe you weren’t thebest, but that’s understandable. And besides; you didn’t want to hurt herfeelings. That counts.’

‘I guess. I’ve been aright coward, though.’

Hermione looked down atthe scars on Ron’s hand.

‘No. I’ve known you fora long time, and if there is one thing you’re not; it’s a coward.’ Hermionesaid, patting Ron awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘I think you just made the wrongconclusion about how to go about these things. And it was your firstrelationship, after all.’

Ron shrugged.

‘I dunno. Maybe I’mjust rubbish at romance.’

‘You wouldn’t be theonly one.’

The two of them shareda shy smile. Maybe things weren’t completely back to normal between them, butthings were changing. And –after all- every ending was the beginning ofsomething else.

The two were soengrossed in the other, that they didn’t notice the pair of eyes watching themfrom the girls’ dormitory staircase.

Lavender Brown smiledsadly to herself, before walking back up the stairs.

You best treat him right, Hermione Granger; you besttreat Ron right…

_______________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you liked it! If so, please like and reblog, or leave comments/reviews/kudos on the FFN and AO3 pages for this fic.

Thanks again to @allaboutromione for the request; hope you enjoyed it!

#request #lavender brown #ron weasley #hermione granger #half-blood prince #harry potter and the half-blood prince #missing moments #tw: physical violence #tw: physical abuse #tw: physical assault #tw: emotional trauma #tw: ptsd #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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everlarkficexchange · 6 years ago

Text

Incubus

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 49: He has spent centuries coming at night and sleeping with as many humans as possible, many dying from childbirth with no child to bear, or because his lust overpowered them. He needs to find a women that can live through his lust and birth an healthy offspring and after centuries, he thinks he found the one, the sixteen year old Katniss Everdeen. Dark incubus!peeta Angst Old times. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

RATED: EXPLICIT for disturbing themes, imagery and adult situations.

WARNINGS: Dark!Peeta; Creepy!Peeta; Stalker!Peeta. Demon!Peeta; Dark!Toastbabies; minor character’s death, Canon compliant violence, Non-con/Rape. Stockholm Syndrome-ish.

TAGS: Supernatural AU; Under 16K words; Smut (Underage!Everlark, non-everlark)

Acknowledgements: Thanks to @animekpopxx for the great prompts, you never cease to inspire with your ideas for stories… sorry if I didn’t completely adhere to all the specifications listed on the prompt.

Many thanks to my amazing beta @wingletblackbird, who’s insights made this story 10 million times better.

@xerxia31 and @javistg for their dedication to Everlark Fanfiction, you keep the creative juices pumping with this events, and I thank you both for that… and thank you for reading my One Shot. Hopefully is to your liking!

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

I’m thrusting vigorously into the wet, hot and loose pussy of a married woman who summoned me by name to get back at her cheating husband— who apparently has sired no less than 4 bastards, each from a different woman— by fucking a demon.

She’s also awake, which is fairly unusual for my encounters, but I couldn’t refuse an invitation such as this when the woman is so willing and eager, and the call comes laced with the delicious odor of arousal.

The problem is, she talks too much!

I’ve done my best to tune out her asinine remarks on how big and intimidating my cock is compared to human penises, how much watching my member excites her, and makes her greedy pussy flutter in anticipation; I’ve heard stupid comments like those for millennia from women with the same wicked gleam in their eyes. They think that calling me to fuck them is some kind of thrilling game, as if the stories of how most of my partners don’t survive their first encounter with me, how their bodies can’t take the stress I put on them when I’m really overcome with lust, are mere jokes passed down from generations. But this woman really is testing my patience.

Everything was alright until she asked a question that enraged me above anything she’s said so far.

“My lord, is it true you impregnate every one of your victims?” There is that psychotic glint in her beady eyes again.

I grunt and push away onto my haunches.

The woman tries to sit up quickly, chasing my retreating form desperately with a pleading apology taking shape in her mouth. She doesn’t get to voice whatever idiotic excuse she was about to spew.

With a flick of my hand, five silk ropes spring up from the floor and wrap around both her wrists and both ankles; the last one gags her mouth. She whimpers and the sadistic gleam in her eyes finally gets replaced with fear when the ropes pull back her legs bringing her knees level with her ears and her thighs spread wide open to me.

Without stopping to look at her, I ram into her ass with so much force the legs of the bed groan and break under the punishing pace I’m keeping.

The woman cries out in terror or pain, maybe both, I don’t care. I don’t stop driving into her until my release is imminent. When it’s time, I pull my cock out of the woman’s rectum swiftly, and spill all my cum on her face, chest, and part of her stomach. I take great care not to let even a drop of my precious seed fall into her reproductive organs.

I sigh in relief once I’m done.

The woman strains against her restraints, and moans pitifully. I look down at her tearful face with spite.

Pathetic.

Finally, I answer her question, “No. I don’t impregnate every one of my partners. Some aren’t worthy of carrying my offspring.” I stand from the broken bed and give her a disdainful glance, “You should count yourself lucky you don’t rate as a good partner, otherwise I would’ve taken your life, as well as your pleasure.”

I dissolve into dark mist leaving her in that shameful position, tied up like a hog and covered in mess, to be found by her husband.

——

It is not my custom to glide aimlessly through a human town after I’ve fed my lust, yet tonight’s encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth I just can’t shake off.

I’ve been cursed into existence with the sole purpose of mating with as many women as there are sand grains by the ocean until one of them births me an heir to… to replace me, I guess, until he too has successfully produced a replacement of his own. Regretfully, I’m still here, after thousands of years, fucking my way through humanity. Not one woman has been strong enough to carry my spawn to term, so the careless curiosity of a self indulgent idiot got to me a little too hard.

There have been a handful of promising cases, but at the end they just amount to female corpses too weak to bear my child. Every single woman I’ve copulated with either dies in the throes of passion, unable to whistand my consuming lust, or has complications with the pregnancy, either because the creature simply sucks the life force out of the host, or because labor pains put too much stress on their mortal bodies and they just give out with internal organ failures.

On this depressing thought, I come to the center of town where I would never be if there was any sun in the sky right now. I’m about to turn myself into a small smoke tornado that will project me back to my den for a while, before my night starts anew on the other side of the globe, but a small, hopeless sob attracts my full attention.

I’m a creature of darkness; therefore I’m drawn to and strengthened by human pain and calamity. The whimpering continues guiding me to an alleyway, behind a lane of brick buildings, housing an amalgamation of shops.

I notice three things upon arrival. First, the soft sobbing is coming from a little girl, much too young to be outside alone at this time. Second, it is dark, very, very dark; a moonless night, that should frighten a hardened man, a night in which specters like me come out to play eagerly with unsuspecting humans too dumb to stay safely in their beds. And lastly, this is the loneliest, creepiest alley I’ve ever been to. It’s cold, muddy, echo-y and reeks of death.

My kind of place, I realize.

Not at all where a tiny child such as this one should be.

At first glance I determine the child is frail and almost to the doors of death. A female of around 10 or 11 years old, judging by her skeletal frame. It looks like she hasn’t known the taste of food in quite a few days, and she’s giving up her life in this cursed place.

It is not in my nature to care whether she expires sitting on the hard ground, against the scraggly apple tree she leans on, or not, but for some reason, I speak to her. Soft and soothing.

“What are you doing here, girl? It’s dark, late, and scary.”

Deadened, sunken eyes stare at me suspiciously, “I could ask you the same. But I’m not nosy!” She replies turning her pert nose up at me.

I chuckle and lower myself to the ground. The little brat is a piece of work! “I’m nosy and I don’t care if that’s rude.”

The girl cocks her head sideways, slightly curious, not the least bit afraid.

“I ran out of coin.” She finally says, “I can’t to go back home to my little sister, Prim, without food. She’s so tiny, and her lips keep crackin’ and bleedin’ every time she cries, asking if there’s anything to eat.”

Normally, humans never see my true form if they happen to get a glimpse of me. They would die of terror on the spot, so their minds only see what they can handle. For women, they see every feature they find attractive in a male, making me irresistible for them, in the very, very seldom instance that they see me while awake. Men, on the other hand, tend to see someone non-threatening, a friend who would never hurt them. I’m not sure what this child sees me as, but clearly she sees someone worth opening her heavy little heart to, because the floodgates of her troubled life seem to have opened up, and she sobs telling me the rest of her story.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate something that I had to chew with my teeth. My tummy started to ache a few days ago, but I didn’t want Prim to ache too, so I’ve been giving her all the little food we had left. Yesterday, all I found in the cupboards were a few dry mint leaves, I boiled them in water and told her it was soup. I came to the market to sell Prim’s baby clothes, but nobody wanted my ragged wares. I got so dizzy after walking all day trying to sell them, and my arms were so tired, I accidentally dropped the clothes on the mud somewhere yonder; I’m not sure where. I couldn’t pick them up, even if I’d wanted to. I knew that if I leaned down, I’d just kilter over and wouldn’t be able to get up again.”

She takes a ragged breath and paws the soaked tendrils of black hair sticking to her forehead away.

“I didn’t wanna die like that in the middle of the street where anyone could see. They would’ve known mother hasn’t been taking care of us. They would take Prim to the Community Home. Children in the Community Home get crushed by sadness and red marks on their faces from angry hands… I couldn’t do that to poor, delicate Prim. But this place here…” her eyes take a glassy quality, and her lips curl into a slight smile as if daydreaming of better days. “It used to be the bakery, before the owners moved away and abandoned it. The smell of freshly baked bread still lingers here, and if I inhale hard enough, I swear I can feel the smells fill my tummy.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, as if truly she could get her empty stomach filled with the long gone fragrance of yeast and flour that used to permeate this alley before.

“My belly doesn’t hurt no more,” she sighs, opening her eyes and fixing them on me, “in case you were wondering.”

My head cocks to the side, staring at her curiously.

“I stopped feeling the hunger aches without noticing. Mamma’s a healer, I once heard her tell a woman, whose children had stopped crying out for food, that those are actually dangerous times, when the body needs food, when it’s so far gone, it starts eating itself out. But I’m not scared about that… dying here, where bread used to be baked… won’t be so bad, would it?”

Something tugs at me in the back of my mind. Without thinking about it, and barely feeling anything at all, I conjure up two steaming loaves of hearty bread out of thin air. At first, my instinct compels me to take a bite out of the bread, taunt her, mock her, chop off pieces and lug them over the falling link fence of an old pen, where the odor of some kind of animal still persists, and watch her climb over the muck to devour the soiled bread. But then, my hands move of their own volition, offering the loaves to the girl.

Her eyes follow my every move, stuck on the delectable food she’s been deprived off for so long, just staring at my gift.

Suddenly, I’m aware of how cold and wet everything around me is.

“It’s pouring.” I muse flatly.

The girl’s eyes tell me she clearly thinks I’m stupid, but my clothes cling to my body uncomfortably, and now I’m aware my body feels oddly smaller than usual. I look down at my arms, realizing I have the arms of a child myself.

I guess the girl is projecting her age and features on me, like humans do.

“Take the bread before it’s too soggy to eat.” I grunt in aggravation.

“I—Are you sure? I couldn’t… I don’t have anything to pay or trade—“

I shove the two loaves into her lap, and kick off from the ground where I had come to sit, next to her. “Go home.” I command. “Get out of this darkness and this cold rain.”

The girl looks at the food on her arms with disbelief and awe, then she looks up at me, as if I had given her the moon, the clouds, and her very own star. She murmurs. “Thank you…”

In a second, she’s running away as fast as her scrawny little legs can take her, while I stand here stunned and confused. There was a strange reaction I got when the little girl’s gray eyes met mine and I could see the most appetizing fire within. I knew the little girl would not only survive, but thrive.

I won’t ever see the little human again, so what do I care what’s in her future? I melt back into the shadows, already putting the incident behind me.

——————

I’m particularly fond of nubile virgins, which probably accounts for how poorly their bodies perform when I impregnate them, but I digress… teenage girls have the softest skin. Their budding breasts, still unaware of the effects of gravity, retain an innocent perkiness I could kill for. But, while all this is true on my normal hunts, one prepubescent human has become a most incomprehensible obsession of mine ever since the night I gave her the bread.

My girl with the braid and gray eyes is now 14. She had to mature in extreme circumstances, before her time, making her exquisite in resilience and a strength her peers lack. I find myself attracted to her dormant… sturdiness.

But at 14– in human years— her reproductive system is not mature enough even for a monster like me. She has not the means, nor the skills, to sustain the demands of mating with me, let alone carrying my spawn, so I admire her from afar and more often than I should.

Tonight for example, I watch her sleep for a short moment, then I let myself slip through the same crack in the window I slithered inside, and go on my merry way to find a more fitting host.

The girl will sleep untouched tonight, meanwhile I still need to bury myself into a warm, available body.

—————

“My name is Katniss Everdeen. What’s yours?” She asks the night a come across her, when she’s stuck on the other side of an electrified fence, in a dark, dark forest.

“Peeta.” I say emotionless. It’s my given name, although her kind has given me a different, more sinister name I’m not terribly fond of. “Why are you out here?” I ask.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but my papa taught me how to hunt. That’s what I’ve been doing every day for the last two years to feed my family. I come everyday before school, and most days I return even after.”

“Why come twice in a day?” My voice is flat, but she doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Well…” She scowls looking at the ground, as her answer comes together in her mind. “My family has to eat, but we also need other things, like paraffin, thread and needles, matches… things for school, soap for the washing. People in town will pay coin for fresh meat, or trade with other goods. It’s a good system.” She states proudly. But then, she looks nervously around, and stutters as if remembering herself. “But you can’t tell anyone about any of that. I could get punished if word got out that I hunt illegally.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Promise you won’t say anything, Peeta.”

I want to roll my eyes at her, but she’s staring at me with those eyes full of stars and warmth. I have to admit, it felt amazing to hear her use my name. Very few beings even know it, humans can’t even imagine I have an actual name, which suits me, since they fear the one they gave me. It almost rivals the strange pleased sensation I got when her gray eyes widened in pleasant recognition when she saw me approach her tonight. Still, I know not why she’s out here on her lonesome, and I much rather have her go home, to bed, where I have control.

“I don’t have anyone to tell. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tattle. But why are you here so late?”

She frowns. “The part of me getting stuck out here is actually unintentional, and happens very seldom.”

I arch an eyebrow— I had no idea I could use the muscles in my forehead in such manner— and wait for her to elaborate.

“The fence is a pre-war inconvenience, supposed to act as a deterrent for wild beasts, but is almost never on. Animals know to stay away from town, and people like me get to climb under it to gather apples and berries that grow in the wild. Only a few of us hunt, because it’s still illegal to poach. Today I slipped under the wires at dusk to collect some herbs for mother— she’s got to make half of her poultices and unguents with herbs only found in the woods, mind you— anywho, when I came back, the fence was live.” She shivers, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just have to wait it out. It’ll eventually shut off and I’ll be able to cross back into the district. Prim’s already come by to check on me and knows I’m safe. I’ll climb a tree or something while I wait.”

I grunt my understanding and shake my head in aggravation. I wave my hand carelessly, and the electric buzz dies instantly. “I think you can come back in again now.” I tell her needlessly. “Hurry up. You never know how long this will last.”

The girl, Katniss, narrows her eyes suspiciously at me momentarily, but finally shrugs, “As you say.” Then sticks her arm through the links of the fence, holding up her game bag to me. “Hold this for me.” She crawls under the fence and then stands in front of me.

We are the same height I realize. But then, I grow an extra inch or two above her. The corner of her lips curls up, and I’m certain she’s figured something out about me, I just don’t know if it’ll help or hinder my advances.

“I’ll see you around, Peeta. Thank you for keeping me company while I was out there. It’s the first time I got caught out at night. It was nice seeing a friendly face.”

“Mmm. Be more careful next time.” I grunt, and walk away from her.

—————-

I come back to Katniss’ bedroom for reasons I can’t readily comprehend.

She’s not very big or particularly pretty; she’s not even ready to copulate! But there’s a certain vulnerability in her subconscious self that calls me to her.

During the day, she sports the scowl of a thirty year old single mother of two working with only the skills of poaching, handed down to her from her dead father, in order to sustain her family while putting herself and her younger child through school. Of course, she is not really a mother, but everything else is true; so the rest might as well be true also, since she’s had to care and provide for her mother and younger sister for the last two years, taking the mantle of breadwinner all on her slim, little shoulders. Her determination is her own type of brawn in my book.

I hover above her sleeping form, just studying her face; so sweet and tender, free of the premature worry lines and that perpetual scowl that plagues her features in wakefulness, but then again, it is that intimidating scowl of hers that grants her the respect of any adult she does business with.

In sleep, Katniss looks more her age. Innocent and soft, like the velvety petals of a rose bud.

I breathe in the clean smell of her recently bathed body, and wonder if I could just slip my palm up her thigh, just to feel her soft skin under my fingers? But her mother stirs and sighs in the other bed, shutting the thought to Hell.

My eyes cut to the woman right away, but she’s asleep, just rearranging her position in the sagging mattress next to the one I’m floating over.

Mrs. Everdeen suffers melancholy. Her emotional illness almost killed her and her daughters; I’m not sure how I feel about her. She’s better now, but the months of starvation and near death have permanently damaged Katniss, emotionally and psychologically, more than she lets on.

The Everdeens never had wealth or means to afford but the barest of necessities, so when Mr. Everdeen passed, he left nothing behind but a small house with a tiny living area, kitchen, bathroom, and a single bedroom for his surviving family to live in. Another reason I don’t act on my urges to fuck sweet Katniss; the poor thing shares a room with her mother, and more often than not, shares a bed with her little sister.

Tonight is a rare occasion, in which the sister hopped in bed with the mother, leaving the object of my fascination to battle her recurrent nightmares alone. This only exacerbates the troublesome dreams for Katniss, which aggravates me, since her sleep patterns turn irregular and shallow, making it hard for me to infiltrate her subconscious. She’s more prone to wake up when her mind is occupied relieving the bad days. But I don’t complain much, seeing that while she’s is bed alone, I can leisurely hover directly above her sleeping form, instead of by the side of the mattress like I’m usually confined to.

I go back to gaze at my sleeping beauty, and decide that this won’t do.

I have to figure out a way to give Katniss her own room.

I want privacy when the time comes I can do all things I yearn to do. But there’s still time! Katniss has a couple of years ahead of her to grow and mature. I’ll just bide my time until that glorious future.

Before leaving her side for the night, I kiss her forehead. I plant a thought there as my lips touch her skin: ‘Don’t pull the covers up too high. Loosen the sheets around your shoulders. Relax your breathing… rest.’

Then I’m gone.

—————————-

I’m inside sweet, beautiful Lavinia, pounding away in glorious ecstasy.

She’s an absolute delight with a soft, pliable body, with swells and dips in all the right places and shapely legs that go on forever.

She moans sensually every time I enter her. She clenches her pussy muscles around my cock deliciously, and I lick the perspiration off her pale, luscious flesh to give my tongue something to do.

For the first time in months, my mind doesn’t drift to fantasies of an older version of Katniss while moving into the designated warm body of the day. I’m thoroughly satisfied, and at the end of the tryst, just when I’m about to pull out of Lavinia’s tight crevice, she seizes, shakes, arches off the bed with her mouth forming an agonizing O, dipping her head back so her auburn hair brushes the mattress beneath and her torso finally collapses on the bed heavily.

My chest feels the familiar little stir of excitement.

Every woman I’ve successfully implanted with an embryo has had a similar physical reaction. Some are more violent than others, but it’s always the same and I’m cautiously content this time was so mild on the host… mother… whatever she is to my heir.

I stay maybe another hour, just staring at Lavinia’s stomach, wishing I could see beyond the skin and muscle, deep into the womb, take a peek at the creature starting to take shape in her tissue. But alas, that’s not one of my many abilities and powers.

At the first crow of the rooster in the predawn, while it’s still inky dark out there, do I finally see it happening.

It starts as a small, dark red stain growing on the white linen sheets covering the still sleeping redhead. She doesn’t move an inch, but I know from experience the pregnancy failed. Despite the fact that the girl is still breathing, I can’t help thinking she’s already dead.

Lavinia’s hemorrhaging fast; the mess covering her clothes and bedding is now reaching her shoulders; her eyes flutter behind her closed lids, and I regret ever putting my hands on her, because now she’s another girl I’ve sent for death.

I don’t linger to see her last breath.

None of my partners survive a pregnancy. But the night just began in the other side of world, and my loins call for another lover to replace the child I just lost.

—————————

Katniss is 15.

Her dark hair reaches her waist even braided. She hides her budding breasts and the slight curve of her ass, under her father’s old shirts and leather jacket, which are at least 3 sizes too big for her. She’s also taken to wearing trousers instead of skirts and dresses, but even I’ve grown used to her clothing dwarfing her slight frame.

The fact her developing womanly figure stays camouflaged serves two purposes; one, is purely practical, people seem to forget she’s a child— female at that— and take her seriously for trades and bartering; the second one benefits both of us, by keeping unwanted male attention from bothering her.

But there’s no escaping nature, and there’s no stopping puberty. Katniss’ body is maturing nicely, and with that comes torturous growing pains.

Today was hard for her, I can tell.

She’s squirming in her sleep, doubled over at her tiny waist with her nimble arms wrapped around her middle. The downy hair at her temple is damped with perspiration, and her sweet lips are pale and dry.

I kiss the dewy skin of her forehead, murmuring an incantation to numb away her aches. After a few minutes of me trying to soothe her with small caresses, the awful grimace falls off her face, and a relaxed sigh leaves her chapped lips. Her arms loosen, allowing her hands to curl softly beneath her chin.

Her menses started a few months ago, and they have been rough on her. The cycle wipes out most of her strength, leaving her in cold sweats, dizzy, and unstable on her feet. The reaction really worries me. I don’t want there to be a problem I have not foreseen.

I lean my cheek against her soft abdomen and whisper an enchantment. Given my nature, I’m not capable of healing ailments, or granting blessings, nor am I allowed to praying to the ones who could help, but I’m allowed to cast spells and conjure old magic, and lastly, I’m allowed to bear certain illnesses in a human’s stead, so I try to take her pain upon myself. I need my girl to be strong and healthy if she’s to carry my offspring in the future.

I nuzzle her navel for a moment before taking a step back.

A sharp pain wreaks through me, becoming acute near my groin. I claw at the air as the searing pain pierces through me, and then is gone as fast as it came.

That’s that.

I’ve never felt pain before, and I truly hope I never have to suffer it again, but Katniss is resting now, free of deliberating aches, sleeping soundly and peaceful. The unsavory sensations were worth it, just to watch my girl fall into blessed oblivion.

That should do it.

I leave her to rest, wiping off tonight’s nightmares from her subconscious as well.

—————-

I used to worry that with Katniss’ struggle with starvation and malnutrition, her body would become useless as a vessel. Then the day her first bloods stained her undergarments arrived to my everlasting relief, and that to the added improvement of her hunting skills that fetched her better game, and her gathering double portions of wild vegetables and herbs in the woods, where doing wonders to her health.

I was delighted to see her filling in her scrawny bones with meat and muscle, and her cheeks get rosier. It’s the best indication that at last, her womb is ready for procreation!

There’s still the pesky issue of her shared lodgings, so I decided to bide my time until her healer mother gets called to tend an overnight patient, and eager to learn, little Primrose would tag along her mother to help, leaving the house all to myself. Unfortunately, something else happened that I didn’t see coming.

To my everlasting fury, I discovered her trips to the woods aren’t as solitary as I had believed. It so happens that sweet, capable Katniss, does have a hunting partner, and for some reason I ignored this fact completely until today.

The fence is electrified again, but this time Katniss has made camp in the branches of a tall, sturdy tree. In a branch below hers, a lanky, older boy made his bed under the canopy, tying a rope around his waist to anchor him to the tree limb, same as her.

“Hey Catnip, you get some shut eye for now. I have first watch. I’ll wake up when I get tired.”

“Unless you see something worth shooting!” She tells the boy scowling. “Wake me up right away, Gale. Not like last time you saw a deer and tried to down it by yourself.”

The boy lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, Catnip. Whatever you say.” He sounds almost playful. Almost, but then he finishes with a firmer command, “Now go to sleep. I’ll call if I see anything interesting.”

I feel anger, jealousy, and righteous indignation boiling all over me. I feel my true form emerging, ready to show myself in all my glorious horror, but then I remember Katniss is a mere two feet up above the boy’s branch, and instead of attacking the mortal, I simply explode back to my dwelling, deep in the dark recesses of the Earth.

Meanwhile, in the human world:

“Did you smell sulfur?” Asks Gale sitting up straighter on his branch.

“No. But smelling sulfur out of the blue isn’t a very good omen, Gale. I think we should call it a night, and head back home as soon as the fence is dead.”

“Yeah. You may be right. We don’t wanna be near any toxic gas leaks, and we know next to nothing about the minerals in the mines yonder.” He points into the dark, in the direction of the old abandoned coal mines that used to be the only source of income to people like Katniss’ family.

The teenagers descend the tree quickly, with loaded bows aloft, heading in the direction of town, praying the fence is no longer active.

Oblivious to the angry roar resonating in the empty spaces of earth. Full of vengeance and jealousy.

—————

Gale Hawthorne gets visited by my female counterpart, the one humans have named Succubus, courtesy of yours truly.

She does not take his life unfortunately.

She makes him sick enough he’s bedridden for a week, but he recovers.

When I confront my demoness comrade, she simply says “The boy is 17, and he’s the sole provider for his family of 5. He’s mother is living enough hell as it is, so I just gave tall, dark and handsome a good ride and a touch at nirvana.”

I don’t think that was the truth behind her reprieve at all; I’ve seen her take the lives of teens younger than that, who indulge in self molestation a little too much. I believe she let him keep his life as petty revenge on me, for disrupting her other encounters that night.

The only consolation I have for now is that Gale Hawthorne will have an unexplainable aversion to sex for a few months, which means he won’t pursue my girl in the interim.

But Katniss is starting to look more like a woman and less like a tomboy. It’s only a matter of time before she gets noticed by other boys. I don’t exactly need my partners to be virgins, but the thought of someone else taking Katniss’ purity drives me into a murderous state I really can’t afford.

So, tonight, when I slip into the crack of the window to visit her, I dip my hand under her covers, into her threadbare camisole, to caress her supple, soft breasts. I pinch her nipples to erection and watch her react to the sensations.

I plant suggestive thoughts in her subconscious. She blushes in her sleep and I murmur into her ear reassurances about her beauty and worth, and incredibly, I’m truthful about those.

I close my eyes to savor the moment. It’s the first time I put my hands on her erogenous zones, and she does not disappoint. Katniss’ breast fits perfectly in my palm.

“Sleep well my dear.” I whisper in her ear, “Dream of Incubus babies suckling at your tits. That will become your future at some point.”

———————-

I’ve been stalking Katniss for the better part of five years, and still I fail to make her mine.

She will be 16 in a few days time, and I’ve had plenty of opportunities to lay claim to her body, yet I keep finding excuses to prevent me from going any further than a few caresses on safe places. On nights she spends in the woods alone, I fabricate reasons why I shouldn’t touch her: ‘She’s fully clothed’, ‘A coyote is three miles away and could attack her in her heavy sleep’, ‘She looks uncomfortable on this tree branch; I want her first time to be somewhere she’s comfortable.’

That last one became obsolete the moment Katniss hiked to a cement shack far into the woods, a place she excitedly canvassed for days, then fitted with a makeshift bed of dry grasses and hay to sleep in. Apparently the place had actually been discovered by her father in his youth, and he shared the place with his elder daughter, a secret location all to their own. Being the sentimental human she is, Katniss only recently found the courage to return without her father, and face the fact that her once happy childhood is gone.

I blame my lack of progress on a disturbing thought: fucking Katniss in her sleep and leaving her to incubate my offspring after without any explanation, amounts to rape, and although it isn’t in my nature to operate under the moralistic customs of humans, I find the notion troublesome and appalling. I would never cause Katniss such pain and humiliation.

So I’ve been stalling. Buying time, trying to find a way to make this union less… morbid. More consensual.

I tell myself this is all for Katniss’ benefit, but the truth is, I think it would be rather nice to be able to look at her beautiful gray eyes while spilling my semen into her womb.

To my chagrin, I’ve realized that while trying to consort with this girl, her humanity has bled into my very essence. I’m just afraid I cannot conform to mortal morals too long. My sole reason to exist is to procreate and satisfy my ever growing lust. My nature will win at the end, and I fear I will lose her when it happens.

———————

It’s raining a monsoon outside, yet Katniss is sitting on the porch crying quietly into her hands. It’s past her bedtime too, so I’m sure this is something she’s trying to hide from her family.

I sit next to her on the creaky step before even realizing my physical body has materialized out of thin air of its own volition.

“Gale, my best friend and hunting partner, kissed me today.” She says without even looking up at me. “I pushed him away and told him I didn’t want to be with him that way. That I never wanna get married and have children. He walked off angry, and now I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m… sorry?” And I am, I just don’t quite know what it is I’m sorry about, yet.

“I just don’t understand why he had to go and ruin a good thing!” Her gray, tear-filled eyes find me, and I’m surprised at the fire, anger, and betrayal in her gaze. I’m mesmerized. “Why did he have to go and complicate things that way? Isn’t he happy we are friends? Isn’t it enough we go out into the woods and feed our families together like partners? Why mess it all up?”

“Because you’re beautiful. Because you’re worth the try. Because he’d be an idiot if he let it pass and never confessed his feelings for you. You are extraordinary, Katniss. You have no idea the effect you can have…”

“What does that even mean, Peeta?” She demands angrily.

“It means, men look at you and see someone worthy. Someone valuable. Someone they can’t help but admire and want to pledge their loyalties and affections to.”

She snorts, pawing the tears off her cheeks. “You’re just saying that because you are my guardian spirit.” She says dismissively.

“Your what?” I ask in disbelief, astonishment and an edge of offense.

Katniss rolls her eyes, letting me know she thinks I’m being unnecessarily obtuse. “Come on, Peeta. You only show up on moonless nights when I’m in trouble, to help me with whatever supernatural powers you possess. I’ve known who you are since my friend Madge let me read her father’s old books from before the first rebellion of Panem. People back then believed in spirits and those kind of things. I just found one that fitted your description, and it came up as ‘Guardian Angel’ which mostly protect humans… you don’t have to deny or confirm it, but I’m pretty confident I got you identified!”

She smiles through her tears. There’s a glimmer of satisfaction and playfulness deep in her eyes.

I’ve never been confused with a Being of Light before, and to be honest I’m doing everything in my power to hide the disgust I feel at that. At this point, I find it counterproductive to correct her preposterous assumptions, so I bite my tongue for the time being.

“Katniss,” I sigh, “Many boys are going to like you. You are an incredible young woman. That said, you don’t have to choose any of them, especially if you’re not comfortable. If Gale Hawthorne knows what’s good for him, he’ll come back and apologize for imposing himself on you. Otherwise, you did nothing wrong and you don’t owe him anything. Be sure you are happy and safe. Even… even when I’m around. You have such an incredible power to you. Don’t be sad about any of this. Chin up and be a great example for little Prim.”

“Thank you, Peeta. You always know what to say to make me feel better.” She reaches for my hand taking me by surprise, and squeezes.

My eyes fall to our entwined hands, and I marvel at the sight; there’s a fluttering of emotions in my chest. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never been touched by a human willingly, in friendship or otherwise. It’s extraordinary to say the least.

I clear my throat. “You should go inside.”

I watch her duck into her house, and for the first time since the inception of Earth, I remain frozen in one place for the night without seeking a mate to pollinate.

—————

Two weeks after Gale kissed Katniss, and they still aren’t on speaking terms. They avoid each other and start hunting separate parts of the woods in different schedules.

Gale is 18 and can opt for a job at the medicine factory that opened up after the rise of the New Panem some ten years ago. He can also apply for a farming license and get a lot with fertile soil to work. Katniss is still too young to apply for any of that, but she’s old enough to marry.

I will never understand the arbitrariness of human’s law regarding age of consent. A girl of marrying age, should be a girl of independent working age. But what do I know? I’m just a Being of Darkness; such conundrums are beneath me.

Yet, I’m standing here in the other side of world, pondering on it!

She doesn’t own me! If I’m going to obsess over a human, I still want to be me. I don’t want her to turn me into some angel I’m not.

I don’t want to be a piece in this girl’s involuntary game.

So, on my sweet, beautiful Katniss trudges to the woods teeming with game and wild herbs, waiting for her clever hands to pluck, either the string of her bow, or the greens off the forest floor; it matters not. Her family will eat better than her many neighbors, who sadly still live in poverty despite the new era of freedom.

Ugh… curse that resilience and strength of hers! She’s irresistible!

—————-

It’s late in the evening, the last remaining rays of sun just disappeared in the distance, not quite moonless, but dark enough to make anyone uneasy.

A greasy, disgusting man spots Katniss slinking away from the dead electric fence, and lunges at her like a fiend. He takes her by surprise, and gets a hold of her game bag, which is quickly discarded carelessly on the ground. Katniss tries to fight the man back, gritting her teeth and growling like a rabid animal, but it’s no use.

Despite how heavy set the man is, he’s quick on his feet, and has restrained Katniss by the wrists.

The man reeks of white liquor. His balding head has a few long hairs combed to the side, which does nothing to hide the shine of his scalp. The disgusting creature is talking filth into Katniss’ face when I finally step out of the shadows and stalk his way. He doesn’t see me, too distracted on Katniss… MY Katniss.

She’s doing everything in her power not to show how terrified, how trapped she is, but her eyes are filling with tears and this miserable maggot is feeding off it.

The man presses his disgusting body into hers, and she tries to kick him off, snarling a threat that doesn’t reach him. The brute shoves her against a tree; she chokes a small sob back and begs him to stop, while shaking like a leaf. The man laughs, then sticks his nauseating tongue out of his mouth, and licks her face, from her chin to her temple … That’s the last thing I remember cohesively.

I blink, and the next thing I see, there are blood, guts and gray matter splatter everywhere.

The ground, the trees, my hands and clothes, everything is covered in gore. The man’s corpse lays shattered on the ground in two pieces ripped straight down the middle, from his head downward.

I gasp her name, scanning the scene frantically until I see her, huddled up behind a tree with her head buried into her arms that rest on her knees.

I call her name again, but she doesn’t respond to my voice. She mutters something I don’t catch, so I try to touch her. She yelps as soon as my fingers brush her shoulder, and scoots away from me like a crab running from a seagull.

“No!” She yells batting my hand away.

“Katniss—“

“What are you? You’re no angel at all are you?” She stumbles to her feet shakily. I try to follow but she stomps her feet like a toddler in mid-tantrum. “Stay away from me! Monster. Mutt. Whatever you are!” She takes off running home, snatching up her game bag as she goes.

The only evidence linking her with this horror sight is gone, so it’s time to cover my own tracks.

I extend my arms straight, at my sides, I close my eyes summoning nature to me. When the hair covering my arms stand with static and my fingers tingle with tiny shocks of electricity, I clap my hands way above my head bringing down a mighty flash of lighting that scorches the ground and singes the bark of the nearest trees.

Looking at my handiwork with satisfaction, I leave Panem behind. It’s the last time I stalk Katniss Everdeen, awake or asleep. Anonymity is my gift to her.

Sure enough, when morning comes, the death of that awful man, gets attributed to lightning.

——————

Plump, bodacious Delly Cartwright is as opposite in looks and personality to Katniss as humanly possible. I chose her painstakingly for that very reason. Her hair is a mess of yellowish curls that remind me of the majestic mane of a lion. Pretty enough face, with fair skin dotted with freckles, thin pink lips framed by laughing marks and wide set blue eyes full of trust and kindness.

Delly’s had a sheltered, pampered life, and is very free with her affection. She is engaged to be married come Spring, but she’s by no means a pure, innocent virgin. I go at her like a dog with a bone.

I’m in the process of covering her eyes with my special heavy sleep scales, to ensure she won’t wake in the middle of our tryst, but I feel the tug overpowering my whole body before I hear Katniss’ voice calling me by my proper, given name.

Delly stirs in her sleep, while I try to hold on to the bedposts, refusing to answer the summon, but Katniss says my name again. It’s too powerful a pull. My fingers slip off the polished wood and my body pops out of existence in this room, and snaps back into being outside the familiar tiny shack the Everdeen women call home.

The air crackles around me with electric pulses and a cloud of fog surrounds my body.

Once the fog clears, I can see the single oil lamp sitting on the porch railing, illuminating the slim figure of the girl I’m trying to avoid with all my might.

She’s beautiful though. I take her in hungrily.

She’s standing barefoot on the old doormat that’s seen better days, wearing a white, threadbare nightgown I’ve never seen her in before. An equally threadbare shawl that can’t be providing any warmth in this chill wraps around her shoulders. Her hair falls loose down her back, but she keeps fiddling with the end of a lock she’s twisted around her fingers.

Her pink lips tremble slightly from cold every time she exhales a foggy puff of breath from her mouth.

Without really stopping to think of what I’m doing, I glide up the porch steps until I’m in front of her and tighten the shawl over her chest with both of my hands.

“You’re shivering. You shouldn’t be outside in this cold with so little clothes on.” I try to sound stern, but my voice is too soft and caring.

Her lips twitch up at the corners. Her gray eyes shine in amusement. “I wouldn’t have gotten so cold if you hadn’t taken so long to show up. I called you over 120 seconds ago!” She admonishes in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

I narrow my eyes at her, trying to figure her out, but I give it up when her teeth start clattering together. She speaks before I can comment further.

“Come inside with me?” It’s not really a request, since she’s holding my hand like a vise and dragging me towards the door.

“Is that wise?” I ask her arching an eyebrow. “I’m not the Being of Light you previously thought I was.”

She scowls at that, “No, you ain’t. But you’ve still saved my life more times than I care to remember. I owe you, and I’m not very comfortable having a debt so steep hanging over my head.”

“Consider the balance void, Katniss. It’s safer that way.”

She purses her lips and tightens her hold on her shawl. “We’ll see.” She pushes the door open and in we go, without hesitation.

“I spoke to Greasy Sae,” she tells me, as we cross the living room and kitchen area, into the bedroom with the two beds, both empty tonight. “She’s the oldest person in the District, you know.” She states as if that explains anything.

“There’s a wealth of wisdom in the elderly’s counsel,” I comment looking at her profile curiously. “What did this Sae have to say?”

Katniss pulls a chair from a writing desk and motions me to sit. I obey without questioning it.

Katniss shrugs, “I asked many things, really. Sae talks a lot, and she knows everyone, so people come to her for advice.” She sits on her bed opposite me, yet her eyes shy away from mine.

“What advice did you ask for?”

“No advice. Just information.” Her eyes flick to me quickly, then go back to a point over my shoulder. “You know, what you did to Cray… well, it wasn’t subtle at all.” She finally pierces me with a glare, but that only lasts a second. “I mean, you tore his body in half with your bare hands and left his carcass to rot in the meadow. Who does that?!” Another glance, this one I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or terrified. She should be both.

“I made it appear as if had been a lighting strike.” I protest.

“It wasn’t storming that night, Peeta. We had beautiful, clear skies the whole, entire week. People knew something supernatural was behind that monster’s death.”

“He was about to do terrible things to you, Katniss. Have you thought of how scared and devastated your sister would’ve been if something awful had happened to you?”

“Of course I have!” She interrupts me. “It would’ve destroyed her. Don’t get me wrong, people are happy to see the bastard gone, because he’s always had a history with harassing girls, but everyone is scared now of something they don’t understand and can’t start to explain! The whole district is so shocked they close their shutters earlier, hide their youngsters fiercely, walk in large groups when going places like school or the market. Even at school teachers step out of their classrooms to make sure the students milling around the halls are safe. It’s horrible and traumatic…”

“Then you know why I had to take care of that predator.” I spit venomously.

Her shoulders sag, “I know.” The pinched look falls off her face.

She stands up and walks towards me.

In a surprising move, she lowers herself sideways on my lap. My arms go around her waist immediately, in case she changes her mind, but Katniss leans her head onto my shoulder and sighs deeply.

In all the centuries I’ve fucked my way through humanity, I’ve never been this close to a girl before. I do not mean merely physically, but intimately. I’m not sure how to respond and reciprocate the affectionate gesture, so I settle for resting my cheek on the crown of her head.

“Where’s your family?” I ask.

“Tending to a birth. Twins. There’s some kind of complication, so mother took Prim to help her. They will be out all night.”

I accept her explanation with a sound at the back of my throat. After a minute of easy silence, I ask, “Were you satisfied with the information you yielded from Mrs. Sae?”

“No.”

She doesn’t elaborate for a few minutes.

“How did you know Cray was attacking me?” She finally asks shuddering in my arms.

I scowl. “That kind of evil. It comes from me.” I tell her. “I recognize the ones who maim the soul and hurt the spirit, because that’s my job. That perversion originates from the same darkness I come from, and responds to the same urges I do.”

Katniss tries to appear unperturbed about my words, but she can’t hide her trembling.

“Sae said she didn’t recognize any spirits by my descriptions. I tried to remain vague and distant, as if asking on someone else’s behalf, but she was troubled by my questions, and I think she knew I’d witnessed Cray’s disembowelment. I had to stop my inquiry.”

“I’m right here, Katniss. You can ask me anything you want to know. Isn’t that why you called me here tonight?”

She shakes her head in denial. “Sae said it sounded like a dark one was protecting his mate, or maybe grooming a prospective mate. But of course, she’d never heard of something quite like you. She didn’t know who or what you were. She couldn’t tell me how to proceed.” Katniss straightens up, and stares into my eyes apprehensively. “I have an idea of how you may like me to pay off my debt to you.” She says blushing violently, averting her eyes and fiddling with her shawls fringe.

She breathes in deeply, and lets the shawl fall from her shoulders. She takes my hand and brings it to her clavicle; her fingers interlace with mine, to venture under the neckline of her nightgown. Before I can make sense of what’s happening, I brush the soft skin of her full breast with the pad of my digits.

Katniss presses my fingers to her delicate nipple, and I surrender my will to a human, for the first time in the memory of creation.

I trace her areola gently, with practiced ease, until the nipple puckers up in response. Her own hand falls away, leaving me to my own devices.

Katniss shudders a little, clenching her eyes closed. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She asks me, not quite in accusation, but unsure and fearful

“Yes.” I tell her. No sense in denying the truth. I lean into her ear to whisper, “Katniss, you should have left that debt alone when you had the chance, Sweetheart.” She shivers in my arms, but presses her torso against my body.

“This is the price isn’t it?” Her voice wavers.

“Partially. The price I’m charging is something you already told me you were unwilling do. Now we will have to come to some agreement.”

“How long have you been touching me like this?” She’s holding back tears, but not stopping the pinches and kneading of my fingers on her flesh.

“I’ve only done this twice to be honest. I palmed your behind once. Somehow, touching you without your knowledge feels… wrong.” She nods, a stray tear trails down her cheek. I nuzzle the sensitive spot behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I’m not a one mate being. I go around the world, taking women such as yourself during their sleep, oftentimes impregnating them with my spawn. It’s not my custom to groom my partners, but everything about you has been different from the beginning.”

“Aren’t I the lucky gal?” She spits bitterly, yet her breathing is getting shallower and a pretty blush is starting to color her skin from her face to her chest. She’s actually enjoying my ministrations on her breasts. “What makes me so special?” She asks.

“You’re strong minded. One of my powers is to whisper things into a human’s ear, and plant ideas, orders, images… you’re too stubborn to listen to any of that. I’ve command you to cut all of your ties to that Hawthorne boy at least thrice, but you’ve refused to forsake his friendship and companionship each time.

“I’ve tried to get you to wear dresses and shifts to bed, but you keep wearing your father’s clothing even to sleep.

“Every time I try to induce a sexual dream into your mind, you clam up, and never stay asleep long enough to get too far into the dream for it to affect you the way I’d want it to. But, things seem to be changing right now.” I pull my hand out of the neckline of her gown and place it on her knee.

Once I make to hike my hand up her thigh, Katniss clenches her legs together, whether she’s doing it to deny me access, or because she can’t handle the arousal, I am not sure. I drop my hand off her knee all the same.

“I can’t take you without your consent, Katniss. That much is clear after my failed attempts at wooing you while unconscious.” I whisper into her temple, dropping a sweet, barely-there kiss. “This ‘grooming’ debacle has happened both ways.” I state. “Katniss Everdeen, you’ve tamed the feared and despised Incubus.” She gasps. I suppose, Incubus she’s heard off before.

“I’m still a demon.” I say solemnly, “A sex fiend. My nature hasn’t changed, despite your domesticating me. You could reject me right this second, and I’d go away without ever touching you. But, once out of your snaring presence, I’d have to prowl around in search of other women to satisfy my needs.”

“You’re saying that other women and girls well-being rest upon my shoulders?” She asks looking a little green in the face. “You couldn’t possibly do anything to them without their express permission, would you?” She sounds hopeful, and her eyes are pleading.

“You’re the only one with power over me, Katniss. I only care for your wants and dislikes. I am yours to command, anyone else is disposable.”

“How am I supposed to agree to these terms, Peeta? You… you’re- you molest women in their sleep! You get them pregnant against their will and nearly every one of them dies as a result of your encounters with them.” Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t look away from my own. “I never want to have children. But that’s what you want from me, isn’t it?” She murmurs shakily, her body sagging into my chest. “I don’t want to die either. My sister needs me.”

“Katniss, I’m obsessed with you, because you’re the sturdiest girl I’ve met. You’re a survivor. You don’t give up when you know the difference between death and survival is you. I’ve been investing my own powers on perfecting your body and preparing your internal organs so you’re in top condition for mating, sustaining a pregnancy and delivering a live half human, half demon child.”

This stuns her a second. “You really were grooming me for years.” She sounds devastated. “I told you I didn’t want marriage, loving a man that could die and take away my will to live to his grave with him. It happened to my parents. I can’t abandon my children to their fate the same way my mother did to me and Prim. You knew all this. I told you all about it before… you still want me to… to—” she chokes back a sob and clams up.

I’m aggravated with her. I had walked away from her, left her alone, freed her from my presence, yet she summoned me back here because she can’t let some fabricated debt go. I growl lowly, trying to keep my temper under control. She really won’t be able to survive my wrath, and I don’t want to harm her in an angry rush.

“Since you insisted on calling me here, then I must inform you, you will become pregnant if we mate. That’s a guarantee. But I’m no man. I can’t die. I will never grow sick and time will never age me. My children won’t suffer human needs either. They’ll be strong and capable of hunting their own meals, much like you do now. If you can’t mother them properly, I will take them away and raise them myself. We have little room for negotiations at this point. Mating and childbearing are inescapable if you pursue the debt route.”

“Kill me now then!” She snaps, trying to push away from me, but I keep her in place with my hands.

“I will not kill you.” I say it like it is a command.

“If I refuse to m-mate?”

“Will you?” I counter. “Mating will happen on your terms. On your time.” My voice sounds gentler now, like it was before. “Then I’ll leave you alone for good if that’s what you want.”

“You… you would?” She’s shaking all over.

“My word is my bond.”

“What should I call you? Master? Sir? Lord?”

“Peeta. Just Peeta. That is my given name.” I tell her simply.

“Why me? Why now?”

“I don’t quite know. I just know you’re the one strong enough to stand the physical toil of carrying my offspring which has caused all the previous hosts’ demise.”

She nods absentmindedly. I’m surprised when Katniss starts undoing the tiny buttons at the neckline of her gown, and slowly slips off my lap, to stand between my legs. I lose no time pulling the soft material covering her body down her arms, to pool at her feet. I stare at her naked torso and then at the apex of her thighs, drinking in her beauty with relish.

“I’ve never seen you nude before.” I tell her in awe, rubbing my hands up and down her arms.

“Let’s do this now. No sense delaying it. It would happen eventually anyway.” She says, shyly.

She most see the greed and lust in my eyes, because she tries to cover her chest and the curly, black hair covering her sex. I remain seated on my chair, until she starts squirming under my heated gaze.

“Do as you must, Peeta. Do it quickly.” She says after forcing her eyes back to mine.

“You need to be more specific, Katniss. Otherwise I’ll stay planted here until dawn slashes me away.” I tell her arching a brow. I burn with desire for her, but I cannot move without her permission.

She grunts and taps a foot impatiently. I smile at that. She’s still so strong willed even now, and so pure deep down; it’s endearing.

“Take me, Peeta. Now. Mmm… sexually.” She punctuates.

I can’t help smirking deviously. I stalk up to her and reach my hand to rest on the curve of her waist, gently pulling her forward.

“I am going to kiss you now.” I purr into her ear.

Kissing my partners is unusual for me, but this is Katniss. I take her lips with mine in a searing kiss that burns down my body. I lay her on the bed blindly, caressing her velvety skin tenderly.

I’ve master the art of masturbating my conquests to assure lubrication, but other than that, I’ve never given thought to foreplay for the sake of pleasing my partners. I’m doing things here, I’ve never done before. Human lovers may be more adept at romancing, but I’m doing my best to pleasure Katniss with my hands, lips, tongue and words.

I taste, kiss and nip at her skin. I tweak, pinch, knead and caress her flesh; I suck on her nipples and nuzzle the cleft between her thighs. She tenses, melts, and chokes back sounds on intervals every so often, not quite sure if she should resist me or enjoy the sensations I’m evoking in her.

“Relax, Katniss. Clear your mind. Enjoy the moment.”

She lifts her head in time to watch me take a long swipe of my tongue along her labia. Her head falls on the flat pillow and a soft moan escapes her sweet mouth.

“You smell and taste divine.” I tell her while inserting my middle finger inside her warm, wet pussy.

Finally, Katniss cries out my name, and I swear it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever experienced.

A second and then a third finger find their way inside her making her bow off the bed. She’s moaning loudly now. My thumb makes contact with a small kernel of flesh I haven’t really paid much attention to while with other women.

Katniss shouts with the first few passes of my thumb, she begs me not to stop, to “please, please, please, keep doing that!” And I can’t resist lapping at the copious arousal bathing my hand and Katniss’ thighs.

I’ve made women orgasm before, unintentionally of course. They cum just by the sheer size of my shaft, but it’s never been as extreme as this. My sweet, little Katniss arches off the bed, her shout dies in her throat, and then she falls on her back, convulsing and twitching.

At some point her fingers tangled in my hair. She pulls on it every time she shudders her release, until she lays still.

I sit up and catch my reflection on the oval mirror propped on Mrs. Everdeen’s night table, next to the blade her late husband used to shave his face. Both items remain in the same spot they were left at 6 years ago. Young Primrose polishes the reflecting surface everyday, readying it for a father that will never use it again.

As I take a minute to inspect my appearance, I’m surprised I don’t have Gale Hawthorne features. I’m taken aback at how young and kind my face is. I guess I must be 16 or 17 in her mind’s eye. Blond, wavy hair. Warm blue eyes. Chiseled jaw, defined upper lip and a strong straight nose. I rip off the simple white button down shirt covering my upper body to find lean, defined muscles over a wide set of shoulders that look strong and used to manual labor. My skin is fair with a smattering of freckles and light blonde hair cover my arms. I realize this is what Katniss finds appealing. Whatever she’s attracted to.

I look down at my trousers, and see flecks of flour on dark brown sturdy material. I find it amusing that she’s dreamt me off to be a baker of all things, but I guess in her mind, it makes sense. I did give her bread in the backyard of an abandoned bakery the first time we met.

I will the rest of my clothes gone, and it disappears on the spot. I kiss her navel sweetly, and hook my elbows under her knees. When I sit up, I pull her hips towards mine.

“My turn.” My voice is raspy and needy. Katniss nods, widening the opening between her thighs for me.

“Will you… fit?” Her voice wavers, her gray eyes watch the turgid appendage between my legs nervously.

My cock twitches. “I will fit, Sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.” I assure her sweetly, caressing her outer thigh.

She nods. “Okay.” She breathes out softly. “I’m ready.”

Katniss gasps when I run the head of my dick through her wet, swollen folds, and without much ado sink my full, long girth into her in one swoop motion. She releases a breathless, long, drawn out moan once I’m seated all the way in. She’s so tight and warm, I wish I could freeze this moment, here, right now, and live in it forever. Alas, time is not something I have control over, so I give into my need and start moving.

Katniss keens breathlessly every time I rock into her. She’s digging her blunt nails into the skin of my shoulder blades, after having hooked her slim arms under mine. Her face is practically buried into the hollow of my neck, letting me feel the brush of her lips and her hot breath against my pectoral with every thrust. Having her awake for this was the best decision ever!

I kiss her sweaty forehead, and bury my nose in her hair. She always smells so good, like lavender and fresh rain. I kiss her temple, and then her cheek; lastly I kiss her lips and she sighs into it.

“Does it feel good?” I ask her, genuinely interested in her answer.

She nods faintly. “It feels… wonderful. Different. Strange. I feel so full, like I’m stuffed to the brim, yet I need more of you, of your… hmmm…”

“Cock,” I supply. “Call it a cock.”

“Alright.” She breathes out. “I- I think I like the feel of your… cock, in me.” She says rubbing her cheek against mine.

“Good. Let me know when you get tired, and I’ll finish.”

She gives me a frowning look. “You can do that at will?” She asks.

I shrug. “Usually. Sometimes, when I’m to keyed in, I just explode after a few pumps. It’s not very often. But it’s happened.”

“Well, I don’t want to rush you, but, my legs are starting to cramp up, so…” she winces.

I chuckled and kiss her mouth again. “Alright, Sweetheart, your wish is my command. I’ll fill you up with my thick cum right away.”

She’s trying to smile at my jesting words, but I pick up my pace before she can respond, and soon I’m driving into her like a possessed madman. It only takes a few pumps, but it takes almost a full 2 minutes to finish spilling my load into her. My hands aren’t idle during my release though.

My thumb presses tight, fast circles against her clit, and my sweet, beautiful Katniss starts clenching and shaking with her own orgasm. I nearly mistake her body obviously reacting to my semen because she’s riding her release at the same time as her organs start knitting the embryo of my heir deep in her womb.

Her body tenses, and breaks out into a high fever. She shivers and her lips turn pale and dry, her skin is ashen and papery, and her eyes are closed. She’s convulsing in my arms, but not in blissful orgasm anymore. Since I’m still inside her, I can feel every one of her muscles contract on my cock, and it is too much for me to bear, I pull out of her quickly and spill a second load just shy of her pussy. I gather her into my arms, and mumbled an incantation into her hair, holding tightly to her.

I’m not allowed to pray, but that doesn’t stop me from pleading for her life over and over as I sit on the bed with her limp body cradled to my chest. “Please, don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die…”

Fuck! I don’t care if the child lives as long as she does… and I keep rocking her until morning surprises me, and Mrs. Everdeen walks in on me holding her almost dead daughter.

——————

Katniss gives birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

The child looks completely human with a mop of dark hair on her head and the bluest eyes a child can have at that age. Still, rumors break out of the origin of the child, and people start attacking both Katniss and the babe when things start getting too weird for them.

Mrs. Everdeen reluctantly accepts her daughter has mated with a demon, and has a very hard time looking her in the eye. I’m sure the fact that she sees me as an exact replica of her dead husband, has to have caused some psychological disturbance for the healer. It must have been unpleasant to walk in on her obviously freshly fucked daughter, limp and unresponsive in the arms of a man that looks just like the father of said daughter.

Primrose is not allowed to stay in the same room with her sister and niece without Mrs. Everdeen present, and Katniss is livid about it.

“I’ve practically raised Prim on my own at the age of 11, when you were too sick to care for anyone, least of all yourself! We are all alive thanks to Peeta!” She yells at her mother one day while bitter tears slide down her cheeks.

Mrs. Everdeen asked Katniss to leave the house, after catching my reflection on the window glass while the baby nursed. The healer can’t stand my presence, let alone the appearance my body takes in her mind’s eye, particularly when I can’t hide my lust for Katniss regardless of the face I’m wearing.

On top of the obvious, understandable reasons why Mrs. Everdeen wants nothing to do with her oldest daughter, she claims to be afraid I’ll go after Primrose as well, as if I could have the faintest interest in the young girl, when I only have eyes for the mother of my child.

“Please don’t say that cursed name in this house, Katniss. That monster will be drawn to it.”

“I can call his name whenever I want, because he’s the father of my child, your grandchild!” Katniss argues. “He has never done anything to harm us. He’s saved my life numerous times, and he’s fed us, and kept our health when he didn’t have to. You’re being unreasonable!”

“She really is not.” I say in my most gentlemanly voice, as I shimmer into existence in the middle of their room. “Your Mother has reason to distrust me, but to displace her own daughter and brand new grandchild is cruel.” I say turning eyes full of fire to the woman cowering away from me.

I go back to Katniss and smile, showing her only placid blue when she looks into my eyes. “Do not worry, Katniss. You’re mine to care for, and that I will do. As for your family…” When I shift my gaze to Mrs. Everdeen, my pupils have taken over the blue of my irises, leaving only a pool of empty darkness. “We will figure something out.”

————————-

The babe nurses with vigor, and my favorite time of day is when I sit and watch the evening feedings. My fascination with the baby is offset by my ever growing lust, sparked by Katniss’ exposes breasts.

When the child is asleep and safely tucked in her crib, I take Katniss to the living room of the grand house I built for her in the middle of the woods. I strip my lover of her clothing, piece by piece and drag her to her own bedroom, where the softest, most comfortable bed waits for us.

She doesn’t want to be pregnant again so soon, so she bends over and lets me take her in the rear. By the sounds she makes, I dare say she enjoys it greatly. Her pussy doesn’t stay neglected though; my fingers keep my sweet, beautiful mate satisfied and relaxed.

I seldom need another body to satisfy me anymore, but until I have a mature offspring to take my place devouring the sleeping women of the world, I’m bound to keep prowling the Earth seeking to douse a dying lust for other cunts; my conquests all fall flat and insipid compared to the vivacious woman I have waiting on me back home.

I’m not sure when Katniss’ place became Home for me, but it is the place I always return to.

————————

Katniss starts hunting again six months after the baby is born.

On the second day, the child sits in her pen while Katniss skins the game. The baby cries and cries until her mother picks her up and sits her on her lap as she works. Katniss shrieks when the child’s chubby hand plunges into the bucket of entrails next to the stool they sit on, and tries to bring the gore to her open mouth. The little girl throws a mighty tantrum, until she’s fed meat from a squirrel Katniss cooked. After that, the baby only wants to feed on game, not on vegetables and milk like normal babies.

Katniss thinks it’s unnatural to feed a child so young meat, but she wasn’t truly frightened until a few days after the child’s first birthday.

Primrose visits with her pet cat, Buttercup. Our baby grabs the feline by the tail and tries to strangle it with a choke hold worthy of a professional wrestler. Primrose nervously laughs it off as childlike curiosity and lack of force control, but Katniss knows better. Our child tried to kill and eat Buttercup.

I knew it was time to take charge of the toddler.

Katniss cries with guilt, because she now understands her own mother’s fears, but still hands the little girl over to me, to take to my realm. They get to see each other every day, and our daughter loves her mommy to death. They just don’t understand each other’s natures, and know it’s better to remain separate.

Our daughter’s growth has accelerated in my realm, so she’s now at the level of a 5 year old child.

“Will she kill humans?” Katniss asks me tearfully one night after my seed is drying between her thighs.

I lean down and kiss her temple. “She might. She may become a Succubus. She may become something totally different. She’s still half human, darling. Only time will tell.”

That’s poor comfort for Katniss, so she cries in my arms until fatigue takes over her. I can’t help myself. I fuck her again while she’s asleep, and this time I don’t pull out when my release is imminent. That’s when it happens again. Only this time the reaction is different. Obviously supernatural.

Her breathing picks up, her mouth falls open, her skin starts to glow. I place my hands on her abdomen, where the glow is more intense. I push my erection inside her pussy, because I want to feel it happening from the inside, and the heat leaching from her walls is almost unbearable. Her forehead breaks into fat beads of sweat, her skin is burning up, and she shivers uncontrollably under my weight. I’m involuntarily cumming again. My hips can’t stay still, so I give in and piston into her at a frantic pace, digging her slim frame deeper into the mattress.

Poor, exhausted, Katniss, passes out before I can pull out of her. Much like the first time, my mate is in a short coma for the next week.

I make her mother tend to her like I did the first time as well. This time, Katniss delivers twin baby boys.

There’s absolutely no doubt at all the infants are my spawn and hold the powers of the incubus. When Katniss holds them, they look exactly the way she sees me: soft blonde curls that fall on their forehead in waves, pleasant blue eyes like summer sky, long eyelashes that brush chubby, rosy cheeks. The boys look cherubic, and she can’t stop kissing them and showering them with attention.

They’ve won over their grandmother completely as well. When Mrs. Everdeen takes them, the boys look just like Katniss: straight dark hair, gray eyes, olive skin. They have Mr. Everdeen’s chin. But if Prim is the one to hold them, they look completely different.

The twins breastfeed exclusively, refusing any other nourishment well into two years of age. The boys are cunning, not showing any demonic tendencies, or habits that’ll scare Katniss away. Mommy— as they call her affectionately— is way too fond of them, and barely leaves their side. She’s lost weight and her skin and hair turned brittle, but her children come first all the time.

They can’t fool me though. I catch them whispering thoughts into their mother’s head, planting ideas and fears she’s never had before, and I know it’s time to take them away when they don’t even try to hide their wrong doing from me, just staring boldly into my face, sporting identical smirks as they sing into Katniss’ ear they’re the only ones that love her in this world; they need her to care for them.

Katniss fights me over them, until I show her how manipulative the little fuckers are: I’m fucking her in our bedroom while the boys are supposed to be soundly asleep in their own warm beds, instead, they sneak into our room and watch in fascination as I take her hard and fast. They snicker when my hand makes contact with their mother’s romp and I make the curtain fall, revealing their presence after casting a protective block on her mind against the boys’ trickery.

Katniss scrambles to cover up her nakedness, but the boys ask excitedly when will they be able to do the same?

I sit them both on my lap— that my mate has hastily covered with our sheets— and lovingly explain to my sons they will have their chance once they reach puberty. And the best part is, I’ll be able to retire!

Katniss leaves the bed to wrap herself with a robe and watches my exchange with the boys disgusted from a corner of the room. Her limbs are tied into a tight ball, and her distress is palpable enough for the boys to pick up.

“Not you mommy,” one of the twins clarifies.

“Mommy belongs to you, father.” Adds the other one helpfully.

“And she’s too sweet to break.” Explains the other.

Katniss does not oppose me taking the boys after that.

—————

The third pregnancy nearly kills my Katniss.

The baby’s aura is just too evil for her body to sustain. I conjure up my most powerful sleeping magic and cover her eyes with scales so heavy she stays asleep for three days.

I take the child from her womb before she can wake up, but the little demoness survives.

Katniss never gets to see her new daughter, and the child hates her mother so much I have no choice but to send her to the one place that can hold a being as dark as her. Deep into Hell.

I tell Katniss the baby was stillborn and she never asks questions about it.

——————

Katniss is 25 the day she becomes pregnant for the last time. She delivers a second set of perfectly healthy twins; a boy and a girl this time. Both completely human. Both looking exceptionally normal and nothing like me, except for their bright blue eyes. That trait could’ve come from Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose for all I know.

I’m so out of my mind with rage, I terrorize poor Katniss by pretty much destroying everything in the house. I accuse her of sleeping with human men while I was away, Gale Hawthorne perhaps, since the babes have that Seam look to them.

She denies it vehemently, bawling and pleading, so scared for her life, but shielding the newborns with her battered body after labor.

I push her aside and stride to the crib, ready to smite the infants with a blow of my hand. She falls on her knees begging me to believe her, screaming her innocence, crying out my name pitifully. “Peeta, please, you have to believe me!”

“Why should I?” I yell in her face.

“Because… because… I love you, Peeta!” She cries out loudly, hanging from my wrist, my hand lifts her body off the floor wrapped around her delicate neck, squeezing it tightly.

I see the petechiae forming in the white of her eyes. The oxygen in her brain will soon be too scarce to function.

But she’s stunned me into silence.

“No you don’t.” I slam her down to the floor gracelessly.

Katniss’ tear stricken face looks up. She crawls closer to me ignoring her sore throat and neck. She tugs on my pant legs, pitifully. “I do, Peeta. It’s the truth.” She rasps painfully. “I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. I could never let any other man or being lay a hand on me. I’m in love with you.”

“Well…” I struggle for something to say. I’m choked up, words won’t come to my aid. “You shouldn’t, Katniss. Nobody loves me. I’m a demon.”

“And my body is your temple.” She pleads.

But the imprint of my fingers marring her neck, are a reminder, not even living a thousand lifetimes atoning, would be enough to deserve her. “And look how well I look after my temple!” I speak mainly to myself, my voice dripping sarcasm and regret.

“I am yours for eternity.” She vows placing my hand on her chest, where her heart is frantically pounding. “I give you my soul. Please, Peeta. No one has ever touched me, but you. I swear on all of our children. The infant twins included.”

“Katniss! No!” I lament deeply, falling heavily on a chair the farthest away from the crib.

“No what?” She murmurs, coming to caress my shins, then she massages my knees, and her nimble hands creep up my thighs, making a beeline for the fastenings of my trousers.

My cock becomes hard as steel in a second. Katniss Everdeen has been the first and only human to perform oral sex on me. The way she falls on her knees to worship my cock with her mouth, and when it is evident my length will go down her throat only so far, her hands join the cult to my phallus and I loose all my faculties, along with my will to lord over her; I become her slave when her sweet mouth is around me, even when she’s the one in the servitude position. It’s one of the many reasons I know for a fact I could never leave her, is one of the reasons I know she’s my one true mate.

But I ignore my erection and the all consuming need to be in her mouth. She’ll convince me to anything if I let her suck me off, then where will we be? There are more pressing matters than the gratification of my lust to consider.

“Katniss, you shouldn’t have pledged your soul to me. That was foolish! Reckless. A gigantic mistake!” I tell her pulling at the roots of my hair, soft and silky, the way she likes it. “Now you truly belong to me, for eternity.” I tell her, and finally cup her cheek in my palm, tangling her dark tresses in my fingers.

“Peeta, I live in the woods. Everyone has shunned me because I’m the Incubus’ whore. No one talks to me, but everybody fears me. I’m an outcast in this place. My mother barely stands to see me, let alone talk to me. My sweet sister is the only person who loves me and my children. In her eyes the kids are just her nieces and nephews despite their dark inclination, but Prim’s reputation suffers every time people remember we’re related, so I’ve been trying to keep my distance from her.”

Katniss shakes her head sadly, and sits back on her haunches. “I chose you a lifetime ago. I knew the price of being your lover would be steep. I still choose you. Do you still not know this?”

“Nobody has loved me before.” I mutter sadly.

“Well, I do. And I will until you take me from this earth.”

I nod, my mind resolved on what needs to be done.

��The day the twins are completely independent, living their own lives, happily according to their own expectations, I’ll come for you, my beautiful mate.” I tell her. “Since these babies are human, they belong to you, and you will care for them until they reach maturity.

“To makes things easier on you and them, no living human will remember anything about me. The children’s father will just be a foggy memory no one can quite recall. You will be safe, and I’ll be gone until time brings me back to you.”

“And what of me? Do I sit here pretending I don’t miss you? Feeding our children lies about their father?“ She argues scowling at me angrily.

“Sweetheart, I’m afraid you won’t remember much about me either.” I tell her firmly.

“Peeta, you can’t! Peeta—“ She tries to catch my arm, her voice is full of anger and betrayal, but my enchantment is already done.

“Until then… my love.”

—————-

The girl with dark hair and blue eyes dances on tip toes in the meadow. The boy with blonde curls and gray eyes tries to twirl like his sister, but his chubby legs can’t keep up.

Katniss laughs merrily from her spot on the picnic blanket. I’ve never been good at staying away from her, but I’ve made an art of longing from afar without touching her, our the children. This time I can’t resist the temptation, and reach my index finger to brush away the lock of gray hair that has escape her loose braid.

She shivers at my touch, and gathers her coat around her.

“Children,” she calls, standing up and already folding the blanket, “it’s time to go home for the evening.”

“Do we have to, Grandma?” Whines the little girl.

“Yeah! Woo ve haf too?” Pipes up the toddler.

“Remember, we promised mommy and daddy we’d come home early enough to take baths.” Says Katniss with a sweet smile.

The little girl groans and kicks a pebble. Her brother tries to imitate the behavior, but can’t quite get the sass. Katniss rushes at them both, and takes them in her arms for hugs and kisses. The children laugh until they forget to grumble about cutting short their playtime.

I gave my family new memories. Then I gave the whole district a similar version to complement.

Katniss lives with our son and his family above the bakery we met at when she was a child. The walls leading up the apartment are covered with family pictures, full of love and happiness. There’s one single portrait of Katniss’ late husband among the pictures: a wide shouldered baker, with a riot of blonde waves on his head, summer sky blue eyes that match his twins’ perfectly, and a sweet lopsided smile that makes his widow’s heart swoon even now.

“Tell us a story, Grandma!” Begs our grand daughter after her mother and father tuck her in bed.

“Stowry!” Shouts the boy from his side.

“Tell us about Grandpa and his watercolors!”

Katniss laughs, and sits down on the children’s bed. She tells a beautiful story of how her husband used to paint beautiful pictures of flowers and plants for her, how her husband was a painter, and a baker, how he never put sugar in his tea, slept with his windows open, and always double knotted his shoelaces. I stare at my beautiful mate from the shadows, recounting a romance of great bravery, that defeated odds and trials, just to emerge victorious and true.

I wish her memories were as real as the sweet smile they bring to her face.

Rumor has it the baker died attacked by tracker jackers. A horrific and tragic death. Nobody wants to think about it, so they don’t. All anyone knows is that the Mellark’s are a respectable, loving family of bakers that had to survive without their beloved husband and father.

Katniss learned her husband’s trade and passed it down to their twin children. Both very creative and skilled bakers in their own right. The boy married first at the age of 20. His wife is sweet and devoted and had her first baby the following year. The twin sister, decided to stay single and travel the world, learning culinary secrets from other places to improve the business back home. She returned recently with a dog in tow and has been trying to adopt an orphan girl she befriended in one of her travels.

Katniss is almost 50 years old now. Tonight I’ve come for her. She’s lived a full, happy life reflected in the laugh lines around her lips and eyes. Her hair has streaks of gray all over; wrinkles and soft skin have appear on her face and arms, but she’s as beautiful as the day I left her.

She’s asleep, and content. I almost regret waking her… but she’s mine, and I’ve missed her. The world is such a lonely place without her waiting for me everyday. Sure, I have my demonic clan to keep me company in the dark realm, but they’re all wreaking havoc on their own now, and fuck it, no other pussy compares to my mate, despite her human age. I haven’t taken another woman since I released the boys onto the world, they’re even more devious and manipulative than I ever was.

The girls are the truly scary ones to be honest; they can kill any man with precision and never get a speck of gore on their pristine outfits. Deep down I believe it’s because of their mother’s hunting skills and stubbornness.

I smile fondly at her, while hovering over her bed. I kiss her forehead, whispering the command into her mind. “Wake up, Sweetheart. It’s time to go home.”

Slowly, her eyes open, and I see the bright gray hue I’ve missed so much all this years. A sweet, soft smile curls her lips slowly.

“Hi, handsome. I’ve been waiting for you.” She says and accepts my kiss on her lips.

“The adoption was approved.” I tell her quietly, of our daughter’s last pending matter. “The twins are already independent and have everything they’ve ever wanted. You did a beautiful job raising them. I’m here to collect you, darling.”

“You look so handsome.” Katniss says “That silver hair suits you, and your wrinkles match my own. I always knew you’d look devilishly beautiful in your mature age. I’ve forgotten how striking you truly are, though.” She says caressing my cheek and smiling. “The children would loved to meet you.”

“The children know their father loved them enough to give them a good life. They’re happy and have filling lives, It won’t do them any good to know me.” I tell her without self pity. “Now come, It’s time.” I take her hand, and help her up.

“Oh!” She exclaims when her soul separates from her body. The wrinkles in her hands smooth out, her hair turns black as night and elongates to her waist that shrinks and tightens. She could be 16 again.

She looks down at her old body lying peacefully in her bed, now an empty shell. Her eyes widen. “Am I dead?” She asks.

I nod. “You pledged your soul to me, Katniss. It’s the only way we can be together for eternity,”

“Will I get to see our children again?” She asks.

“Any time you want.” I promise. “You’ll see and talk with the ones that live with me every day, but the ones we leave here, in the human world… They will feel your presence, but they will never see you again.”

She looks sad about the news.

“It’s the way of mortals, my love.” I tell her caressing her face tenderly.

“It is.” She acquiesces, leaning into my touch, and then kissing the palm of my hand.

“You gave them a good life and sweet memories to remember you by.” It’s not much, but it’s enough to get her to move on.

“That I did.” She looks up at me, gifting me with a bittersweet smile. “Take me away, Peeta. I have so many hugs in store from the grand babies to give you.”

“Then let’s not delay.”

“You will really be content with me for eternity?”

“Always.”

#Springtime Edition 2019 #aliswell 21 #animekpopxx #prompt 49 #submission

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