#meandering walkway

[seivern]

Natural Stone Pavers Front Yard This is an illustration of a traditional, medium-sized front yard stone garden path.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

The Plant Prowler of Pabu

A/N: I’m scared that Pabu is going to be toast after this week, so I wrote a little fluff to make myself feel better. Also, this is the first time I’ve been able to finish a fic in six weeks, so… yay me!

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (GN)

Rating: T (but MDNI as always)

Wordcount: 2.1K

Warnings and tags: mild language; fluff; a kiss; spoilers for The Bad Batch season 3

Summary: Exploring the island during his first morning on Pabu, Crosshair encounters a mastermind of botanical crime: you.

Suggested Listening: 

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Whoever said, “It’s darkest just before dawn” had clearly never woken up to go for a walk before sunrise. Even if Crosshair hadn’t had enhanced vision, it would have been easy for him to navigate his way down to the beach of Pabu in the dim half-light. Hunter had wordlessly watched him exit the Marauder, pretending to still be asleep, but Crosshair knew that his brother would have drawn his vibroblade in a flash if he’d even glanced sideways at Omega.

Crosshair didn’t exactly blame Hunter for his caution, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. The squad had arrived on the idyllic island the previous day, and Crosshair was immediately swarmed by a horde of curious locals. With Hunter determined to keep Crosshair in sight at all times, there had been no escape from their onslaught of hospitality, and by the time the celebrations had died down, Crosshair had been clinging to the tattered threads of his patience and sanity.

It was a hell of a thing to go from barely speaking to anyone for months on end to suddenly being plunged into the midst of a vibrant and chaotic crowd of nosy spectators. He’d escaped to the Marauder at last and pretended to sleep, keenly aware of Hunter’s eyes on him. He’d spent enough time under the microscope in the past several months, though, and he was ready for some privacy.

And so it was that he found himself wandering down the empty terraced walkways of Pabu, making his way to the shoreline in the pale gloaming. He didn’t encounter a single soul as he walked—barring the ubiquitous moonyos that seemed to frolic across the island at all hours. Pabu was the sort of place that seemed too flawless to be real. Too flawless to last.

Not quite as flawless as it seems on the surface, he acknowledged as he turned down a path that snaked through one of the sections of the island that had yet to be rebuilt after the catastrophic sea surge he’d heard about countless times at the welcoming party the previous night. The buildings had been reduced to rubble, and judging by the weeds sprouting in the cracks of the walkway, the locals tended to avoid this particular part of the island.

Perfect.

The gentle breeze off the ocean was chilly, and he told himself it was the reason his hand trembled more than usual that morning. He shoved both hands deep into his pockets as he navigated the last few levels before he reached the beach. As he stepped onto the sand, a gust of wind buffeted against him. It was bracingly cold, and it smelled like salt and aquatic vegetation and wet earth, and he closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply and focusing on the sensation.

When he opened his eyes, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision had him snapping his head to the side. He froze. A figure meandered slowly down the beach, sticking close to the bottom of the hill where the lush foliage grew thickly right up to the edge of the sand. He was certain you had spotted him, but you didn’t immediately acknowledge his presence.

He watched for a moment as you paused and stooped down to examine one of the plants, then carefully plucked a few bunches and laid them in the basket you carried. Bizarre. What the kriff was this person doing out here so early? Nothing innocent, that was for damned sure. Why would anyone sneak down to such an isolated stretch of the beach at this obscene hour if they didn’t have nefarious intent?

Aside from me, obviously.

He squinted slightly. Even with his enhanced eyesight, it was dark enough, and you were far enough away, that it was difficult to make out your features, but he was reasonably sure you hadn’t been at the party the night before. 

Hmph.

He turned and walked the opposite direction, away from the person who’d had the audacity to interrupt his solitude by getting to the beach first. Better not to get involved.

Crosshair took a different route the next morning, arriving at the beach just as the sun rose. As bad kriffing luck would have it, you were exiting the beach just as he arrived, and your paths inevitably intersected. He braced himself for a conversation, but you simply met his eyes and nodded quietly as you passed him.

He suppressed a sigh of relief. Stepping aside to make room for you to pass on the narrow trail, he couldn’t help noticing that your basket was filled with a variety of neat bundles of leaves and twigs. Odd, but your hobbies were none of his concern. Even if they did involve herb rustling and grand theft shrubbery.

He continued his path down to the shoreline and wandered along the water’s edge, staring out at the horizon. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see your solitary figure making its way up the steep slope and into Lower Pabu. He was now completely sure that you’d not been at the welcoming party, nor had he encountered you in the village. It wasn’t that surprising; after all, hundreds of people lived on the island, and he wasn’t in any particular hurry to meet them all—or any of them, if he were honest.

Of course, he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Wrecker had flatly refused to allow Crosshair to isolate himself, while the gregarious mayor Shep Hazard seemed equally dedicated to the twin causes of thrusting Crosshair into the community and plying him with as much fruit as he could eat in a lifetime. He was starting to feel a tiny surge of violence every time he saw a jogan fruit.

On the third day, Batcher woke up with Crosshair and scrambled out of the Marauder, bounding ahead of him down the ramp and then turning to wiggle her entire body in anticipation as he followed. He let the lurca hound pick the path that morning, not bothering to hide his thin smile at Batcher’s endless curiosity and enthusiasm. She crisscrossed the walkways incessantly, sniffing and exploring, chasing the moonyos playfully down the hill, investigating every nook and cranny of the village, and easily running five times the distance that Crosshair traveled on their way down to the water.

The beach was empty this morning, to Crosshair’s relief. At last, some peace and quiet. Or at least as quiet and peaceful as it could be with Batcher rocketing back and forth across the wet sand, grunting and huffing as she charged into the surf and back up to Crosshair, crouching into a bow as she tried to entice him to play with her. When he didn’t immediately comply, she took off chasing a flock of seabirds, scattering them into the air in a cacophony of indignant squawking.

She chased the birds down the beach, barking joyously as she splashed through the surf. When the hound disappeared around a bend in the shoreline, Crosshair sped up slightly, not wanting to risk Omega’s wrath if anything happened to her pet on his watch. As he rounded the bend, he was greeted with a most unexpected sight: Batcher was lying on her back on the sand, writhing with delight as you rubbed her belly.

Your basket was overturned, and all the neat little bundles of herbs were strewn across the sand. It wasn’t hard to deduce the instigator of such carnage. Batcher spotted Crosshair and immediately jumped up and shook the sand off herself before rushing to greet him.

“Down,” he said sternly as she jumped up and swiped at him with her massive paws.

She dropped obediently, and trotted along next to him as he approached you. You’d already begun picking up your fallen bundles of leaves, and he quickly bent to assist you.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled.

“No harm done,” you replied, shaking a bit of loose sand out of the bundles before you dropped them into your basket. “They all get washed before I hang them up to dry anyway.”

“So you’re not just engaging in botanical heists for the adrenaline rush?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, it really gets the blood pumping,” you replied, deadpan. “My day just doesn’t feel complete without a little horticultural larceny.”

“I can see you like to live on the edge,” he said with a tiny smile. “The Plant Prowler of Pabu.”

“And I would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for a mysterious stranger and his meddling dog.”

He liked you. Damn it.

Crosshair didn’t see you for the next several days. He assumed you’d moved your criminal enterprise elsewhere on the island, and after the team returned from Barton IV, he didn’t feel the same need to escape the Marauder as he had previously. Still, he wasn’t sleeping particularly well, and after an excruciatingly restless night, he slipped out of the ship not long before dawn and wandered aimlessly down the streets of Pabu until he found himself in the unstable section he’d discovered on the first day.

As he picked his way through the ruins, he spotted movement two terraces below, and he grinned. Forcing himself to walk casually so you didn’t suspect how pleased he was to see you, he sauntered down to your level, only to find you ripping weeds up from between the fragments of pavement with uncharacteristic abandon.

“What did those plants ever do to you?” he asked.

You must have spotted him before he arrived, because you didn’t even flinch at the sound of his voice.

“Invasive species,” you replied. “I try not to over-forage, but in this case, I’ll make an exception.”

“And I thought your crimes only extended to vegetational theft,” he drawled. “I had no idea you’d escalated to floral murder and agricultural vigilantism.”

“The hero Pabu needs,” you said with a smile that had no business being as charming as it was, considering you were currently covered in a fine layer of dirt and assorted bits of leaves and twigs. “If this plant gets established on the island, we might never be able to eradicate it. It will outcompete the native plants and could cause significant disruptions to the ecosystem.”

“How altruistic of you,” he remarked drily.

“Not at all,” you laughed. “It also happens to be delicious.”

Crosshair stooped down and pulled one of the plants up by the roots, examining it closely. “It’s on sight, then.”

“Exactly. No mercy.”

As the first rays of the sun appeared on the distant horizon, you packed the large bundles of weeds into your basket, then stood and dusted your hands off on your trousers. You stretched a bit, clearly a little stiff from your labor. Impulsively, Crosshair spoke.

“Want to watch the sunrise with me?” You looked surprised at his offer, and he cleared his throat, looking awkwardly away. “Or do you turn into a meiloorun if you stay out past dawn?”

“Yes,” you said. “I mean, no. I mean, yes, I’d like to stay. No, I don’t turn into a meiloorun.”

You bit your lip and stared down at the bundle of weeds in your basket, poking at it ineffectually as you muttered something unintelligible under your breath. Stifling a laugh, Crosshair climbed up onto the crumbling half-wall of a destroyed structure and extended his hand to help you up after him. You scrambled up and sat down next to him, gazing out at the tranquil ocean as the sun began to paint the high clouds in brilliant shades of gold and pastel.

“Not a bad view, is it?” you asked quietly. 

“Definitely worth waking up early,” he replied, watching your face as the light caught on your cheekbones and reflected in your eyes.

Without making a conscious decision, he lifted his hand and brushed a little loose dirt off your cheek. His damned hand trembled, and he mentally cursed. You didn’t seem to notice the slight tremor, though—or if you did, you didn’t say anything about it. Instead, you turned your head slowly, grazing your lips across his fingertips as you met his eyes. It seemed the most natural thing in the galaxy to continue to trace the line of your jaw until his hand curled around the back of your head.

Your lips were soft and warm in the cool breeze, and you tasted like sea salt and dew and something he didn’t quite recognize. Something new. He liked it. You leaned into his kiss, and when at last it came to its natural conclusion, he drew in a shaky breath.

“Hi,” he whispered. “I’m Crosshair.”

---

Want more Crosshair? I have another Crosshair x Reader ficlet here!

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[juniefruit]

-{ model bf hyunjin }-

I had writer's block for a bit, but I have written this! ((Also, happy almost friday))

Word Count: 955

Sometimes he takes you along with him to events & photoshoots. For most shoots he can’t take you on set, but just having you in the same city calms his nerves a bit. Paris is one of his favorite cities to visit. 

One of his favorite moments to indulge in is the quiet calmness found in the morning. Sun rays shine through the luxurious hotel blinds and cover the room in a staggered array of beauty. You two lay, a tangle of limbs, within the pristine white sheets. Hyunjin tries not to make a sound as he admires your effortless beauty before you wake. Your cheek is squished against the pillow, which he thinks is cute.

On his free day between shooting, He invties you to a walk on the riverside. In a world that is so fast-paced, he has learned to appreciate the seemingly ordinary. You hold his hand as the light breeze passes by. The emerald green leaves flutter up in the branches of the trees that line the walkway. As you walk, A swan meanders through the slow current of the river. It catches your eye, with its elegant white feathers and curved neck. With your free hand, you point to it. Hyunjin comments, ‘It’s not as beautiful as you, though.’ Always jinnie and his cheesy compliments. 

Sometimes, he will send you concept photos or videos of a shoot he’s on for your thoughts. Honestly, he just needed an excuse to text you. He’ll ask, ‘Do I look good here? What about this one?’ In what universe does he ever not look good?? 

He loves taking you to the fanciest, most elegant restaurants. Even if it’s not really your vibe, he’ll try to persuade you. He’ll pay for everything, help you pick an outfit, whatever it takes. He wants you to be comfortable and safe in your own skin. 

He is your #1 supporter when you’re going shopping. If you thought your best friend persuaded you to buy more than you need, you haven’t met Hyunjin. He gives out compliments like crazy. They don’t have your size? He will find an employee to order it for you. He will never hesitate to get you what you deserve. Window shopping is nonexistent, because he will drag you into the store instead of just peering through the window. 

Hyunjin doesn’t get jealous for every little thing, but he does notice when someone crosses a line, and he’ll step in. He is an expert at reading body language. It’s something you’ve always loved about him; he is observant and notices the small details. He can tell when you need him a little more than usual, or if you need some space to think. 

In public, he puts on his ‘business’ persona, which is classy, cool, calm, and collected. The aura he radiates is astonishing. He exudes elegance. However, in the comfort of your own home/hotel room, he has a tendency to be clingy and sugary sweet. There’s a reason he’s the drama llama! He’ll pout, whine, make random noises too. Sometimes when he’s bored he’ll strike a model pose or two in the living room just for fun. He constantly has to be touching you in some way; back hugs, shoulder/neck/waist rubs, anything :(

This is especially escalated when he can smell your presence. He loves the smell of you. With perfume, without, or just your regular shower gel has him go crazy. He’ll nuzzle his face into your neck, and play around with the collar of your shirt. 

Your high rise penthouse is chic, with the perfect mix of modern yet ‘old money’ vibes. White and black with accents of warm gold. Kkami has definitely made himself feel at home, too. With no concept of personal space, that dog will leap into your lap at any given chance. Particularly while you’re lounging on the couch or on the bed. Hyunjin jokes that Kkami might like you more than he does. Especially since Kkami does growl when Jinnie gets too close. 

He lives in those designer shirts, like the white ones that simply say Gucci, Versace, etc. on the front. Just a simple house shirt and sweats when he wants to be comfy. His shoulder-lenth hair is slightly disheveled, and small strands lay across his forehead and fall into his eyes. His lips are so glossy and pouty, just begging to be kissed. So you do. His head is resting against your shoulder, so you have to do some maneuvering. His response? A small hum and the most delicate smile gracing his face.

After going shopping, he makes you do a ‘fashion show’ in your living room with all the stuff you bought. It’s silly, but he loves it as a couple’s activity.

He loves to create matching couple outfits. Not that cliche cringry kind though. His vision is that your outfits complement eachother in aesthetic ways. Spending as much time as he does with the fashion industry means that he’s picked up a style tip or two. In no way does he see you as incompetent, he will always let you wear whatever you want or say no. But, he just can’t help but try to elevate your style and maybe put his own touch on the things you wear. It’s like his own type of love language. And it’s not like his advice is bad, either. At this point, both of your closets have influences from each other’s styles, and maybe some stolen pieces as well. It goes back to the part where he loves your scent. Scarves especially, because they hold your perfume so well. He will hold it up to his face and it instantly fills him with thoughts of you. 

If you liked this, see my masterlist !

[55sturn]

hi, may i please request a fic abt Chris adopting a little animal? any kind of animal is fine. thank you

✮ WELCOME HOME!

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis: in which chris and his girlfriend, y/n, decided to adopt a cat from a nearby pet

warnings: none aside from swearing! total fluff!

THIRD PERSON POV

chris and y/n had began to feel like their apartment was rather…empty. it was just the two of them for the most part, side from the revolving door of friends and family that were constantly in and out.

but when the sky was dusted with specks of dusk and nightfall, the stars starting peak through, and it was just the two of them cuddled up on the couch, it felt lonely. like something was missing.

so when y/n proposed the idea of getting a pet, chris was ecstatic. and so began the hunt for the perfect pet for the two of them. they wanted one that fit their personalities and dynamic, although they’d be completely content with a senior pet too, making a happy home for the animal to live the rest of its life in.

as the couple walked toward the shelters door, the two of them were sort of nervous but ultimately excited. y/n was cherishing the domesticity of it all. there was something about adopting a pet with the person you love that felt so incredibly warm and comfortable.

“i want an orange cat.” chris giggled, swinging his and y/n’s interlocked hands between their bodies.

“of course you do, i wouldn’t expect you to want any other type of cat or pet. well maybe i’d expect you to want something insane like a baby rhino or a full grown giraffe.” y/n laughed, watching as chris’ eye sparkled with mischief at the idea of having an unusual pet.

“a baby rhino as a pet would be sick as fuck. completely fucked up but sick as fuck as like a guard animal or whatever.” chris joked as they reached the front entrance.

“i would be terrified of it.” she giggled, walking through the door as chris held it open for her, they were happily greeted by an older dog that wandered around the front.

the two sat with him, petting him and kissing his head as chris talked about how much the older dog made him miss trevor who was back home with his parents.

the two walked through the aisles of the shelter, soon approaching the door that led to the kennel area. chris pulled it open, walking through and holding it open for y/n before lacing his fingers through hers.

“do you think a dog would be too high maintenance for us right now?” y/n hummed, her head resting against chris’ biceps as they stood and watched the dogs sit excitedly in their kennels.

“yeah i think so, i think if we were to get a dog, it’d have to be a more chill breed or an older dog that just needs love and attention y’know?”

“yeah.”

they continued their walk-through, interacting with as many of the dogs as they could before turning and following the walkway to the section where the cats were kept. as they meandered through, laughing as some of the cats asked for their attention while others looked at them, cocked their heads before going back to whatever they were doing.

y/n was about to turn back to the dogs, thinking they would get away with an older one, when an orange cat meowed and stuck its paw through the metal gate. crouching down she peered into the kennel, finding the six month old kitten excitedly clawing at the gate.

“chris come here.” y/n giggled, sticking her finger through one of the spaces and watching as the kitten nuzzled her finger.

“oh my god he’s so cute.” chris cooed, copying his girlfriend’s actions and petting the cat. the two played with the kitten through the gate until a worker stumbled across them.

“would you guys like to take him out of his kennel?”

“we were actually wondering if we could adopt him?”

“yeah, of course! i’ll just take him out of the kennel so you can hold him and we’ll bring him up to the front!” the lady smiled, handing the couple the kitten before grabbing his registration card out the holder underneath the kennel.

chris smiled as he watch his girlfriend cradle the kitten as if it were a human baby, laughing as she cooed and whispered at him, petting his head, watching as the kitten began loudly purring as she scratched beneath his chin.

“what do you wanna name him?” chris hummed against the side of her head as he slung his arm over her shoulders, the two of them following lazily behind the worker as she led them toward the front counter.

“torn between gizmo and charlie.”

“gizmo’s kind of cute and charlie is lowkey basic.” chris laughed making y/n roll her eyes as she set gizmo down on the front counter, while the worker grabbed the couple a bed? a set of dishes, a pink collar which made y/n laugh, and a few toys along with a bag of food.

after paying certain fees and for the few supplies that didn’t come free with the adoption, the couple walked out with the newest addition to their family. gizmo sat calmly in y/n’s lap as she looped the breakaway collar around his neck after adjusting it to the proper size. chris smiled as y/n happily fussed over the tiny baby sitting in her lap.

as the two brought their cat up to their apartment, y/n sighed and smiled as she spoke,

“welcome home giz!”

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© 55STURN 2023 [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[femalefemur]

Stranger in the Woods.

this is an 18+ fic, minors do not interact!

warnings: dub con, bears, hybrid John Price, please let me know if I missed anything!

word count: 1.6k

synopsis: you take a walk in the woods and get lost, bear shifter John Price finds you and takes what's his.

A/N: finally finished this, this came from a dream I had and desperately needed to write down, I also don't write smut often, it is what it is, reader has a vagina but no pronouns are used.

The day was beautiful, golden sun shining bright in the azure sky, white clouds floating by like soft pillows high in the heavens as you stared wistfully out of your window. It was much too beautiful of a day to be inside despite the pile of housework you had to do so you grabbed your knapsack. You filled your water bottle and packed trail mix, along with a sandwich and the reddest apple you had before heading out. 

You walked past your neighbour’s house, glancing at their windchime as it tinkled on their front porch and the flowers lining the walkway up to their house that were in full bloom, their scent wafting through the warm summer air. You kept walking, past the other houses filled with laughter and people in their yards enjoying the warm sunshine. You passed them with a small wave and smile as you continued on your way. Soon there were no houses lining the path, only the occasional car passing you by as you headed towards the woods. You stopped at the dirt parking lot to take a sip of your water before continuing on and into the woods. 

The woods were calm, the sound of insects trilling and birds occasionally chirping filled your ears as you walked down the path. Your eyes drifted down towards the beautiful, green ferns that grew on the forest floor and covered it like a delicate blanket. There were small flowers that sprouted through the gaps in the ferns, a smattering of colour throughout the endless green of the forest. The sight eased your mind and made you forget about all your responsibilities for a few blissful moments. You felt as though you belonged there in the wild amongst the animals, as if the forest was calling to you, a home that would envelop you in the warm earth and take away your troubles. The thought made you stop for a while, standing there in the middle of the forest as you stared out into the sea of trees, your fingers digging softly into the rough bark of the tree you stood beside as you lost yourself to thought. 

By the time you had realised you’d stepped off the path and wandered deeper into the forest it was too late. Your mind had been elsewhere and your legs had moved on their own until you stood in the middle of nowhere. You had no map and no compass, you had gotten rid of the compass app on your phone when you had first bought it, and there was no reception so that you could redownload it. You felt foolish for having gone into the woods with nothing but food and water, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you glanced around and tried to ascertain a way back to the path. You started walking again in a direction that you hoped was north, picking the route by the position of the sun in the sky, hoping that you remembered enough of your survival training to be right about your choice of direction. 

You hadn’t walked very far when you noticed it, a large brown bear meandering through the forest, seemingly unaware that you were there. It made you freeze where you stood, trying not to make any noise to draw attention to yourself as you watched it carefully and noticing how it had its nose to the ground as it sniffed around. Your heart pounded in your chest as it started walking in your direction, your legs seemingly unwilling to move as you swallowed the lump in your throat before forcing yourself to slowly move to the tree on your left, gently removing your backpack and crouching in an almost laying down position on the ground. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to see if it found you and the horror that would surely follow, your face buried in your hands as you bit your fingers to stop any sound that would leave your mouth. You heard it walk closer, the heavy steps of its paws echoing in your ears as you stayed where you were, now frozen in fear as you waited for whatever your fate may be. 

Then suddenly there was a nose prodding at you, it made you stiffen in surprise as you bit down harder on your fingers. The nose bumped into your arse before prodding at your thighs and pussy before you felt a clawed paw tear at your pants and flip you over. Your eyes met the cornflower blue ones that stared down at you, surprise written all over your face as you looked at the man, not a bear, before you. There were tiny bear ears atop his head that made your brows furrow in confusion before he was nosing at your pussy again, glancing up at you from between your legs as you tried to push him back and squirm away. Your actions only resulted in him throwing an arm over you and pulling you closer, groaning into your cunt as he lapped at you like a starved man, his fingers digging into your flesh and his tail twitching in excitement. Your face felt hot with embarrassment, you don’t know when you’d started to grind up against the stranger’s face but you’d realised when you felt your orgasm building, like a string slowly pulling taut as his eyes keenly watched your every reaction. His tongue ran over your dripping cunt, delving into your warm walls as his nose nudged at your clit and his beard grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, sucking at your clit as he watched you get closer to your peak. His tongue rolled over the swollen bud as the string snapped and you came, slick dribbling from your hole and covering his face.

“Been a long time since I’ve had such a satisfying meal” he spoke, face still buried between your legs as he sucked at your clit and made your hips buck and try to squirm away, still sensitive from your orgasm. 

“Please, no more” You whined, pushing at his head as tears formed in your eyes, the overstimulation becoming too much. 

A gruff chuckle left his mouth, reverberating against your pussy before he lifted his head and crawled over you. His hands ripped your shirt with ease before he was rolling your nipples between his fingers and slotting his mouth against yours. The kiss was anything but gentle, his tongue pushing into your mouth and lapping at the taste of you as if he were devouring your very being, his saliva trickling into your mouth as you kissed and his fat cock grinding against your wet folds. You were panting by the time the kiss broke, a mess of saliva and your own juices smeared across your lips and face while he lapped at your skin with a soft groan. His tongue licked down your cheek and along your jaw, leaving a wet trail behind before he was pulling back to push your legs up to your chest with a feral grin on his face. Your pussy clenched at the thought of his thick cock inside you, slick drooling from your hole as you stared up at him with hazy eyes and his heavy cock tapped against your aching clit. The stretch as he pushed in was delicious, the thickness of him making you feel impossibly full, your eyes rolling back as he bottomed out.

“There you go, so good for me, hm, taking me so well” he praised you, pressing soft kisses to your calves as his fingers rubbed at where you were both connected, marvelling at the way you stretched around him as a soft whimper left your lips. 

All you could do was nod as he thrust into you, punching the air out of your lungs with a smile on his lips and his teeth nipping at your legs. He pushed them closer to you as he loomed over you, the position making his cock feel even deeper inside you as his fingers slipped into your open mouth, hooking into your lower jaw and giving a small tug with each thrust. The feeling of it all made your brain feel hazy and cloudy. The feeling of him so deep inside you, the thatch of dark hair at the base of his cock brushing against your clit with each thrust, his fingers in your mouth, his beard against your skin. It was all too much, too good, too heavenly and it made you cum so hard you were sure you saw God. 

He kept going, fucking you through your second orgasm like an animal in heat as you drooled around his fingers and watched him. He was beautiful, beard glistening with your slick, thick, dark hair covering his chest and trailing down his torso to his pubes, soft ears and tail twitching with each thrust. The hair on his arms was just as dark and thick and a thin sheen of sweat covered him as the sun shone down on him like he was being kissed by it, making him seem ethereal. There was a soft clicking from how wet your cunt was as he fucked into you, the look in his eyes animalistic and hungry as he picked up his pace. The increased pace making you moan and whine, squirming as if you could escape when his thumb found your clit and circled it.

“Come on sweetheart, one more for me, you can do that can’t you?” He cooed down at you, grinning as you nodded and sniffled, tears of pleasure welling in your eyes as he rubbed your clit faster. 

Your third orgasm ripped through you like it was wrenching you from your body, like your very atoms were being ripped apart and put back together by this man above you. He followed shortly after, hot, sticky cum flooding your walls and branding you as his, his to love, to care for, to fuck until his balls were empty, his to keep in this forest that had swallowed you whole.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬

↳ summary: in which crowley has a cold

↳ warnings: none!

↳ song: like real people do—hozier

masterlist!

Spring was a wonderful time of year all over the world. It was when the sun peaked its head out from behind fluffy clouds and let the flowers bloom, washing away any gloom winter might have left behind.

Walkways suddenly became full of pedestrians meandering about in city's and small towns alike. Large puffy parkas were shed in favor of light jackets and shorts.

Shops were suddenly bustling with all sorts of people out and about, taking advantage of the beautiful weather to buy a coffee or new pair of pants.

But in Soho, London, one shop seemed to be an outlier.

If any of the passing foot traffic had taken a moment to peak into the glassy windows of said shop, an elegant sign reading Fell & Co hanging over their heads, they would have had the pleasure of seeing three very different people all talking to each other idly.

Even if the conversation was anything but.

"Really Aziraphale, you think he'd be a bit less chatty when sick. Peace and quite for once an all that."

A light gasp sounded from your left, prompting you to look at the angel next to you.

"That is not nice!" Aziraphale said your name full of disappointment, prompting an apologetic smile to spread across your lips.

"Sorry, mate. But I'm not wrong, am I?" You said while continuing to help him shelf books.

"Bite me." A lump of blankets behind you growled in response, a head of red hair poking out of one end.

"No, thank you, Crowley. I'll catch your cold."

It was supposed to have been a normal day. You had called and asked Aziraphale if this afternoon was a good day to pop in for a visit, only to be met with the sort of panic that could only be described as fretting.

Apparently, Crowley has never taken too well to the springtime. Who knew a demon could have allergies?

Each time he or Aziraphale attempted to miracle away the cold, it would just pop back up a few seconds later. It was as if someone had cursed him with a mild inconvenience. You wouldn't be too surprised if that was the case, actually. I mean, this is Crowley you're talking about. He's not exactly the best at making friends—even if he did manage to snag you somehow.

By the time you had arrived at the bookstore, swinging open the door as the closed signed clattered against it loudly, they had given up on any thought of magical remedies.

So here you were. Hovering over the sick demon with a concerned look. Er, well, Aziraphale was. You had opted for more of a quirked eyebrow, not willing to show how worried you were just yet. Lord, er Satan, or whoever the fuck knows Crowley wouldn't let you live that down.

"If anything Crowley—" You paused for a moment to flip the book you had been holding upside down into its rightful place before handing it off to Aziraphale, "—I'd say this is karma from all those times you yell at your plants."

"To hell with my damn plants!" He sniffled, sun glasses no longer on his face as he glared at your back.

Before you could get a word in edgewise, a sneeze sounded out from the couch. Without even looking, your knee-jerk reaction kicked in.

"God bless you."

You got two very different reactions out of that.

Aziraphale practically beamed at your words, and Crowley hissed as if physically hit, curling in on himself. It wasn't until you stopped to consider what you had just said that you realized your blunder.

"Sorry." You cringed. "Forgot about the demon stuff."

"Forgot? Remind me, angel, why do we even keep them around." Crowley spat, pulling yet another blanket onto his ever growing pile. You risked a glance back at him only to be met with slitted eyes. You simply let out a nervous laugh before scooting to a different bookshelf farther away from him. Better safe than sorry when it came to your demon friend.

"Because we like them, remember? They complimented my vest and your Bently, and then you asked if we could keep them." The angel responded. If he noticed how you choked on air at that last bit, he didn't choose to say anything.

"He said what now?" You coughed harshly at the same time Crowley groaned.

"Yeah yeah. A mistake in the heat of the moment." Was all he said before retreating further into the blanket burrito he had concocted. Somewhere in there was a quilt you were sure Aziraphale had knitted for him centuries ago, but you chose not to point out the tiny detail, instead filing that information away for later as a hidden smile played at your lips.

"As much fun socializing with you two is, I must admit you need to get some rest, Crowley. If we are to fix this problem without a miracle, the human way will have to do." Aziraphale turned to face his companion after you helped file the last pile of books away. You were quick to follow his actions.

Crowley opened his mouth as if to retort, but his eyes flickered from your face and Aziraphales for just a moment. With that he muttered something under his breath and turned over grumpily.

"Just—bugger off." His words were muffled by a dense pillow currently being smooshed to his face. You couldn't tell if it was that or something else, but his voice didn't sound as venomous as it normally did when talking to you.

"Alrighty then!" Aziraphale clapped his hands with a smile, none the wiser. "Ring if you need us, won't you?"

With that, he began to politely exit in the direction of the back of the store. Probably to go read a new series he just got in or re-read another.

You shuffled off behind the angel—only pausing at the entrance to the backroom after taking one more look back at Crowley.

Without saying a word, you took your phone out and set the volume just high enough to be heard. Setting it down on a nearby surface, you pressed play before quickly tip toeing out the room. As if that would stop the fallen angel from figuring out who left it there.

You slipped away just in time to miss Freddy Mercury's voice start-up. As well as the way Crowley smiled in spite of himself, starting to feel a little better already.

[syddsatyrn]

Chapter 1⛤Chapter 2 ⛤ Chapter 3 ⛤Chapter 4 ⛤ Chapter 5 Masterlist

⛤Pairing: - Eddie Munson x FemReader

⛤Warnings: Swearing, drinking / smoking, drugs, fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, a little angst if you squint.

⛤Words: 2.7k

⛤Song: "Photograph" By Def Leppard

⛤Summary: Moving away from Hawkins was the biggest mistake of your life. You left your best friends and forgot to stay in touch. Years later, you decide to hit up your good friend Steve. Its time to make a plan and make amends. The one thing you didn't expect was feelings to resurface when you saw your old high school crush.

⛤Notes: This series is 18+ Minors scram. I've got a super extra long chapter for you guys today! @hellfiremunsonn is my faithful beta reader and assists me so much. Thank you guys for making my come-back series a fun one. My next chapter will be the end of this series.

⛤Chapter: 4 "Subtle" Chemistry Star court mall is always at least a little crowded. The lively hum of conversations, laughter, and distant music formed a vibrant backdrop. Storefronts beckoned with their displays of trendy fashion, electronics, and enticing sales. Shoppers meandered through the wide walkways, their bags filled with many treasures. Neon signs buzzing, the occasional sounds of a cash register, and the scent of cinnamon drifting through the air. It was just like you remembered it. You had a blast hanging out with Robin. She picked out a brand new pair of ankle length combat boots. You both decided to get ice cream and take a break from walking around. The food court wasn’t super crowded, it was the perfect place to chat. “Can I tell you something? It’s a secret so dont go telling Steve.” “Ohhhh is it secret time?” I won't tell Stevie boy, I promise.” Robin raises her right hand, “Scouts honor.” “Okay. Uhhh…well…I slept in Eddie’s bed last night. He came home from tour in the middle of the night.” Your face turns redder with every word. “Oh shit. Wow Y/N, I didn't think you had it in yah.” She chuckles and puts another spoonful of strawberry ice cream in her mouth. “We didn't do anything!” You affirm your tone a little on the defensive side. “What!? I’m just saying you guys have been madly in love with each other since sophomore year and neither of you have had the audacity to tell each other for some unspoken reason…until now.” She's not wrong, Robin has always been one to spell it out for you loud and clear. She never holds back, it's something you’ve always appreciated about her. Robin has been telling you to come clean for ages now.

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I don't want to screw up my friendship with Eddie. Also, he's like a big rockstar now, I doubt he has any time for stuff like that.” You explain as you sink into your chair. "He probably has some cool metalhead girlfriend I don't know about.” You take a bite of your vanilla ice cream. It's so fitting for this conversation, vanilla ice cream for a vanilla person.

“God it's been years and I still can’t wrap my head around your stupid self doubt.” Robin says, shaking her head. “Eddie doesn't have a girlfriend. When you left he moped around his trailer for weeks. No one could get him to come out, not even Dustin. One time I went over to his place to check on him and he was sloshed out of his mind. He told me, "The songs he sings don't mean a thing if you’re not there to hear it.”

“He didn't say that.” You scoff.

“Oh but he did, and he keeps a photo of you in his wallet.” Robin says teasingly.

“You know about that too?!” It's becoming apparent that everyone knows this except you.

“Of course I do. It's me, I know everything.” Robin says with a cocky tone.

You and Robin decide to float around the mall a little longer. A small department store was calling your name. The story had low lighting and they were playing some classic rock on the radio. Robin's goal was a pair of shoes, your goal however, was a hot outfit for tonight's party at the hideout. It honestly didn't take you long to find the cutest black skirt with chain embellishments, you picked out some new stockings too. —-------------- After the girls left Eddie felt like he could finally breathe. He finishes his coffee and breakfast, then falls backwards onto his bed. He stares at his ceiling as he finds himself lost in the intricate dance of thoughts that revolve around you. Images of you smiling genuine and heartwarming, flashed like snapshots in his imagination. Casual conversations, stolen glances, and the subtle chemistry that lingered in the air when you were near. The anticipation of his next encounter with you and the sweet nervousness that comes with it. The soft glow of the afternoon sun is casting a warm hue across his room. Steve and Dustin went grocery shopping, the apartment was silent. Eddie pulls himself out of his thoughts and shakes them off. He grabs a pre-rolled joint and lights it, Eddie is nervous and he knows it. All these years and he still can't tell you the truth. His life has changed so drastically for the better ever since he signed that record deal. But there was always something missing, something he was holding out for. Of course many girls are interested in him, but he's not interested in many girls. He promised himself after you left that next time he sees you, he is gonna tell you. If he misses this opportunity, he might lose you entirely. He almost completely gave up on you after a year of no contact. But every time he opened his wallet, he saw a glimpse of your face, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of you or the photo. Eddie puffs on his joint, each inhale making him a little less anxious. He tries to think about something else. It will be nice to hang out at the hideout again. That was where he played his very first gigs when the band was just starting out. They barely had any attendees and the band definitely sounded rough. Then Eddie recalls you being there for every single show. Your smiling face in the crowd, cheering him on after every song.  “Uhgg, get it together, man.” He says under his breath. He finishes his joint and decides to get dressed. —--------------- When you returned with Robin, Steve was putting away the last of the groceries. “We’re back!” Robin announces. Dustin is reading on the couch, when you look down the hall, Eddie’s bedroom door is open. “Welcome back, we will head to the bar when I finish this. I also need to get dressed. Eddie is out, said something about dropping off some equipment with Gareth. He’s gonna meet us there.” Steve says. Honestly, you were a little bummed. You were hoping he’d be around when you got back. But you shrug it off and take your stuff to his room. Robin follows you and shuts the door behind her. You both change into something a bit more stylish. You had a cropped Def Leppard shirt that you paired with the new skirt. This outfit would go well with boots and stockings. Robin didn't change anything really, just her shirt and shoes. You put on a couple of layered chain necklaces, a few rings, and a pair of small silver hoop earrings. “I am astonished really.” Robin says with a smile as she looks you up and down. You tilt your head in response and she laughs. “Eddie is gonna have a full on heart attack when he sees you.” Your face feels a little hot and you laugh nervously. “Do you think so?” “Oh yeah. No doubt.” She smirks. “Someones lookin’ to get lucky.” “Shut up!” You place your hand over her mouth. She does the unthinkable licks the palm of your hand. You give her this horrified face followed by both of you hysterically laughing like a couple of hyenas.  ---------------

The sun was setting and the sky grew darker with every passing minute. There is a chill in the air, which makes you shiver when you open the door. Steve drove to the hideout, it wasn’t far, maybe ten minutes away. When Steve pulled into the parking lot, you looked out the window and saw Eddie’s van. He’s already here, and you start to feel a bit anxious. The Hideout had not changed a bit. The neon signs in the window buzzed as you walked inside. Posters, fliers, and rustic decor filled the walls. You hear the low hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses, the place has a warm glow to it. You used to watch Eddie play here all the time. It felt like your heart was swelling, it's that bittersweet feeling again. You turn the corner and see Eddie and Gareth sitting in a booth. Eddie waves and one by one you all walk over and pile into the same booth. You sit across from Eddie, you can see his face getting a little red. “You uh…look really good, Y/N.” Eddie says with a half smile. He reaches over and adjusts one of your chain necklaces. Robin sees this and covers her mouth, trying not to laugh at how embarrassed you are. But you had to pull all that on hold for now. Nancy and Johnathan walk up and greet the group. You practically climb over Robin and wrap Nancy in a tight hug. “Oh! Y/N? You’re here?! When did you get into town?!” She hugs you back just as hard. “The other day! It's so good to see you, Nance.” Nancy smiles and fights back tears, she didn't expect any kind of reunion. The thing is, You both grew up together. Your mom was friends with Mrs. Wheeler. You spent a lot of your childhood with Nancy and her brother Mike. When you left, Nancy thought she lost you to the city for good.  “Don’t cry! I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long.” “They are happy tears, it’s fine. I’m just so happy to see you.” Everyone in the group is touched to see two best friends reunite. Robin looks like she might start crying too. You give Jonathan a hug as well, It's nice to see him doing well. He wasn't always full of smiles and you’ve wondered how he's been over the years. You remember Jonathan used to take photos of the gang, half of the polaroids you have were probably taken by him. A bartender comes by and takes our order. Eddie ordered whiskey and so did you. Vodka soda for Nancy and Robin, Steve and Jonathan order beers. The clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter, and the subtle hum of the other patrons deep in conversation created a soundtrack to this shared experience. You updated your friends on your new life, and once again apologized for being an awful friend. Everyone was so happy to see you that it didn't matter anymore.  “You better not leave and go back to ignoring us.” Robin says. --------------------

The sun was setting and the sky grew darker with every passing minute. There is a chill in the air, which makes you shiver when you open the door. Steve drove to the hideout, it wasn’t far, maybe ten minutes away. When Steve pulled into the parking lot, you looked out the window and saw Eddie’s van. He’s already here, and you start to feel a bit anxious. The Hideout had not changed a bit. The neon signs in the window buzzed as you walked inside. Posters, fliers, and rustic decor filled the walls. You hear the low hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses, the place has a warm glow to it. You used to watch Eddie play here all the time. It felt like your heart was swelling, it's that bittersweet feeling again. You turn the corner and see Eddie and Gareth sitting in a booth. Eddie waves and one by one you all walk over and pile into the same booth. You sit across from Eddie, you can see his face getting a little red. “You uh…look really good, Y/N.” Eddie says with a half smile. He reaches over and adjusts one of your chain necklaces. Robin sees this and covers her mouth, trying not to laugh at how embarrassed you are. But you had to pull all that on hold for now. Nancy and Johnathan walk up and greet the group. You practically climb over Robin and wrap Nancy in a tight hug. “Oh! Y/N? You’re here?! When did you get into town?!” She asks and hugs you back just as hard. “The other day! It's so good to see you, Nance.” Nancy smiles and fights back tears, she didn't expect any kind of reunion. The thing is, You both grew up together. Your mom was friends with Mrs. Wheeler. You spent a lot of your childhood with Nancy and her brother Mike. When you left, Nancy thought she lost you to the city for good.  “Don’t cry! I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long.” “They are happy tears, it’s fine. I’m just so happy to see you.” Nancy says between sobs. Everyone in the group is touched to see two best friends reunite. Robin looks like she might start crying too. You give Jonathan a hug as well, It's nice to see him doing well. He wasn't always full of smiles and you’ve wondered how he's been over the years. You remember Jonathan used to take photos of the gang, half of the polaroids you have were probably taken by him. A bartender comes by and takes our order. Eddie ordered whiskey and so did you. Vodka soda for Nancy and Robin, Steve and Jonathan order beers. The clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter, and the subtle hum of the other patrons deep in conversation created a soundtrack to this shared experience. You updated your friends on your new life, and once again apologized for being an awful friend. Everyone was so happy to see you that it didn't matter anymore.  “You better not leave and go back to ignoring us.” Robin says.

“I wouldn’t even dream of it.” You reply.Hours slipped away unnoticed as the night unfolded, a mosaic of laughter, camaraderie, and the shared appreciation of the moment. Eddie could help but sneak glances at you, it was hard not to. He’s been trying to keep his cool all night, he had several shots of whiskey to build up some liquid courage. The world outside the café window dimmed as everyone delved into stories and life updates.

Eddie hands you his pack of cigarettes, silently asking if you’d like to go outside with him. You take one and place it between your lips. You and Eddie excuse yourselves from the group and head outside, the cold air sent a shiver up your spine.

“Brr! I forgot how cold it is when the sun goes down. I should have brought a coat.” You offhandedly say as Eddie lights your cigarette for you. Eddie removes his leather jacket, leaving him with a thick black hoodie. He drapes it around your shoulders and you are immediately much more comfortable. Your face gets a little red, he’s always been such a gentleman. You both lean up against Eddie's van. His thoughts are a symphony of emotions, dancing between hope and uncertainty. The evening was filled with a serene ambiance, and even in the quiet moments, you still felt comfort in his presence. “Y/N…” Eddie finally pipes up. “Yeah?” “I think we should talk. Y’know…about where we stand with each other.” Eddie admits. Your eyes widen, this is finally happening. The anxiety sets in and you try to swallow your nerves. Eddie stands in front of you, looking at his feet. “Do you remember, right before you left, that time we got high in my van next to lovers lake?” “Yeah. I do.” You answer quietly. “Do you remember me telling you that no one could ever replace you in my life?” He asks and you nod. You remember it like it was yesterday. It was a sunny day, the light glistening along the top of the water. You and Eddie passed a joint back and forth. You gave him a small wallet sized photo from picture day. “I still have that photo, I keep it in my wallet. You told me to keep it as a reminder, so I don't forget you. The thing is, meeting you was like finding my favorite song in a world full of noise, and I can't stop hitting replay no matter how many times I hear it.” Eddie takes a deep breath. It's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. You were stunned, absolutely speechless. In that moment, the unspoken became words, there was no going back now. Eddie moves a few inches closer, pinning you between himself and van. Under the glow from a nearby streetlamp, the air was charged with tension. You met his gaze with a gentle smile. Without another word, Eddie cupped your face in his hands. Time seemed to slow down as Eddie leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. You kiss him back, It spoke volumes with no words at all. Eddie presses his body against yours and you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer. You can't stop shaking, your nerves combined with the cold air made it impossible to be completely still. Eddie finally breaks away from you and opens the back doors to his van. “Hop in, you’re freezing to death.” Eddie says, you take his hand as he helps you into the van then he climbs in after you and shuts the door. You take a seat on an upside down milk crate while Eddie starts the car and cranks the heat. You still can't believe what just happened, you’ve only ever dreamed of this moment. Eddie grabs his acoustic guitar and sits on top of a large amp. He took a deep breath, fingers gently caressing the strings of the guitar, and he started to strum. “I feel so stupid for leaving you alone out here.” You say while looking down at your hands. “If anyone deserves an apology it’s you. I just assumed you moved on and didn’t need any reminders.” “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I forgive you.” He chuckles. “Besides, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?” You recognize the tune he's playing, you’ve heard it before. “What song is this?” You ask, it's so familiar. “Photograph by Def Leppard.” He answers with a half smile and you smile back at him, your eyes widen as you recall the lyrics. He played this song for you before, but you ant remember how long ago. 

“Y’know, I still haven't figured out how to sit across from you and not be madly in love with everything you do.” You reply, hearing him play was actually really calming, you’ve missed this side of him. The guitar became an extension of his feelings, his voice carrying a sweetness to it, like warm honey. ♫“I see your face every time I dream

On every page, every magazine

So wild and free,

So far from me

You're all I want, my fantasy

Oh, look what you've done to this rock 'n' roll clown

Oh-oh, look what you've done

Photograph~

I don't want your photograph

I don't need your photograph

All I've got is a photograph

But it's not enough”♫ As the last chord resonated. Eddie sets the guitar against the wall of the van. You spring into his arms, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in his shoulder, you didn't expect to get so emotional. You’re so happy but you still feel so guilty, you question why anyone would leave this feeling behind.

Eddie pulls you into his lap. “Are you crying?! Oh shit, no don’t cry…”Eddie squeezes you a little tighter. “Shhh…it's okay, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, “I love you, Eddie.” The words spilled out.  “I love you too. I’ve always loved you.” Eddie says, when you look back at him he smiles and brushes a few strands of hair away from your face. “Do you want to go back to mine?” He asks, it's like he read your mind. You nod in response and Eddie chuckles. “Let's get out of here.”

[lliminall]

ok but what about yandere giorno who gets jealous super easily to the point where he gets jealous of everything and everyone that has his darling's attention for more than a minute

and when they are meeting up with some of his friends one of them, i don't know, let's say fugo or a random character that you can create, is too touchy for his liking (let's say hugs darling too much or tries to be near them).

how do you think he will react? what will he do?

I live for jealous yans

tags: gn reader, yandere, possessive behavior

You are late coming into the cafe this morning. Or rather, you are a few minutes behind your usual routine, because you haven’t actually agreed to meet Giorno at the little table by the window you love to sit at each morning. It shouldn’t matter. It’s only a few minutes. But this is the only time he’s able to speak with you, and Giorno has already been deprived of your presence for the last week.

It’s a shame that Passione business often keeps him away for such stretches of time, and a greater shame still that you don’t realize just how out of his way he’s gone to align his morning routine with yours. The warm mug of mocha in his hands is adequate at best. The coffee isn’t the reason he comes to this place.

Another glance at his watch, another minute you’ve yet to arrive, and he really doesn’t have much time this morning before he must get back to work. He thumbs at the tube of chapstick in his pocket. Your favorite scent, the label peeling from its time spent in the pockets of your purse. He could imbue it with life, follow it straight to you, find out exactly what’s happened to keep you away-

Ah. There you are.

Meandering distractedly down the street, deep in conversation with an individual he doesn’t recognize. A man who tugs you to the side of the walkway to lean in close and show you something on his phone. You lean in as well, angling to see the screen, and your face is close to his. Too close.

It’s a position Giorno has found himself in once before. Standing in line beside you as you wave him in to look at the newest pictures in your phone’s gallery. He remembers the soft scent of your perfume, the warmth radiating from your skin, his arm nudging yours.

He knows exactly what this man is doing. It’s what Giorno himself does every time he finds a way into your presence. The need to be near you.

You’re laughing at whatever this man has shown you. The energy of it sends you curling into yourself, further into the space of this…intruder. The man doesn’t look away from you for even a second as you straighten and settle down, distracted again by whatever video is playing in front of you. Giorno knows the look in this man’s eyes. He knows, as well, that you’re as oblivious to it on him as you are of it on Giorno.

There is something cold settling into the core of Giorno’s chest. Frigid. Tight. Bitter. You look up at the man to chatter at him animatedly, and he leans against the wall behind him to gaze down at you with something not unlike infatuation. He settles into your space and his thigh touches yours. You don’t seem to notice. You don’t pull away.

Giorno stands and brushes smoothly past the doorway.

“Ah, signorina,” he greets you as he crosses the street. “I was beginning to think you’d slept in again. And here I was thinking you wouldn’t get to enjoy the croissant I saved for you.”

“Oh my god. You did not,” you say, but your face betrays your excitement. For all your insistence against him paying for your morning meals, you’ve never once turned down food from him.

“It was the last one and I thought you might appreciate it,” he says. Giorno looks briefly at the man standing beside you, who straightens and casts Giorno a perturbed look. It’s quickly wiped away as you turn to face him.

“Carlo, this is my friend Giorno. We both come to this cafe a lot,” you say.

Carlo gives Giorno a short smile.

“Good to meet you,” he says. “I’m a high school friend of theirs. (Y/n) and I got into a lot of trouble together, right?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Whatever. You got into trouble, I saved your ass before your parents could find out.”

Carlo gives you a genuine smile, and that tightness in Giorno’s chest returns.

“(Y/n) does seem to have a knack for doing charity work,” Giorno says. “I often have to remind them to pick their battles. Sometimes it isn’t worth the effort.”

His friendly expression belies the barb in his words. Carlo looks at Giorno for a hard second, as if deciding whether or not he’s been insulted, and whether or not he should do something about it. Giorno takes the opportunity to turn to you again.

“Should I finish off your croissant myself?” he says. “I would hate for it to go to waste.”

“What? No!” you say, and pull away from Carlo with a laugh. “It was nice catching up with you,” you tell your friend as you motion for Giorno to follow you. “I’m starving. But we should finish talking another time!”

Carlo nods and waves you goodbye with a look on his face that hasn’t quite processed what just happened. In the span of a few seconds Giorno has snatched you up again, sparing one last glance at your interloper before turning on his heel and offering you his arm to cross the road.

Giorno holds the door open as you slip inside, falling straight into your usual seat at your usual table and digging happily into the food he left for you. He settles in with his mocha again, feeling the bitterness fade into a subtle thrum beneath his skin.

“I know what you were doing back there,” you say in between bites of food. “If I was feeling bold today, I’d say you were acting a little…” you place your finger to your chin in faux contemplation, fixing him with a stare that’s chastising, but playful enough that he knows he gotten away with it. “Jealous?”

Giorno hides his smile behind his mug.

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “It’s been far too long since I had the pleasure of your company. And your food was getting cold.”

You level him with an unimpressed stare as you chew your cold croissant.

“Giorno Giovanna. You’re lucky I let you bribe me with food.”

He watches you, content, as you finish off your breakfast.

“And lucky that I let you run other men off when you haven’t even asked me out yourself,” you add knowingly.

Giorno pauses with his cup midway to his mouth. His pulse skips, and for the first time he feels as if he’s the one under the weight of your analyzing stare. It’s a nice feeling, to be held under the microscope of your undivided attention. He clears his throat.

“Well. In that case, you’ll have to let me buy you dinner next. So you can tell them you have a boyfriend, and run them off yourself.”

You take a long sip of your coffee and smile at him. “I guess I will.”

The bitterness under his skin thrums quietly, but Giorno presses it down to bask fully in the light of your (finally, finally) shared affection.

There’s a phone in his pocket with a number that can take care of your interloping friend in minutes. There are any number of ways he can excise this miserable emotion from himself. A threat, an accident, a well-placed accusation of wrongdoing on your annoying new friend. Giorno supposes it will depend on his mood once he leaves you here.

But for now, he will let you ramble to him about the work day you have coming up, your plans for the weekend, your new favorite show. He’ll let you lean in close to him to show him that funny video, and he’ll lay his hand over yours to steady the phone as you dip into his space.

There’ll be time to figure out how to deal with this blight, after he’s satiated himself with the knowledge that you’re his, his, his.

The video ends and you curl your fingers into his, entwining your hands on the table.

Lucky, indeed.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Strawhats with Rob Lucci’s younger sibling? But they aren’t aware of CP9 due to ✨reasons✨ and just think their big brother wanted to work at Water 7

Anon, I have some extremely unfortunate news for you. My dyslexia pulled a fast one on me and completely omitted the word 'strawhats' from this request, and I didn't realize it until I had already finished writing it and came back to post it. I am so sorry, feel free to send this request in again if you want to give me another shot to properly answer it. I'm gonna be reading requests 50 times over just to make sure I don't do this again. I am mortified. Hope you like this regardless, so sorry again.

Estranged

Yandere Rob Lucci x Sibling Reader

2.7k words

This was going to be a good thing for you, a healthy change of pace. An opportunity to move on from your past and no longer let it weigh you down. It was for the best, even if everything felt more than a little hollow right now.

After you finished putting away the rest of your belongings, you meander to the open window to take in your brand new surroundings. Water 7 was easily the most beautiful city you’d seen in your entire life. 

A light breeze carried the scent of the ocean into your small apartment. The walkway as well as the canal beneath you was busy, full of people going about their daily lives. Everyone here seemed so gleeful and carefree, as if they didn’t have a single problem hanging over them. You wonder if you’ll be able to fall into a similar state of mind.

Probably not, but you can dream.

Your train of thought is interrupted by your cat, Roberto, leaping up onto the windowsill next to you. You lightly scritched behind his ears as he looked down at the bustling city with his typical scowling expression. He was the grumpiest cat you’d ever met, but that just made his toleration of you all the more endearing in your humble opinion.

Shutting the window, you make your way to the door, “I’m gonna head out and take a look around the neighborhood, don’t cause any trouble while I’m gone.”

Roberto barely spared you a glance before jumping down to the floor to curl up in a sunny spot to sleep. A small smile tugged at your lips. Yeah, you weren’t worried about him doing anything bad in your absence. For all his standoffishness, he was a very mild mannered cat. As long as his food and water bowl were filled (which they were), he was fine.

You’d barely made it out the door before a couple of kids went sprinting around you, narrowly avoiding a collision. One of them shouted a quick “sorry” over their shoulder but kept on running to wherever their destination was, giggling about who knows what.

They looked similar. Siblings probably. Just like that, your mood took a nosedive, much to your aggravation. How childish to be bothered by merely seeing two potential siblings. You needed to get over it already.

It’s not like you were ever going to see Lucci again. He was gone and you needed to accept that.

The relationship you had with your older brother was odd to say the least. Mostly in the sense that you didn’t really have one to go off of. The last time you’d seen him, you were three years old, so you two could only be so close.

At the time, you felt like you were thick as thieves with him. Wherever he went, you followed, and vice versa. He’d do everything with you. From tying your shoes before you figured it out, to letting you wear his top hat, to fighting anyone else at the orphanage that had the audacity to try and pick on you. Even back then, you could distinctly remember how stoic he was, but you never doubted that he cared about you. And also his pigeon, Hattori. 

The only time you could recall where he was upset with you was when you’d spent the whole day pestering him to tell you about your parents. The orphanage was all you’d ever known, but surely he remembered something about them. After hours of changing the subject or blatantly ignoring you, he snapped, “It doesn’t matter! They aren’t here anymore, only I am. Just be happy with that and stop asking.”

You didn’t bring it up again. Not that you exactly had much of a chance to.

The following day was a strange one. Some men in suits showed up and took Lucci “on a walk”, not letting you come with. They never came back. When you asked the nun running the place where your brother was, she acted like she had no idea who or what you were talking about. It was as if he’d never existed.

Without your brother around to protect you, it became abundantly clear what a shithole that place was. You’d come to the sad realization that he’d been giving most of his food to you so you wouldn’t have to go hungry. There was also the issue of having to watch more and more kids disappear every couple of years and having no idea what happened to them or if you were going to be next. The general consensus between you and the remaining children was that they were being sold into slavery, but you never were able to confirm that.

As soon as you were old and strong enough to go off on your own, you did. For years you would bounce around the island doing odd jobs to stay alive all while trying to get a clue as to your brother’s whereabouts. Nothing ever came up, so when you scraped together enough money, you left for another island.

You repeated this cycle for years. Working, investigating, and then moving when the trail was cold. As disheartening as it was, you couldn’t bring yourself to give up. He wouldn’t give up if the roles had been reversed, so you wouldn’t either.

At least that’s what you told yourself at first. When you were first thinking this, you never imagined that he would still be missing over a decade later. You had never considered that you would genuinely never find so much as a hint to his whereabouts. Or his livelihood. 

At this point, it was easier to assume he was dead.

“I could go for a drink,” you mumble to yourself as you take a look around and notice a bar. You’ve been so caught up in your own thoughts that at this point you don’t even know where exactly you are. How responsible.

You push open the door to the establishment and do a quick once over. It’s busy, but not crowded. You should be able to quietly enjoy a drink or two without much trouble.

The sound of wings flapping catches your attention, and the next thing you know, something lands on your shoulder and starts cooing. Slightly startled, you snap your attention to where it landed and see a white pigeon happily nestling itself into your neck.

Holding out your hand, you gently guide it onto your finger to get a better look at the bird. It’s wearing an adorable red necktie and looks positively thrilled to see you for whatever reason. Despite your previous bad mood, you can’t help but smile. You’ve always had a soft spot for birds. What a cutie.

Someone at a nearby table laughs loudly, “Look at that Lucci, even your bird is better at making friends than you are!”

Your blood runs cold.

“Lucci?” No. No it can’t be. 

Slowly, you crane your neck around to look at where the voice had come from. That’s when you see it. The top hat. The dark, curly hair underneath it. Your breath catches in your throat as the man turns around. His facial expression is one of pure annoyance, until his eyes meet yours. Then he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

It’s him. He’s aged, obviously, but you would recognize those features anywhere. That’s your brother. That’s Lucci.

As if on autopilot, you mindlessly approached him, “Lucci, is that really you?” Your voice is so quiet that you’re not sure he could even hear you. He didn’t respond, so you continued, “I looked everywhere for you. Is this where you’ve been?”

Logically, you know you should be ecstatic to see him again, but as he continues to silently gawk at you something else creeps into your heart. 

Rage.

“You gonna say something, or are you just gonna keep staring?” One of your hands snaps out to shove at his shoulder. Still nothing. “I’m your fucking sibling, your own flesh and blood, and this is how you treat me after all these years?! I thought you were dead!” His fists clench and unclench, and his breathing is becoming uneven, but he still won’t talk to you.

In a fit of fury, you snatch a pint of beer off the table and throw the contents of it in his face, “Fuck you, I never should have wasted my time looking for you!”

Hattori flies off you from the commotion and is circling the table. The patrons of the bar are mostly silent save for some gasps and hushed whispers, but you don’t hang around any longer. You can’t. You don’t want to let that bastard have the satisfaction of seeing the tears that are seconds away from spilling over. 

How dare he? How dare he do this to you? You’ve spent all this time remembering him fondly, searching for any sign of him, and when you finally find him completely by accident, this happens. He gives you the silent treatment and acts like he doesn’t know you. You thought he was dead or a slave when in reality he was leading a normal life and getting a drink with his buddies. 

Maybe he’d been glad to get rid of you.

You choke out a sob as you run, not sure where your feet are taking you but hoping to see anything that can point you to your apartment. All you want to do is to curl up in your bed with your cat and cry. Fuck it, maybe you’ll pack up your things and leave Water 7 tonight. You can’t stomach the thought of seeing him again now.

You can register the sound of someone running after you. Probably the guy whose drink you threw if you had to guess. Way to go, (y/n), making a scene and ruining your reputation within hours of moving to a new city. You don’t want to face the consequences of your actions though, and pick up the pace to try and get away from them.

This doesn’t work and they close the gap far quicker than you expected. Strong arms wrap around your torso, and they pick you up and carry you into some quiet alley. You try to kick and scream, but your kicks do absolutely nothing and a hand covers your mouth. 

As soon as you’re out of sight of the general population, you’re put down and pushed into a wall. You can finally see who your assailant is, only to lock eyes with Lucci. Scoffing, you slap away his hand, “What? Now you want to talk?” 

“Yes, I do,” his response surprises you. You hadn’t actually expected him to speak to you after how he was acting at the bar.

“Oh really? How come you didn’t want to talk before? Too embarrassed to speak with me in public?”

“I can’t speak with you publicly, but not for that reason.”

He didn’t elaborate further, but you decided to move on. There were a lot more things to get to. You cut to the chase, “Where have you been?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Forget this, he’s fucking with you at this point. You try to walk away from this pointless conversation, but he’s holding onto your wrist and won’t let go.

“I’m leaving, I don’t want to talk to you,” you’re trying to wrench your arm out of his grasp but he’s much stronger than you thought. He wouldn’t budge.

“We’re not done talking,” his eye twitched in irritation at your behavior.

“We never started talking! You aren’t saying anything meaningful, I would get more out of talking to a brick wall!” You screamed at him, trying not to start crying again. 

While you’re trying to get away, you feel something land on your head. This makes you stop and calm down ever so slightly. The cooing immediately gives away that it’s Hattori. You hold up your hand for him to hop on. How is it that you’re connecting with the pigeon more than your brother? You sighed, “At least someone is happy to see me.”

From your peripheral vision, you can see Lucci stiffen and avert his piercing gaze. He grumbles a bit, “I am… Happy. To see you.”

You scoffed, “Wow, that sounded so convincing.”

Lucci released your wrist, and if it weren’t for Hattori thoroughly enjoying the attention you were giving him, you would have taken the opportunity to leave. You eyed him warily as he inched closer to you, looking incredibly unsure of what he was doing. Then his arms reached forward and enclosed around you in what was hands down the most stiff and awkward hug of your life.

He let go and took a couple of steps back, refusing to make eye contact with you, “There, do you feel better now?”

Your memories took you back to the time you’d scraped your knee while playing tag with Lucci when you were children. In typical little kid fashion, you were inconsolable from the minor injury. He carried you back to the orphanage and bandaged your knee himself, but didn’t know what to do when he saw that you were still upset. In a last ditch effort to get you to calm down, he’d brought you into this uncomfortable side hug while looking everywhere except for at you. The whole display was so silly looking that you couldn’t help but giggle at him.

Despite everything that just transpired between you two, your heart felt warm. He hasn’t changed a bit after all. You chuckle, “No, that hug was terrible. Not to mention that now I smell like beer.”

“And whose fault is that?” His eyes narrowed at you accusingly.

“Yours for making me mad enough to throw it at you,” you laughed again at the dramatic eye roll he did in response. 

“You’re the only person in the world who I would let get away with that, I hope you appreciate that,” he muttered.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” you shrugged off the comment, not putting much stock into it. The previously tense atmosphere had relaxed, but there was still some awkwardness to it. It was unavoidable really, after this much time apart you two didn’t know each other. What were you supposed to talk about? The questions you asked before went unanswered so now you didn’t know what to do.

“What are you doing in Water 7?” Lucci had mercifully been the one to break the silence.

“I just moved here. Wanted a fresh start, you know? What about you? Can you at least tell me that?” 

“I’m a foreman at the Galley-La Company, have been for a few years,” he states plainly. 

You’re honestly surprised to have received a real answer. You decide to push your luck and ask another question, “How come you never came back?”

Lucci took his time mulling over how to respond, “I wasn’t able to. If I could have, I would, but it wasn’t an option. I can’t tell you why, but I need you to believe me. The second I’m in a position to do so, I will tell you, but for now I simply can’t.”

“What the hell are you tied up in?” Something bad is going on here, but you’ll be damned if you have any idea what.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Well, looks like he’s done answering your questions again. At least you made some progress. The awkward silence came back, and you found yourself wanting to go home. You needed time to take all of this in and decompress.

Setting Hattori onto Lucci’s shoulder, you tell him as much, “It’s been… Interesting seeing you again, but I’m tired and want to go home.” You don’t wait for him to respond before hurrying away.

“I’ll walk you back,” Lucci closes the distance quickly and the look on his face leaves no room for argument. You suppose that’s fine. Him knowing where you live will make meeting up again later easier.

You have no idea how your relationship with him is going to evolve after this. Considering how much time has passed, it’s impossible for things to go back to how they were. Maybe you’ll be able to forge a new and improved sibling bond with him, but only time will tell.

[chickenparm]

By Choice or By Accident (Wanderer/Reader)

Spoilers for Interlude Chapter: Act III Inversion of Genesis

i made the executive decision that the traveler fucks around a bit and takes a good while longer to decipher what scara changed with irminsul and wow, that's a convenient amount of time for him to get real soft on someone huh-

(also i believe scara says he doesn't like sweets only because ei DOES like sweets and he secretly loves them you cannot change my mind, back off)

AO3 LINK

Wanderer/Reader

5,258 Words - SFW

Nothing heinous. Fluff, 2 seconds of Angst, meandering narrative, skipping time a little bit, Reader is a candy maker. Very indulgent, don't take this seriously.

---

Despite its status as a hub of commerce, it’s rather obvious when a new face arrives in the Grand Bazaar. Even more so when they’re dressed like that - soft blues against striking azure, a wide hat and carefully placed body armor to show martial skill. 

When the grocer across the way brings home a straggler, your initial thought is to be wary. There’s an unsettled quiet around him as he keeps his head ducked low and his face carefully hidden. The protection on his arms and shins suggests some martial skill, yet there’s no vision to be seen on his person. 

In the beginning, you’re wary - and rightfully so. Then his head lifts and his eyes move around the bazaar before he realizes you’re staring, and something fundamental changes in that split second. The air around him shifts, the guarded expression in his eyes bleeds away, and you’re left staring at excited eyes and a smile that shines with both anticipation and trepidation. 

The grocer’s new stray becomes a fixture. One that you quietly watch from your stall of handmade sweets, your gaze occasionally broken by the excited child or curious adult, all of whom are the sources of your livelihood here. But even your regulars find it hard to keep your attention when something so interesting is just across the way. 

Initially, the first word you’d use to describe him is untouchable. Like something priceless to be placed on a shelf. Only to look at, never to hold in your hands and sully it with your touch. Even as he works diligently at the grocer and displays less than fragile tendencies, you still can’t keep yourself from marveling at the otherworldly sort of perfection. 

Then, just like that, it’s swept away in the span of a short interaction. 

While you’ve overheard his quiet arguments with the grocer about not accepting pay, you know for certain he’s been tipped on deliveries to their customers. It’s what gives him the means to tentatively cross the walkway to your stall, stand a respectful distance away, and let pretty violet eyes wander over what you have on display for the day. 

And they are pretty. A color you’ve never seen before, even in a city like Sumeru where fabrics in all manner of hues are commonplace. You’re not entirely sure that someone could accurately recreate such a shade of purple. 

Quietly, as if to keep from imposing on you, he steps a little closer and squeezes the pouch of mora in front of him with a grip so tight his knuckles turn just a little lighter than the rest of his pale skin. It’s painfully obvious that he’s nervous, but his chin lifts and his chest expands with an inhale, and you’re impressed with the bravery he’s showing to simply peruse a candy stall. 

“Please recommend something to me!”

He says it like he’s about to run into battle - and your heart that was wary at first melts. Any caution is thrown to the wind as your shoulders relax, and a smile spreads across your face, and you ask, “What do you like?”

To your surprise, he clams up for a moment, twisting at the ties of the mora pouch until you’re certain the ropes are going to unravel. The last thing you expect is a quiet, “...I’m not sure.”

Okay. You can handle that, as strange as it is. Going into your usual sales pitch with gusto, you try your hardest not to be distracted by the way he cocks his head and leans in, listening with rapt attention as you point out each little piece, which were handmade and which you had brought him, which were your favorites and which ones most people seemed to gravitate toward. 

“These ones aren’t popular, but I like them. They’re sour, but once you get to the middle, there’s a sweetness that chases it away. Just don’t eat too many, they’ll make your mouth sore!”

“It’s sour, but you say they’re good?” His fingers pinch his chin in thought as he looks at each flavor you have of the small selection. It’s no use keeping a large stock when its audience is few and far between. “Sour on the outside, sweet on the inside, huh?”

“It makes the sweetness that much nicer if you can make it through the tough bit. It’s kind of like life, isn’t it? Once you make it through the difficult parts, the moments that are softer are that much better when you’re in them.”

Violet eyes watch you in wonder, lips gently parted as he mulls over your impromptu advice. With warm cheeks, you busy yourself with straightening the rows, the smallest bit of embarrassment making your fingers shake. They don’t look any neater when you’ve finished.

He picks one of everything you indicate as your preference, carefully counting out the coins and giving a little extra that you try to place back in his hand. But he grasps your wrist until your palm is up, pushing the extra coins there and using his free hand to curl your fingers around them securely. The smile on his face is wider than any you’ve seen, cutting into his cheeks and making the corners of his eyes squint in its wake. 

“Just for being kind, that’s all.” And his touch lingers for a moment long enough to make your heart skip, your fingers itching to grasp at his own so he could stay just a little longer. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

“I don’t think you’ll get through all that candy in a night.” Or he could, you’re in no place to judge him for it. Certainly, children much smaller than him have performed that feat before. 

In return, he smiles sheepishly and focuses on his hands holding yours, his thumb pressing against the pulse point of your wrist. There’s no doubt he can feel your heart racing from his touch and his presence, his soft grin and the slight flush on the apples of his cheeks. “Maybe not. But… just to talk to you? I’d like to know you if you’d let me.”

If he notices your persistent giddiness for the remainder of the bazaar’s open hours, he mercifully doesn’t make any comment on it. He simply returns the next day with praises over what you’d sold him the day before, exclaiming that the sour candies were his favorite, and an earnest question. 

“Could you teach me how to make this?”

And how could you say no? When his hands were fisted at his sides to hide how they shake at the prospect of such a simple question, there’s no way you could deny something so… sweet.

That evening, after he closes up with the grocer, he crosses the pathway that separates you and offers to help you carry your goods home for the day. It’s with great pleasure you gesture to a house just two doors down - your home and workshop all in one. He doesn’t let you carry your goods, anyway.

“It must be nice, living so close. I’m glad to see it.”

“Glad?” You ask, watching carefully at how he carries a box with one arm that you often have to drag across the ground on a nightly basis. He must be deceptively strong. The hat he wears is tucked beneath his other arm, leaving his smooth hair a little mussed after a day of wearing it. 

His head bobs as he watches you unlock the door with a key from your pocket, the hinges groaning as you step inside and urge him to follow as you work to light the lamps. The answer you asked for comes as the room illuminates. “I’d hate for you to have to walk so far at night. It’s not very safe.”

“True, but the bazaar is one of the safest places in the city. And I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Spending your life somewhere doesn’t always make it safe,” he pauses, just long enough to set the box of goods down on the table that dominates the center of your home, “but it’s not really my place to be overbearing about your safety. I’m sorry if that was too much.”

“No! It was… nice. Thank you for caring.” The words strike him into stillness, his hand resting on the lid of the box, thumb curling around the edge to press into the wood. His other hand rubs over his chest, just beneath the dangling ornament and pinion that jingle slightly in the comfortable silence. 

The swallow he makes is audible, a show of that nervousness that comes when he seems to be faced with sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with. To his credit, his voice doesn’t waver, even a little. “You’ve been nothing but nice to me. Of course I’d care, even a little.” And that endearing pink comes back again, barely visible in the lights that are just beginning to grow stronger as the flame catches the wicks.

“You’ve been nice, too. Give yourself a little credit.” 

Outside, other merchants are making their way home. The sound of carts and laughter trickles into the room, breaking the tension that’s somehow formed despite such an innocuous topic. Clearing your throat, you ask, “You know, I don’t actually know your name. You’ve never told me.”

While the tension is gone for you, it doubles down on him as his shoulders clench, and he pointedly looks away. The far corner of the room suddenly becomes impossibly interesting to him, at least compared to how you begin to move closer to unpack the box. 

“That’s because… I don’t have one. I’m just a wanderer. Any name I might’ve had, I don’t remember it anymore.”

“Do you not remember by choice, or by accident?”

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow your movements as you bring the sour candies out. Pointedly, you pull a few from their bag and push them across the table to him. As if he were afraid they’d disappear, his fingers wrap around them and drag them closer. One pops in his mouth, and he waits until the sweetness makes itself known before he finally answers.

“A little of both, I think.” The candy clacks against his teeth, running along his molars from one side to the other, as if he’s preventing a single spot from being scoured by the sourness. Perhaps it’s also a tactic to delay what comes next, something you only realize when he says it. “You should know… I’m not exactly human. I’m-... I’m a puppet.”

“Okay.”

“...Okay?”

Giving him time to ruminate over that, you finish unloading the box before stowing it away beneath the table. It gives you enough time to formulate a tactful response. Palms on the table, you lean to get the weight off your feet from standing all day, and explain yourself. “That doesn’t change anything. I still like you, I’ll still teach you. You must’ve lived a long time then, huh?”

He doesn’t give you a number, and you don’t exactly ask, but the way he exhales until his lungs are empty tells you that in his mind, it might have been a few too many years to walk through. Has he wandered all that time? Alone? It doesn’t feel right to ask - so you don’t. 

Instead, as you begin to lay out supplies for tomorrow’s stock, you quietly make a promise to yourself that if you can help it, perhaps he won’t need to use the term lonely to describe himself ever again. 

—

When you first opened your stall, it was commonplace for you to grow sick after contacting so many people on a daily basis. It was just expected, it came with the territory, and you only needed a handful of months for your body to grow used to it. Nowadays, you hardly find yourself feeling ill at all.

Then there were days like today, where the world is too bright, and your skin feels too hot and too cold, uncomfortable no matter your position. The softness of your bed curls around you, cradling your aching joints as you struggle to maintain a comfortable body temperature. The windows facing the street show that the sun is already risen, though at this time of day, not as much of it makes it down to the bazaar, even at the outskirts as you are.

Wrapped in your blankets in the throes of a cold chill is how the wanderer finds you. His steps into your home are tentative - you’d given him a key, and you thank yourself for the foresight. Looking into your bedroom, his expression goes from curiosity to something that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than fear.

“What’s wrong? Look at me-”

“I’m okay.” Talking makes your head feel thick and muddled, stuffed too full of the meager thoughts it requires to get words out. But he’s kneeling next to your head now, hands hovering over you but not quite touching, like he’s unsure of what to do next. It lightens your mood a little, seeing him fret like this. “Just a little sick - it goes around this time of year.”

“What do you need me to do? Do you need food? Have you had anything to drink today? Hang on, let me get a washcloth.”

And he’s on his feet, moving to your kitchen and out of your ability to call him back. A quiet laugh leaves you as you roll onto your back, snuggling beneath blankets and listening as he sifts through your cabinets to find a bowl, then fill it with cool water to bring back to you. His eyes are more focused on the bowl as he enters, determined not to spill it until he’s able to set it down on your bedside table. 

Before you can say a word, the back of his fingers press to your forehead, and he hisses through his teeth. There’s no need to say that you’re burning up, not with how he hurriedly wrings out the cloth and folds it delicately on your forehead. Even chilled as you are, it feels like heaven, and you all but melt into the blankets as the fingers of his hand linger along your brow. 

“Better?”

“Mm… yes, thank you.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” He sounds more like he’s reassuring himself, rather than you. There’s something haunted in his eyes, something that’s clawing at the back of his mind. Far be it from your place to ask, but the fever has lowered your inhibitions, and you can’t help but lick the chapped dryness of your lips before asking what you wish to know. 

“Why are you afraid? Look at you, you’re terrified.”

The answer is immediate, maybe even instinctual. “I don’t know.” His eyes linger over your face, trailing over the dark circles beneath your eyes and the weariness that lingers. “My mind is telling me terrible things, almost like I’ve… lost someone like this. But I’ve never-... I haven’t been around anyone long enough to care. Not like this.”

He cares. About you. Sure, that was obvious enough at this point, but the fact that he puts it into words so candidly makes your heart flutter nervously. It’s been a long time since anyone would go to these lengths for you in your time of need, and for it to be him… It makes you feel leagues better already.

“I’m… I’ll make you something to eat. And get you something to drink. I’ll be back.”

The words tumble out of him, one after another, with little control. He’s nearly out the door by the time you comprehend that he’d been pink in the cheeks, fingers nervously twirling the golden feather on his chest. He cares. What a novel thought.

It doesn’t take him terribly long to return. Just long enough for your eyes to droop closed and your mind to wander off into dreams of pretty violet eyes and the faint scent of flowers that you’ve never come across before. Soft smiles, a hand running down your arm, a thumb across your cheek as a familiar voice urges you to reawaken. 

“Just a few bites, then you can sleep.”

Easy enough, when the spoon finds its way to your mouth of its own accord. Yet it’s not sentient - it’s held by lithe fingers that guide it steadily. At your back is his arm, helping you sit up so you don’t spill over your sheets. Quietly, you shift a little closer and bask in that faint floral smell that’s like nothing in Sumeru. The only way you can explain it is if you were describing the wanderer himself.

Drinking is an easy affair, thanks to the straw he’d somehow found you, and once he’s satisfied you’ve completed the tasks he’s laid out, so too does he lay you back on your bed. With distance comes a stark loneliness, and you reach for his hand as he stands from where he’d been kneeling. “Stay? Please?”

“Let me grab a chair at least. Your floor hurts.”

You want to tell him to just climb in your bed. To let you curl around him for all the comfort he can offer, greedily taking and taking because he’s always so willing to give. But the last bit of your self-control pulls you back in, releasing your grip to allow him to drag a chair across the floor to sit at your bedside with an exasperated smile. 

“Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Hm… Promise?”

“I swear it on my life. I’m not going anywhere.”

The last thought before you drift off is a quiet murmur of your heart repeating that he cares. About you, about your wellbeing. He’ll be here when your eyes open, hopefully with less of that fear he’s still holding onto. The washcloth on your forehead is changed, slim fingers wipe away stray water droplets, and all the while he hums a tune under his breath that sounds like the sweetest song.

—

The wanderer has only one devastating, debilitating flaw - he’s a worrier. 

Whether it’s after a long day and you’re bone tired, or you were too busy to eat lunch, or even if you’re just feeling a little ill, he has an incessant need to coddle. On anyone else, it wouldn’t be a good look. You’re a grown adult, you can take care of yourself, keep yourself safe and cared for. 

But something about the way he does it soothes any outrage you could possibly feel. Insistent, quiet, offered with a smile that seems almost pleading. And you know that while he’s making you dinner and taking on the duty of meticulously creating fruit-shaped candies for tomorrow’s weekend sale, it’s for his own sake as much as it is yours. 

And so, if it keeps him smiling as he carefully pours soup into a bowl for you, you’re more than willing to let him get away with it. 

Chin propped on your hand, elbow on the table, you let your eyes drift closed as the weariness of the day catches up to you. The festival over the weekend was one of the biggest in a long time, and your preparations were wearing you impossibly thin. It meant longer evenings to finish creating stock, longer days to account for new tourists, and all the stress that comes with it. 

Not to mention the last straggling bits of your illness that had kept you homebound for days, still lingering after two long weeks. Your muscles still felt weak, your head still fuzzy.

But the wanderer had been a huge help, especially as the grocer had all but kicked him out of his stall to send over to yours. The grocer had been trying to foist him off on you for weeks now, and he hadn’t really needed to try that hard at all. 

The sound of ceramic sliding across the table in front of you is the indication he’s dropped your food off, and you crack your eyes open just in time to see the golden pinion of his ornament dangling in front of your face as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

Both of you freeze. 

But he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. Instead, you reach with a shaking hand to the golden feather, grasping it lightly with your fingertips and rubbing your thumb along the subtle ridges. Your curiosity serves an alternate purpose; it keeps him close, prevents him from backing away from you. 

A sigh breezes along your scalp, humid from his breath, and a shiver from you breaks you both out of the odd trance. 

“I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay.” You cut him off, already anticipating the unwarranted apology for something you desperately wanted him to do again. Even standing above you, he looks incredibly small as his hands clutch at the opening of his kimono, worrying at the edges without a care for the wrinkles he’s creating. 

Letting the feather drop back to his chest, you reach for one of his fretting hands and hold it tight enough in your own that you can’t tell if the tremors come from you or him. It could even be both. Suddenly you’re filled with anticipation so strong it makes your stomach turn painfully. 

But it’s not bad. It’s welcomed, wanted. The only relief you know of is sought after with a simple question. “Could you do it again?”

“...Again?”

“If you’d like to. If it wasn’t a regretful accident.”

His lower lip disappears between his teeth for a moment, then pops out with a pink hue from the abuse. You’re only allowed a second to admire the shade before the only thing you can see is alabaster and violet, your view of the world cut off as he presses his lips to yours with a clumsiness that is borne from inexperience. 

A thud rocks the table from his palm hitting it, an attempt to brace himself as he leans further into you until he’s nearly climbed into your lap. A whine brushes across your cheek through his nose - a high-pitched, cracking sort of sound that’s sweeter to your ears than any song could be, any candy could taste. 

That evening, the wanderer becomes your wanderer. 

And the world seems more vibrant, the music of the festival is more joyous than anything you’ve ever heard. Your wanderer closes your stall and guides you to the theatre to watch Nilou spin and sway. Her movements are nothing short of hypnotic, but hardly enough to catch your attention as you lean against him and let your eyes follow the cut of his jawline, the brush of his hair against his ear, the subtle pink of his blush as he catches you staring from the corner of his eye. 

For an evening, the entirety of Teyvat feels like it’s in harmony. He smiles down at you, and the stars above shine just a little bit brighter. An arm winds around your waist to hold you closer, and the lyrics to the music lose their meaning, the tune grows meandering and unimportant compared to how he smiles so, so gently. 

If asked, you’re not sure that you’d be able to think of a single thing you wouldn’t give up to recklessly chase after this feeling with him. Safe, warm, loved. It’d been there from the beginning, quietly growing subtle roots until it ingrained itself too deep to remove - as if you’d want to. 

That night, you nearly tell him you love him. Something stays your tongue, but you’re not quite sure what it might have been. Tomorrow, you promise yourself as he brings you to your door and kisses you so sweetly that you can do nothing but melt in his hold. Tomorrow, you resolve as you watch him backpedal down the street, giving you that smile you favor so much. 

Tomorrow, you promise the following day as the market quiets following such a busy event, unwilling to break the peace for a confession you’re not entirely confident he’s ready for. Instead, you prop your elbow on your stall’s counter and watch as he smiles at the grocer. As he squats to the level of a child that’s examining fruits, and offers one of the familiar candies from your stall to him. 

Over the child’s head, he catches your eye, and the placating smile turns to one that’s teeth and pink cheeks, embarrassment at having been caught with such softness but not ashamed enough to stop. In the heat of the afternoon, the quiet murmur of the bazaar, the daylight stretching the shadows long as the sun crosses its apex and begins to descend, everything feels the closest to perfection you could ever achieve.

Tomorrow doesn’t come. 

Or rather, it does, but he’s missing. The grocer mentions he’d stepped out of the city to make a run for sunsettias, then left on an errand with a golden-haired newcomer and their floating companion. The Traveler, you recognize vaguely from gossip through the grapevine. They’d keep him safe, surely, but you can’t help but feel a looming sense of dread when he doesn’t return that evening. 

For the first time in months, you eat your dinner alone. 

—

The tables are turned, for once. It’s you that worries over his well-being, so much so that you close your stand for the day and pace around your home like a caged animal. Certainly he must be fine, but he would’ve mentioned it to you if he were leaving, wouldn’t he? It feels wrong to not be aware of his presence, to not simply turn your head and have him at the corner of your vision as a steady presence. 

The grocer stops by to drop a few pieces of produce off, an attempt to check on you and reassure you of the wanderer’s safety with the Traveler. It does little to assuage your fears - nothing does, until the door opens and it’s filled with a familiar silhouette.

Except it’s… not. 

There’s a different set to his shoulders. A tension that lingers for a moment too long before it bleeds away at the sight of you. But his eyes are still the same, taking you in with immeasurable reverence that doesn’t fade even as he steps into your home that’s dimmer than the midday market outside. One, two, three long strides bring him to you, close enough to yank you to his chest and hold you impossibly tight with both arms. 

“I’m sorry.”

Even the tone is different. It’s lower, more tentative, almost as if he expects you to refuse him. Adamant, you wrap your arms tight around his waist and link your hands together, squeezing with everything you can muster as you mumble into the fabric over his chest. “You should be. You had me so worried.”

“That’s… I’m sorry for that, too.”

“You’re sorry for something else?” Pulling your head back, you look up at him. Nothing could have prepared you for the way his face falls, his lip drawing between his teeth as he takes in the sight of your confusion and weariness. 

There is no stalling further. His hand comes to the back of your head, bringing you back close again as he speaks over your shoulder. “I need to ask you something. Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. Even if you think it will hurt me.”

“And if it will hurt me?”

“It’ll hurt more if I don’t ask it at all.” His chest beneath your cheek shudders with his exhalation, its wavering shaking you to your core as you realize it’s tinged with tears once he continues. “If someone walked in here that looked and sounded just like me, but they were inarguably an evil person… would you still want to stay with them?”

“Looks and sounds like you…?”

“If you couldn’t tell the difference, beyond the knowledge that for the entirety of their existence, so many of the actions they’d taken were for horrible, inexcusable reasons.”

It shouldn’t be a simple answer. The question he’s posed to you has so many layers despite its surface-level simplicity. But with the way he looks at you - wild, desperate, clinging to the hope for an answer that lets him stay close to you - it only takes you a moment to come to a conclusion that settles into place like a key turning a lock. Smooth, easy, with a satisfying click.

“Whoever that person might’ve been… they’re not who you are now.” His breath hitches, stilling under where you rest your head. Whether that’s the right answer or the wrong, you’re unsure, but you’re too far to backtrack now. “I know who you are. People are allowed to change, that’s just what humans do.”

“I’m not human.”

He’s not. He’s told you so himself that he was created, not born. But it’s easy enough to forget that fact when he’s here in front of you, trembling in your arms and clinging desperately to the normalcy you’ve unknowingly provided. The front he puts up is so convincing that you’re not sure it’s even false anymore - he’s experienced all there is to being a human.

“But you’re close enough, aren’t you? You laugh, and you hurt. You’re hurting right now. And the most important part of being a human is love.” Pulling back enough to look at him, to note the shine of tears and the harshness of his bite on his bottom lip to hide its quivering, you ask, “Do you feel love?”

“Yes. So much, it’s killing me.”

“Ah, you just need to let it out then. Of course, I’d stay with you. If it’s like you say, then there’s a long road ahead, and I’m happy to walk it with you, if you’ll let me.”

Choked laughter leaves him, high-pitched and disbelieving. It signals the floodgates of his tears falling, and he releases one arm from you to rub at his eyes to catch them before they fall. It’s a futile effort, one you’re happy to see, even as he surges forward to kiss you, wetting your cheeks with his own. 

Against your lips he murmurs, muffled and sloppy, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou-”

As if you would have left him after coming to know him like this. It only hurts for a second that the thought had even crossed his mind to doubt - and perhaps that doubt will creep back in over the coming days. When things are difficult or when stirrings of a life past-lived come back to rear its head, threatening the tenuous peace he’s found. 

There are times that he looks at you with eyes that aren’t as familiar. They’re darker, edged sharply, but it’s still him. A different facet shining in the light, but if you tilt your head, you can see the core of him that lies beneath. Still the same, no matter how he refracts it. As he comes and goes, it feels as if a new page turns each time - some new, some old. A wildness exists that seeps through, visible only when he holds you a little too tight, kisses you a little too hard. 

Unsteadiness is something he’s worn since the first day you’ve met him, and with the return of memories he’d lost, it doesn’t settle over him as often as it once had. Only when you notice the shift does he avoid your gaze, the sheepish little smile lifting the weight on your heart, and his in turn.

He’s trying. That’s enough, you think.

[tieronecrush]

exile

joel miller x reader

rating: M

word count: 3.1k

summary:

i think i've seen this film before / and i didn't like the ending / i'm not your problem anymore / so who am i offending now? / you were my crown / now i'm in exile, seein' you out / i think I've seen this film before / so i'm leavin' out the side door

warnings: break up, discussion about closure or lack there of, talk about grief, death, self-doubt, self-deprecation, idk man it’s just sad

a/n: second fic for the folklore anthology!! hope you all enjoy, sorry for the sadness lol <3

It’s an early start — the crisp early spring air swirls around in gusts while the fresh blanket of dew squishes under his boots as he walks over to the stables. Lilac skies watercolor above, the last of the winter dawn painting yellowed strokes across the horizon as the sun rises, reflecting against the thirst-quenched earth.

Billows of his tepid breath puff in front of him, walking through the warmth of each exhale as he makes his way forward and across the paddock to the stalls. Rubber soles scuff onto rough concrete under the cover of the roof, neighs of horses and huffs of their breath vibrating their lips the only sound that fills his ears when he looks down the aisle to see you. Standing in the pen that holds Shimmer, Ellie’s beloved mare, you brush her chestnut coat as you prep to saddle each animal for the incoming patrol shift.

Joel meanders down the walkway over to the stable across from you that holds his own horse, Old Beardy, which he bonded with over lengthy patrol shifts. After the horse that Tommy had loaned them to reach Colorado, Callus, was killed by David and his men, Joel had chosen a similarly colored one in Old Beardy. It was another painful reminder he forced upon himself of what he had gone through — what Ellie had gone through — and what he did to get her through it. He never wanted to forget, not that he thought he ever could, and this was a small piece that added up to keep him weighed down by his choices and guilt every day.

It was that same guilt that burrows into his chest now as he looks at you while he saddles his horse. Nothing is spoken, not even a glance sent his way; completely ignored, the cold shoulder chilling him more than the early morning temperature. 

You had left him a few weeks ago now — completely blindsided him when you sat him down in his living room and broke another crack into his heart. At that point, he didn’t think it was possible to feel any more fragmented than he did for the last twenty years, but you quickly became another piece of his heart destroyed by his actions. It had to have been something he did, what it was he doesn’t have a clue. But with the way you cared for him, loved him for that fleeting time, he would have never chosen to give that up and he couldn’t see a reason why you would either.

He had to know.

It was keeping him up at night — that and his nightmares that seem to have never ceased. Around here, he doesn’t have his knockout combination of pills and alcohol to keep his ghosts at bay, so he’s faced with them every evening, creeping in along with the midnight.

You would help him, talk him through, remind him of the good in him, even though he never fully believed you.

He misses you.

He loves you.

Crossing the aisle again after slipping out of the stable of his horse, he takes a breath before leaning his arms onto the walled gate that separates the two of you. Breaking the fragile silence that floated in the air for the last few minutes, Joel speaks lowly despite you two being the only ones around.

“Morning.”

Silence.

“Need any help with the horses?”

More silence, the thud of the leather saddle being thrown over Shimmer’s back clapping in the stale air. 

He persists.

“Now I know you probably don’t wanna hear anything from me, peach, but I just gotta ask you — what happened? To us. I’ve been wracking my brain to try to figure it out, but—but I gotta admit, darlin’, I thought things were alright. That we were starting a peaceful life together.”

He lifts his arms off of the gate, standing up straight as he waves one arm out in a gesture toward his house — the house that you used to spend every single night in, the pieces of you strewn throughout. Flowers on the kitchen table, dog-eared books on the couch, clothes thrown onto the floor and into his hamper, your favorite lavender soap from the apothecary withering away in his shower marking the time you two were together. It sits untouched now, still as full as the last time you used it, another reminder of your absence.

“But then, just out of the blue, you were gone. You took just five whole minutes to neatly pack up the loose ends of us, talkin’ to me as you grabbed all your things from my house, wiping the presence of you completely. And when you left me standin’ in the hall, you left me with it, that guilt. And all I could do was just stand there with all this love that I needed to give to you, watching you walk away without any goddamn clue as to why you were leaving. It wasn’t fucking fair.”

Joel crosses the threshold of the stall, standing only a few feet away from you as his frustrations begin to fully air, slithering out of him with venom laced behind his tone. He doesn’t want to feel this angry, this upset. But this hurt in his chest hasn’t been felt for years and it’s killing him, squeezing everything in him out.

“And now,” he nearly growls out, “Now I hear around town you got some other man around for you. That you got over us so quickly, found someone new to spend your time with. Did I really mean that little? To be able to tidy up real quick and move on?”

A laugh barks out at that — he can see it on your face how ridiculous you think whatever he said, something he said in all that was. It only fuels the fire inside of him, boiling up to his ears and over to the point he must have steam coming out of him.

What the fuck was so funny?

Here he was, being honest about his feelings and you were laughing.

The steel toe of one of his boots knocks against the wooden walls as he kicks it gently, turned away as he starts to listen to you open the floodgates. Your hands pause their work, turning away from the toasted brown horse to face him fully. Hands on your hips and head tilted to one side, your stare burns the back of his neck as he stands away.

“Really, Joel? There’s nothing you can understand about why I might have left you?” Your eyebrows furrow with your own fury, deep creases that he has only seen from concern for him, his wellbeing, and Ellie’s. Anger is a new look on you, and it isn’t one he is feeling fond of causing for you. That storm of guilt rumbles inside of him; another reason to hate himself for making you feel something you rarely do, making you into something you’re not — bitter.

“Also, I don’t really think you’ve got a right to be upset with me and bringing up that stupid shit bein’ said around town. I left the bar with one guy, one time. The rumor mill snatched up that story from the few people that saw us leave. Didn’t even go home with him cause I couldn’t stop seeing you like a fucking ghost. I left and you are still consuming my brain. I still wonder every day if you’re okay; if you’re still even here.”

That whips his head over his shoulder, the fracturing of his heart felt even deeper, a cut to his bones from your words. He never knew that you knew — what he had tried years ago. Admittedly, the thought crossed his mind again once, and only once. It quickly dissipated when you stepped into his room, your tender smile eager to tell him about your day. He loved listening to you, being a sounding board and an observer. How could he ever give that up? How could he ever hurt you?

Apparently, he didn’t need to wonder anymore. He did that without even realizing it.

Mouth agape as you continue, crease between his brows shadowed as he takes a step closer to you, the pull of your red-hot rage driving him nearer to your molten center. It was the one way to feel your warmth again, even if it was more like burning at that point.

“I can’t believe that you would even give that gossip a second thought. Must be grasping at straws there. But I guess that proves my point, the reason that I left.”

You turn away to handle the animal again, shaking your head wildly and rolling your eyes at yourself. His own frustrations bubble again, another step closer as he walks around your shoulder to your field of vision. A head tilt of his own, a nonchalant shrug.

“And how do you figure that, darlin’? Please, enlighten me,” his words cut into the air, attempting to antagonize you in a subconscious effort to keep you talking, to keep you around.

“God, that’s so fucking rich coming from you, Joel. Wanting explanations, wanting me to open up so you can understand. That’s why I left. I tried so hard to get you to open up to me, to let me in, and to be even the smallest bit vulnerable. I wanted you to show me that you trusted me. When I met you before you left with Ellie, things felt different. And when you came back, you had been getting more and more closed off the longer we were spending time together. I don’t know what happened out there if something happened between you and Ellie, and I don’t need all the details, but I needed something. And I gave you so many chances — second, third, hundredth chances to give me something that could show me you trust me or could even grow to trust me, but that didn’t come. All I wanted was to help you, Joel. I care about you so much. I loved you. But it didn’t seem like you felt the same. Never told me you felt the same.”

A step away from him, arms around your chest to protect your heart — from him? From breaking again? He didn’t know you needed the words; he tried to show you through his actions, his touch, the care he took of you. Words never came easy to him, actions did.

“And now, you’re being this fucking alpha, masculine man stomping in here and talkin’ to me about how you hear I was with some guy. Actin’ like I’m just trying to make you jealous like he was some understudy or rebound. Well, nothing happened like I said, so you can wipe off the face that looks like you’re gonna go get your knuckles bloody for me.”

The crease in his brow resolves, the sour twist of his lips relaxing as he drops his head in shame. You were right, always right. He would knock the lights out of the guy if you said one more word — if you said that you had moved on for real.

“All of it, still being around you and being reminded of you all the time, it feels like I’m trying to balance again on breaking branches. And every time I see you around, in person or in my head like a shadow following me around, those eyes — your stupid brown eyes pleading with me, they just add insult to injury.”

“I wanted to help you, Joel, to just be there to help you mend, even a little bit. But you never gave me a chance.”

A sigh slips from his lips, barely audible. You turn away as he steps toward you, tender eyes and gentle touch resting on your shoulder. When you don’t recoil, one of his rough, work-worn hands grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, turning your head to meet his eyes as he quietly speaks, lower than the whole conversation has been.

“I never knew that is what you were worried about, darlin’. I’m fine, there wasn’t anything that happened between Ellie and I ‘cept that ambush at the hospital that I told you about. I didn’t think I was actin’ any differently than before.”

A scoff, shaking your head out of his grasp and pushing your hands against his chest to separate. You slip away, crossing the stall to grab more gear to dress the horse in.

“You are unbelievable.”

Now he’s really getting annoyed.

“What? What is so unbelievable?” His voice booms, echoing a bit in the empty horse barn, biting back his tongue as you close your eyes tightly. He opens his mouth to apologize for raising his voice, but your raised hand stops him.

“It’s obvious you are not fine, Joel, and you can’t even admit it now after I’ve told you that all I wanted was for you to be open. You can stop running. Slow down. Live. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself in silence.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, looking away as he works his jaw back and forth before he turns to you again, “I couldn’t read your mind! All this time, I never learned to read your mind. I can’t read Ellie’s mind — I can’t figure it out with either of you. Two of the most important people, two of the handful of people that I am still around for, have distanced themselves from me and I can’t seem to pull myself together to figure it out. I feel like I’m drowning out here on my own and I’m not even being thrown a fucking life raft. You never gave me time to turn things around, you never gave me a warning sign of what was goin’ on.”

The tightness in your shoulders falls, curling you smaller into yourself, and there goes another crack in his heart. Broken like old pavement when the Earth shifts, takes destroying it all to rebuild it.

Tired. You look so tired, and he aches with the thought that he’s exhausted you, even away. What is he going to do if he is open with you? Isn’t he going to be more of a burden?

No, he wouldn’t let himself. He would be honest with you. But there is no expectation that he could be fixed, that you could shoulder any of this weight he’s carried for twenty years. It’s lighter to him now, endurance built to keep himself under it without getting crushed.

“Joel…I gave so many signs. I checked in with you every day, I asked you directly how you were doing. A lot of the time, after long days, you’d be so short with me. Either annoyed or just brushing me off and changing the subject. So when asking you didn’t work, I tried to open up more myself to try to get you to feel comfortable talking to me about anything. You would just listen and move on. Nothing inspired you to give me even a little sliver of yourself, of your heart. I closed myself off more and more cause it felt like I was prying with someone who couldn’t even care less about me. You didn’t even notice that we didn’t touch, we didn’t kiss, we were barely intimate with each other in those last few weeks — we completely drifted, Joel. I tried to give you so many signs before I couldn’t take it anymore. You didn’t even see the signs.”

Thoughts and memories rewind in his head like an old tape, picking up patterns in himself and in you that he has been too blind to see. All he wanted was to move on, sweep it under the rug and live whatever life he could with you, with Ellie.

“I’m sorry, peach. I am so sorry. I swear on my fucking grave that I had no idea this was all happening for you — I was too in my own head. My heart is hurtin’ so much without you around; knowing I did something to push you away. And hearing what you were holdin’ in ‘cause I was bein’ too closed, too selfish to see what was wrong? It is destroyin’ me. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really am.”

No response is given to him. He watches as you bend your arms, lifting them to press the backs against your eyes. They turn and run over your face, an ache in him to reach his own out to pull yours away, replace them with his own to hold your beautiful face again. When he speaks up again, he sounds like a child — soft, pleading for the punishment to end.

“Could you ever, I don’t know how to ask this really, but could you ever give me another chance? Would you?”

His eyes are glossing over, vision blurring slightly at the edges as you meet his gaze. A deep, exhausted sigh rolls from your chest, head shaking back and forth as your stare leaves him, running a million yards away somewhere.

“I—God, I don’t know, Joel. It felt like I was just there to give you comfort when you wanted it, when you thought you needed it, and that was it. That was my purpose to you. That you didn’t even want to try to open up, to build trust or anything between us. Things would really have to change for me to feel ready to try again.”

Another step brings him a foot away from you, the itch in his fingers too much to ignore anymore as he guides his hand up, caressing your cheek and brushing his thumb along the line of the high bone there.

“Sweetheart, honey, I’ll be better. If you give me another chance, I’m gonna do better by you. Gonna try more. I promise, peach. I’m not gonna fuck this up.”

Eyes flutter shut under his touch, the weight of your head falling into his gentle care a bit heavier.

When they open again, he can see resolve has been built. A defensive wall put back up after leaning in too much into the temptation of jumping back into the deep end.

“Can I have some time to think about it?”

Selfishly, he wishes you would just jump, dive into his waters with him so you can offer him a lifeline.

“Of course, peach. You come ‘round whenever you wanna talk. I’m gonna be there for you. Whenever.”

His lips press to your hairline, large hand stroking at the back of your head before he pulls away and exits the stall, crossing over to lead Old Beardy out of the stables to mount for patrol.

With his back to you, he doesn’t see the shaky breath you take, composure crumbling as you lean your head against the leather saddle, teardrops littering the surface.

taglist: @wannab-urs @atinylittlepain @bearsbeetsbeskar @serenaxpedro @casa-boiardi @rav3n-pascal22 @dinsdjrn @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @johnwatsn @amanitacowboy @leeeesahhh @isitmelookin4u @javiscigarette @mrsyixingunicorn10 @sugarspiceanthrax @orphanbird95 @space-cowboy-like-me @tuquoquebrute @rsquared31 @morning-star-joy @canseethebrushstrokes @atremises @sstarboy777 @undrthelights @butiknewyoudlinger @dayrdreaming @disassociation-daydreams @joelsversion @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mydailyhyperfixations @diamndx @mingiast @kdogreads @blxsphemy7 @marchai @littlevenicebitch69 @ghostofbrock @iwrotethissky @ladynightingale @jksprincess10 @swiftispunk @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters @northernbluess

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers. This chapter does contain descriptions of death.

Word Count: 3,810

Chapter 1

Cassara

Naivety. It’s a word I grew extremely familiar with, especially after I left home. At home, I was considered unruly, a brat, and much worse. In my village, however, I was practically royalty, being the heiress and daughter of two extremely powerful wood elves. My father was a magnificent protector, a master of the forest and its creatures, while my mother excelled in healing, her touch capable of mending the deepest wounds. With those two traits, our family quickly became the cornerstone of our small community, a haven for refugees seeking shelter from the ravages of war and strife. We built our enclave from the ground up, nestled deep within the ancient forests of Faerûn. Our village was a hidden gem, a sanctuary cradled in the embrace of towering trees and verdant foliage. The canopy above was so dense that sunlight filtered through in a mosaic of green and gold, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. Our homes were seamlessly integrated into the natural landscape, crafted from living wood that bent and shaped itself to our needs under the guidance of skilled elven artisans. Vines and flowering plants wove through the walls, creating a sense of harmony and unity with the forest.

The heart of the village was a large, open clearing where a majestic oak tree stood, its branches spreading wide to form a natural pavilion. This ancient tree, known as the Heartwood, was a symbol of our community’s strength and resilience. It was here that we gathered for celebrations, council meetings, and communal meals. Around the base of the Heartwood, a series of interconnected platforms and walkways, built into the trees themselves, created a multi-level village that felt like an extension of the forest.

Our village was a place of perpetual twilight, the thick canopy above allowing only the gentlest rays of the sun to reach us. Bioluminescent fungi and magical lanterns provided a soft, ethereal glow at night, bathing the village in a serene, otherworldly light. The air was always fresh, filled with the scent of pine, wildflowers, and the occasional hint of woodsmoke from our hearths. A crystal-clear stream meandered through the village, its waters sparkling as they caught the light. Bridges of woven vines arched gracefully over the stream, connecting different parts of the village. Children often played by its banks, their laughter mingling with the gentle babble of the water. Our homes, though simple, were beautiful and functional. Each dwelling was uniquely designed to blend with the surrounding trees, with balconies and windows that opened to the forest. Inside, they were cozy and warm, filled with handcrafted furniture and adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of elven lore and history.

The training grounds were on the outskirts of the village, a series of clearings where the young warriors practiced under the watchful eyes of seasoned fighters. Nearby, the healing huts stood as a testament to my mother’s prowess, filled with the rich, heady scent of herbs and the gentle hum of restorative magic.

Gardens and orchards were scattered throughout the village, providing fresh produce and herbs. These plots were tended with care, using ancient techniques that ensured the land was never overworked and always remained bountiful. The village’s self-sufficiency was a point of pride, and everyone contributed to its upkeep in some way.

Our sanctuary, while idyllic, was not without its defenses. Hidden watchtowers were strategically placed around the perimeter, and secret paths known only to our people allowed for swift movement through the forest. My father’s bond with the forest animals ensured that we were always aware of any approaching danger. In this tranquil setting, it was easy to forget the outside world’s turmoil. Yet, for me, the village was both a haven and a cage, its serene beauty a constant reminder of the freedom I yearned for but was denied. Word of our sanctuary spread far and wide, drawing elves from distant lands to our secluded spot.

My father, with his uncanny bond with animals, led our defenses, commanding both the beasts of the forest and the brave men who trained from a young age to protect our home. The forest itself seemed to come alive at his command, a living barrier against any who threatened us. Meanwhile, the women, myself included, took on the roles of caregivers and teachers. Domestic duties occupied most of our time, but the most thrilling moments were those spent mending the injured warriors who returned from battle. I especially enjoyed hearing their stories, even as a youngling. Their tales of bravery and danger, of distant lands and fierce battles, filled my imagination with visions of a world beyond our forest. Each scar carried a story, each wound a testament to the harsh realities outside our sanctuary. It was through these stories that I began to understand the true meaning of courage and sacrifice, and yet, it was also through these stories that I learned the extent of my own sheltered ignorance. My world was safe, my life blessed with the privileges of my heritage, but beyond the trees, a far harsher reality awaited—a reality I was yet to fully comprehend.

My parents were no help preparing me for the real world, steadfast in their refusal to let any woman train, especially their very own daughter. They believed that a woman's place was in the home, tending to domestic duties and healing, not out in the wild learning to wield magic or weapons. Their overprotectiveness stifled my spirit, and my mischief around the forest was my way of retaliating for not being allowed to learn how to do more with my magic than heal. Even as a child, my mischief in the village was legendary. The elders would often shake their heads and mutter about my antics, but secretly, I think even they were amused. My favorite pastime was sneaking into the armory, where I would borrow—without permission, of course—my father's weapons. The sight of a small girl attempting to wield a bow twice her size was enough to cause both laughter and mild panic among the guards.

Then there was the time I decided to "improve" the herbal mixtures in the healing hut. I had observed my mother blending potions so often that I was certain I could do it too. The result was a concoction that turned a patient's skin a brilliant shade of green. Luckily, it was a temporary effect, but my mother made sure I spent the next month sorting herbs as penance. I also had a penchant for leading my friends on daring escapades into the deeper parts of the forest. We would play hide and seek among the ancient trees, their branches twisting into natural labyrinths. My companions were often in awe of how I seemed to know the forest as well as my own home. However, our adventures frequently ended with a search party sent out to find us when we failed to return by nightfall. The relief of the adults was always quickly replaced by stern lectures and extra chores.

One of my more infamous pranks involved the village's festival preparations. I convinced a group of younger children that the decorations would look better if we "borrowed" some of the shimmering scales from the forest's sacred dragon statue. The elders were not amused when they found their revered monument looking rather bare, and the ensuing task of reapplying the scales was a tedious one. Despite the trouble I caused, my mischief was never born of malice. I was simply a child seeking adventure and excitement in a world that often seemed too small for my imagination. Each escapade, each prank, was a lesson in disguise, shaping me into the person I would become—restless, curious, and always eager to push the boundaries of what was possible.

My defiance began to crystallize into a plan. I managed to manipulate one of the younger warriors around my age, a boy named Aric, into showing me fighting styles and magic. Aric was a kind soul, eager to share his knowledge and excited by the prospect of a secret training partner. Under the cover of darkness, we would sneak away to hidden glades where the moonlight filtered through the ancient trees, casting ethereal shadows on our training grounds. Aric taught me how to channel my magic into offensive spells, how to hold a sword, and the basics of combat stances. Each lesson was a thrilling defiance of the rules, a secret rebellion against my parents' constraints. However, our clandestine sessions did not go unnoticed forever. One fateful night, we were ambushed by a patrol led by my father himself. The look of betrayal and fury in his eyes is something I will never forget. Aric was immediately dragged away, and despite my pleas and protests, my father decreed that he was to have no further contact with me. My heart broke as I watched Aric disappear into the darkness, his eyes filled with regret and apology.

My father’s punishment was swift and severe. He made sure Aric would never speak to me again, assigning him to a remote outpost on the very edge of our territory. I was confined to the village, my freedoms curtailed even further. The lessons Aric had imparted to me were now my only connection to the world of combat and magic that I so desperately yearned to master. My defiance had been met with harsh consequences, but it only fueled my determination to find a way to break free from the suffocating expectations placed upon me. I spent my days dreaming of escape, my nights planning how to continue my training in secret. Each act of rebellion, each small victory in my clandestine practice, was a step closer to the independence I craved. My parents had tried to shield me from the dangers of the real world, but in doing so, they had only ignited a fire within me—a fire that would one day lead me far beyond the confines of our forest home.

But if only I knew how hot fire burned and how quickly everything could be taken away. If only I had understood the weight of my wishes, the peril of yearning for freedom without comprehending the price. How could I have possibly foreseen that one mistake would cast me into the clutches of a bloodthirsty monster, reducing me to the status of his slave? What surprised me most of all were the dark desires he dug from deep within my subconscious, desires I tried my best to bury and ignore.

The day of my downfall began like any other. I was practicing my secret spells in a secluded part of the forest, a hidden glade I had discovered weeks earlier. It seemed a perfect spot for my training, untouched and silent, surrounded by ancient trees whose leaves whispered secrets in the breeze. But I did not realize that my presence had triggered an ancient trap, a warding spell set to alert the dark creatures lurking in the shadows.

I was deep in concentration, channeling my energy into a swirling orb of light, when a sudden chill ran down my spine. The atmosphere shifted, the once serene glade now thick with a foreboding presence. Before I could react, they were upon me—dark, hulking figures emerging from the shadows. Their eyes glowed like embers, and their snarls echoed through the glade. They moved with unnerving speed, their claws extended and teeth bared, reflecting the dim light in sharp, menacing glints. My heart pounded, but I forced myself to stand firm, summoning the defensive spells Aric had taught me.

The first monster lunged, its claws slashing through the air. I barely managed to conjure a shield of shimmering light in time. The impact sent vibrations up my arms, and the force of the blow pushed me back a step. I retaliated with a burst of flames, the fire erupting from my hands and searing the air between us. The monster recoiled, its fur singed, but another quickly took its place, closing in with terrifying ferocity.

Lightning crackled from my fingertips, striking one of the creatures square in the chest. It howled in pain, but the sound was quickly drowned out by the growls of the others. They surrounded me, a circle of malevolence and fury. I spun around, casting spells in every direction—flames, bolts of energy, gusts of wind—but there were too many. For every monster I struck down, two more seemed to take its place. Their claws raked across my skin, drawing blood and shredding my clothes. Pain shot through me, but I couldn’t afford to falter. I drew upon every ounce of magic within me, forming a vortex of energy that pushed the creatures back momentarily. The air crackled with power, the glade illuminated by the glow of my magic. Yet, their relentless assault continued.

Realizing I was outmatched, I turned to run, my heart hammering in my chest. Branches and low-hanging bushes seemed to conspire against me, tearing at my skin and clothes, slowing my escape. I could hear the creatures behind me, their breath hot on my heels, their snarls filling the air with dread. Panic surged, my steps faltering as I glanced back. That was my mistake. I tripped over a hidden root, the ground rushing up to meet me. Pain exploded through my body as I tumbled down a steep hill, branches and rocks bruising and cutting me. The world became a chaotic blur of green and brown before everything went painfully black. When I came to, dried blood crusted the right side of my forehead and face, and my head throbbed with a relentless ache. I was face down at the bottom of a large drop-off, and it was a miracle I was even alive. Night had fallen, casting the forest in deep shadows, and there was no telling how long I had been unconscious. Slowly, I stumbled to my feet, the world spinning around me as I made my way back up the hill. Every step was a struggle, my limbs heavy and uncooperative. As I reached the top, the first thing that hit my senses was the smell. Smoke mixed with the acrid stench of what I now know was burning flesh, a scent so vile it made me gag. Then I saw it—the sight of a blazing inferno in the middle of the night, flames licking the sky like the fiery fingers of some malevolent deity.

Panic surged through me, and I broke into a run, my legs barely holding me upright. As I neared the village, the oppressive heat of the flames pressed against my skin, stinging my eyes and filling my lungs with smoke. The once serene and harmonious village was now a scene of chaos and destruction. The towering trees that had sheltered us were now engulfed in flames, their branches crackling and collapsing under the intense heat. I fell to my knees as I reached the clearing where my home sat ablaze. The silence was deafening. I briefly wondered why I didn’t hear any screams, why I saw no one running around in frantic desperation. The homes, once seamlessly integrated into the forest, were now little more than skeletal remains, their living wood structures consumed by fire. The bioluminescent fungi and magical lanterns that had once bathed the village in a soft, ethereal glow were now reduced to molten globs, their light extinguished.

Then I saw them—charcoaled bodies lying in the burnt grass, twisted in grotesque shapes. The air was thick with the sickening scent of burning flesh, and my stomach churned. Horror gripped me, cold and unrelenting. I could feel the malevolent magical essence that had assaulted me in the glade, lingering in the air like a toxic miasma. It clung to the ruins of my home, a dark signature of the evil that had visited our sanctuary. I stumbled forward, my legs barely carrying me, as I tried to comprehend the magnitude of the devastation. The Heartwood tree, once the proud symbol of our community, was now a towering inferno, its majestic branches consumed by fire. The gardens and orchards that had provided us with fresh produce were now blackened and barren, their plants reduced to ash.

I crawled through the ashes, my hands and knees blackened with soot, my mind numb with shock. The destruction was total. Every structure, every tree, every piece of the life I had known was reduced to smoldering ruin. I reached for one of the bodies, my fingers trembling, but recoiled at the sight of its blackened, unrecognizable form. The training grounds, once a place of discipline and learning, were now a battlefield of charred remains. The healing huts, filled with the rich, heady scent of herbs and the gentle hum of restorative magic, were now silent, their contents burned beyond recognition. In that moment, the weight of my wishes crashed down upon me. My desire for freedom, my defiance, had led to this. Everything I had ever known and loved was gone, taken from me in the span of a single night. The beautiful, harmonious village that had been my home was now a nightmare of flames and death. And as the reality of my loss settled in, a new fear took root—fear of the unknown future, of the bloodthirsty monster who now awaited me, and of the dark desires he had already begun to unearth within my soul.

There I lay, unrelentingly coughing on the smoke that filled the air around me. Each breath was a battle, the acrid fumes searing my throat and lungs. The heat from the dying fires pressed against my skin, a constant reminder of the devastation surrounding me. I curled in on myself, clutching my knees to my chest, the world reduced to a blur of pain and grief. Tears streamed down my soot-streaked face, cutting clean paths through the grime. I wanted the earth to take me too. I wished for it to open up and swallow me whole, to end this nightmare. The weight of loss pressed down on me, a suffocating shroud of despair. My eyes closed as I prayed to whoever would listen—any deity, any spirit, anyone who could end my suffering. I begged for them to take me instead, to reunite me with my family and friends, to free me from this agony. But the night passed slowly, each minute an eternity. My prayers went unanswered, the silence around me as cold and unfeeling as the ashes beneath me. As the first light of dawn pierced the smoky haze, the reality of my solitude settled in. The village, once a bustling sanctuary, was now a graveyard of charred remains and smoldering ruins. I stirred, my body stiff and aching from the night spent on the ground. As I came to, the morning light revealed the full extent of the devastation. The trees that had once formed a protective canopy over our village were now blackened husks, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching towards the sky. The stream that had meandered through the village, its waters once crystal clear, was now choked with ash and debris.

The silence was overwhelming. No birds sang, no insects buzzed, and the only sound was the faint crackling of the dying fires. I pushed myself to my feet, swaying unsteadily, my legs weak and trembling. My dress, once a symbol of the elegance and grace of my wood elf heritage, was now in tatters. It hung from my frame in ragged strips, torn and dirtied beyond recognition. The delicate leaf patterns, painstakingly embroidered with silver thread, were obscured by soot and grime. The rich, emerald green fabric, which had shimmered like the forest canopy in the sunlight, was now dull and stained with blood and ash. The sleeves were shredded, leaving my arms exposed and covered in cuts and bruises. The bodice, which had once fitted snugly, was ripped at the seams, barely clinging to my shoulders. The skirt, designed to flow gracefully with each step, was now a torn mess, the hemline uneven and frayed. Large gashes revealed glimpses of my scratched and bruised legs, evidence of my desperate flight through the underbrush.

As I moved, the remnants of the dress rustled softly, a sad echo of its former beauty. The once soft and comforting fabric now chafed against my skin, each movement reminding me of the chaos and violence that had led to this moment. It was a far cry from the elegant attire I had worn with pride, now reduced to a pitiable state by the night's horrors. Each step through the village was a journey through a memory turned nightmare. I passed the remnants of homes, their walls crumbled and burnt. The once lush gardens were now barren patches of scorched earth. I stumbled upon the Heartwood tree, its massive trunk split and charred, the symbol of our strength and unity reduced to ruin. My heart ached at the sight, a fresh wave of sorrow crashing over me. I sank to my knees, my fingers digging into the ash-covered ground. The faces of my family and friends, their laughter and warmth, haunted me, now nothing more than ghosts in a destroyed paradise. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, its light harsh and unyielding, I realized the truth. No one was coming to save me. The world outside our village had always been a mystery to me, a place of unknown dangers and uncertainties. Now, it was my only option. I had to leave, to find a way to survive in a world that had already shown me its cruelty. I gathered what little strength I had left, my determination hardening like the cooling embers around me. I would not let my family’s memory fade into nothingness. I would find a way to honor them, to fight against the darkness that had taken them from me. My journey was just beginning, and though the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, I knew I could not give up.

With a final, lingering glance at the ruins of my home, I turned and began to walk. The forest, once a place of safety and comfort, was now a daunting wilderness. Each step was heavy with grief, but also with a growing resolve. I would survive. I would find the monster responsible for this, and I would make him pay. My destiny lay beyond the ashes of my past, in the unknown world that awaited me. As I moved forward, the first rays of sunlight broke through the canopy, casting a hopeful glow on the path ahead. Despite the overwhelming loss, a spark of determination ignited within me. This was not the end—it was the beginning of a new chapter. And I would face it with all the strength and resilience my parents had instilled in me.

[cauldronblssd]

CH 19 - Found in the Sunlight

Lucien and Elain say goodbye to Summer and return to Velaris.

Read on AO3

Thank you to my love @climbthemountain2020 for being the best beta!

Excerpt:

Elain hand grasped Lucien’s tightly as they landed on the grounds outside of the River House. Aster in a vivid shade of purple bloomed along the walkway, meandering and filling in the gaps between the stones. It had been an addition she’d planted in her second season in Velaris, after planting something similar in Una’s garden. The familiar scent of the sidra and her carefully cultivated plants wafted towards her as she looked her mate, who stood tensely next to her. In a concession to her modesty, he’d worn his hair down to cover his neck, though all it would take is a tilt of his head to reveal it. All the same, he looked breathtaking, glowing like a beacon of light in the dusky skies of Velaris. His long auburn hair gleamed under the fae lights lining the doorway. She felt a rush of butterflies in her stomach as she took him in, as if she hadn’t looked at nothing but her mate for the last two weeks. Elain swallowed down whatever she was feeling, about to propose they head in when she heard a familiar squealing sound.  

She turned just in time as she was barreled into by a giggling Nyx, flapping his wings excitedly. “My goodness, look at you!” She grabbed him by the waist in what she hoped seemed playful but was actually a very real attempt to keep him from flying away. She took a deep breath of his clean baby smell as she ruffled his soft curls.   

Feyre came running out after him, looking tired but in good spirits. She laughed as she watched her son wriggling in Elain’s arms. “Someone is especially excited to see you.”   

Lucien wrapped his arm around Elain as he reached to brush Nyx’s cheeks. His hold on Elain tightened slightly as he looked between them with a bemused expression.   

Feyre looked at Lucien curiously before her grin widened. “Looks like he won’t have to wait long for a cousin.” She winked at him conspiratorially.  

Elain blushed furiously, about to protest that there might be no children in their future at all, when Feyre simply turned and walked inside. There’s nothing to do but follow, she supposed. Everything was the same. The bouquet of flowers she’d arranged still sat in a vase on the table in the entryway. Her gardening shoes still rested outside the back door. The setting sun reflected on the bright crystals of the chandelier, casting an array of colors on the wall, in the same way it always did at this time of day. It was Elain that felt different, though she couldn’t have said how.   

Gwyn sauntered towards to her, offering her a hug, squeezing Nyx in between them. As she released her, Cassian came up to pat Lucien on the back, muttering something to him that had him tipping his head back in laughter. Elain couldn’t help but laugh herself when Cassian did not take a step towards her, merely nodding his head in greeting before turning in another direction. Nyx began to squirm in her arms, and she passed him back to Feyre with a kiss on his cheek. She turned back to Lucien, stepping closer to him. She could say it was to pacify Lucien, but it was just as much for her own benefit. He pulled her against him, smiling at her affectionately.   

He started to whisper something to her when Rhys walked up to them, his eyes passing back and forth between them. “Can I trust you not to start a brawl tonight, Lucien? Or should we go work off some energy outside first?”   

Lucien tensed, but smiled good-naturedly, “I promised my mate I’d be on my best behavior.”   

Azriel and Nesta walked into the room from the library, looking conspiratorial as always. They were always a dangerous pairing. Nesta smiled brightly when she saw Elain, walking up to her to glance over her in assessment. Azriel nodded towards them, but stayed several steps behind the group. She cut her eyes to Lucien, to make sure he wasn’t making any threatening glares towards Azriel to keep him away. Feyre giggled and when Elain turned to look at her, Feyre chimed in mind to mind. It’s your scent. Elain flushed from her cheeks to her chest thinking that her family could all smell what she and Lucien had been doing. She took a step into his side, firmly away from an unbothered Nesta.   

“Is dinner ready? I can go help in the kitchen.” Happy as she was to see her family, she wanted to go gossip with Nuala and Cerridwen and avoid everyone’s nudges and suggestive comments.   

Feyre shook her head. “Please, it’s your first day back. You don’t need to get to work already. Besides, we have some updates.”   

Elain’s heart immediately picked up in her chest. Her pointed attempts to avoid thinking about her mission in Autumn were over, then. Her thoughts crept to the richly jeweled dagger currently stuffed in her luggage. She could feel Lucien’s own nerves spike. She felt the bond much more strongly now that they’d accepted it, making it difficult to decipher his feelings from her own.   

Lucien placed his hand on her back as he guided them towards the sitting room, following her sisters and the rest of the group. Mor and Amren already sat by the window, drinking from large glasses of wine. Things between herself and Mor hadn’t been quite the same since everything changed, but she smiled at her anyway. Elain took a seat on the sofa as Lucien went with Cassian to fix drinks at the small bar in the dining room. Gwyn, apparently, was the only one brave enough to sit next to her. “Well?” she whispered suggestively.   

Elain flushed, knowing her question but choosing not to answer. “Well, what?”  

Gwyn elbowed her in the side. “Is it true what they say about Autumn Court males?”  

Elain scrunched her nose, but eventually nudged her back. “Yes! But don’t say anything to Nesta!”   

Gwyn placed her hand to her chest dramatically, “On my honor, I won’t.”   

She forgot how serious Gwyn could be. She smiled back at her when she felt Lucien nudging her from the other side. He handed her a glass of dark brown liquid, matching his own, before sitting down next to her, his arm slung around her possessively. She thought it might frustrate her, and she supposed it would get old eventually. But for now, Elain relished the feeling of belonging as she nestled into the warm crook of his arm, her side pressed against his chest.   

How many meetings and dinners had she attended with her sisters where they were close with their mates like this? It’s true, their relationships were different than her own, but for once, she didn’t feel like the outsider in the group. She could belong again. Lucien seemed to settle into more contented feelings as well, sipping his drink silently as Gwyn told Elain about the new priestess she’d recruited to train with the Valkyries. Her teal eyes were bright with excitement and the sleeves of her robe glided through the air as she moved her hands animatedly. The rest of the room was filled with equally happy chatter. Rhys, Mor and Feyre were huddled together, making plans for an upcoming trip to Rita’s. Cassian and Azriel joked with Nesta while Amren smirked mischievously.   

It certainly didn’t look like bad news, based on the laughs and smiles of the people around her. Still, what was political assassination to a room full of the warriors who fought Hybern? This mission seemed simple in comparison, she supposed. Still, it weighed heavily on Elain. How many people would she kill before it changed her? Even though she was protecting her sister, the death of the King of Hybern haunted her. Sometimes she still dreamt of his blood on her hands. Her hands grew clammy, and she rubbed them on her dress nervously. She didn’t know if she could sit and listen to their pleasant chatter much longer. She longed for her chair on the porch in summer, for the sounds of the ocean and solitude.   

Lucien prompted Feyre, looking to her authoritatively, “You said you had news?”   

Feyre perked up, sitting up straight and placing her tattooed hands in her lap. She looked radiant despite the inevitable tiredness that came with motherhood. She’d dressed up for their arrival in a midnight blue dress and left her hair down in soft waves. Regal, Elain thought. “Eris sent word to Azriel.”   

Elain immediately turned her face in Azriel’s direction. The grave look on his face did nothing to assuage her nerves. “Beron plans to send a formal invitation for you to visit in the coming days.”  

Elain cleared her throat. “Well, that’s what we wanted. Eris held up his end of the bargain.” Her voiced faltered despite her best efforts.   

Lucien’s voice came out rough, clearly affected as well. “Did he say anything else?”  

Elain took deep breaths, covertly inhaling Lucien’s scent to calm herself.  

“Nothing pertinent” Rhys replied as he stretched his legs out in front of him.  

“Just that your mother looks forward to seeing you.” Azriel had cut in, to her surprise, his voice low and soft.  Lucien looked surprised as well, his mouth falling open slightly and his brows pinching together with worry. Elain squeezed his thigh where her hand rested in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. It was not just the bond that urged her to comfort him, or find solace in his calming presence. It was just, Lucien . Lucien her friend who brought her coffee and laughed at her jokes. And now, they were mates – a unit with their fates and futures intertwined. They would face this, together.   

Taglist:

@climbthemountain2020. @clockwork-ashes

[familyvideostevie]

Hello! If it’s alright, could I request something with the reader going Halloween costume shopping with Eddie (and maybe the rest of the gang)? There’s so many Spirit Halloween and Halloween Express stores around where I live and I just have a feeling that Eddie would have the time of his life in them and need to be reigned in haha

thank you google for telling me that spirit halloween was indeed founded in the 1980s thus making this little fic possible. here's eddie in a costume shop but its also friends to lovers, hope you like !! <3 | 1.3k, fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers

The store takes up the biggest part of the strip mall about 40 minutes away from Hawkins. As soon as Eddie parks the van in the near-empty lot, the kids who aren't really kids anymore spring out and jog to the doors. The "Spirit Halloween" banner is faded and haphazardly strung up over the walkway and you raise your eyebrows in a silent question at Eddie across the gear shift.

"Don't look at me like that!" he says, smirking. "Buckley said they'd find good shit here for cheap."

"And this was worth almost an hour of driving?" Your complaint has no bite as you hop out of the van and walk for the store, Eddie's lazy, loping gate just behind you.

"We can't have them show up to their first high school party without good costumes," he scolds you, hand ghosting over your back at the threshold. The kids are going to a real party this year, though they don't know that you know. You got it out of Lucas last week when he begged Eddie to drive them here. You both told Steve, who said he's gonna drive by every hour, even as the rest of the 'big kids' have fun at another party, you and Eddie included.

Eddie, your friend, maybe even your best friend. This week you wanted to see if you could be more, if the fluttering in your stomach was worth risking what you already have. You've been trying to muster the courage to ask him to go in a couples costume this year but you've chickened out and here you are, a week before Halloween, and you're sure you've missed your chance. Instead, you'll help him pick out something he'll look ridiculously hot in and he'll make out with some college girl at the party.

But one thing at a time. You can see the kids weaving between the aisles as you look around, taking it all in. You thought that the store would be fairly picked over since it's close to Halloween but it seems just as full as if it was October 1st. Skeletons hang from the drab ceiling and the lighting is a little too low and it smells like dust, but you get a cart and slowly make your way into the maze.

"I'm gonna go dig," Eddie says, brushing his hand over your shoulder and squeezing before he darts off into the adult costume aisles. You meander through bins of decorations and wigs, capes and plastic masks. A song you kind of recognize plays lowly over the speakers and you hum along, tossing a few bags of candy into the cart and a stuffed pumpkin that Robin will like.

And you think about Eddie. How funny he is, how he's intense in one moment but vulnerable the next. How much he loves the kids and the way they're running Hellfire now and his friends and how he just wants people to like him. How nice he is to you, how easily he took to your jokes and your moods, how he answers your late night phone calls when you can't sleep and picks you up whenever you ask him to.

The crush you're nursing is newish -- you liked him when you first saw him, sure, and your stomach swooped when he spoke to you, but it's only this fall that you find yourself looking at his lips and wondering how soft they are. Wondering what it would be like to have his arm slung around your shoulders in more than a friendly way, to be able to call him your boyfriend. If all the afternoons you spend at his trailer, all the movies you see, all the drives he takes you on could be dates instead.

The boy in question skids out of the aisle right in front of you and you have to jerk the cart back to keep from plowing into him.

"Eddie," you frown. "I could have hit you!"

He's grinning, hands high in the air to show you what he's found. "It would be worth it for these sick costumes I found for us." You told him to find you something easy and something about his excitement tells you this is anything but. The bags say "Frankenstein" and..."Bride of Frankenstein." There are wigs visible through the plastic, a black one shot through with white in the bag that's for you. "I'm not going to wear a wig, obviously, but maybe we can temporarily dye a white streak so we match." He keeps talking about painting his face green when you interrupt him.

"But Eddie," you say, genuinely confused, "this is a couples costume." He deflates only a little at your surprise, but takes a deep breath and lowers his arms, pulling his face into one of his more neutral expressions.

"Yeah, and?" he says, shifting from foot to food.

You fight the urge to put your face in your hands because you feel like you're losing control of the situation. "Did I miss something? Are we a couple?" Your voice cracks on the last word and maybe that's what causes Eddie to soften.

"I guess not," he says. "But that's an easy fix." His face is pink as he takes a step forward, his stomach pressing into the edge of the cart as he looks at you. "Do you want to be a couple?" he asks. You suck in a breath at how earnest he sounds. "Do you want to go out with me?"

"Really?" you say softly. This is moving far too quickly, your head spinning at the realization that Eddie has stolen your plan.

"Don't sound so surprised!" he scoffs. "Do you want me to...hold your hand and ask? Will you believe me then? I can do that, hold on--" He tosses the costume bags into your cart and wiggles around it to stand next to you, gently grabbing your hands in his as he faces you. All of a sudden he seems a little nervous close up, eyes wide as he swallows so hard you see his adam's apple bob.

"Will you go out with me?" he asks, voice low. "And be the...Mrs. Frankenstein to my Frankenstein?" His grin is crooked, his dimple deep and nose scrunched at his bad joke.

"Okay," you say. You try really hard not to look at his lips. You're going to kiss him, but not in the middle of Spirit Halloween. "Yeah, I'd love to, Eddie." His smile is blinding as he whoops and pulls you in for a hug. Being in his arms is familiar and you hook your chin over his shoulder. "Frankenstein is the doctor, not the monster, you know," you tell him. His curls tickle your nose.

Eddie pulls back so you can see his eye roll. "I know that," he says, tugging gently on a piece of your hair. He drums his fingers on the cart handle. "Do you wanna go on a date after this?"

This boy keeps surprising you. "Tonight? Eddie, I'm not really dressed for a first date." You're in regular clothes, and for him you'd like to at least put in some effort, maybe put on that skirt you're pretty sure makes him a little flustered.

But he has other ideas. "Nah," he says, eyes trailing up and down your figure. "You look great as always." The blush on he cheeks deepens even though he's the one complimenting you. It's obvious now that he's liked you this whole time, too.

"Alright," you tell him. "Let's go on a date."

"And we're wearing these costumes for Halloween, right?" He points at the bags in the cart. You nod and he grins again. "Henderson!" Eddie calls into the store. Dustin pops out of an aisle holding a plastic Batman mask. "Come push this cart and round everyone up." Dustin groans but obeys.

Eddie tugs you back so the younger boy can take over and start yelling for his friends. Then he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together and squeezing it. You're a couple now, you think. Eddie looks at you and winks, mouth open to say something when he's cut off by a loud curse.

"Why are you holding hands?" Mike cries.

tags: @ruinedbythehobbit @superflannel @eddiussy @greenclues @sunlitide @gloryofroses19 @carpediem1219 @themarvelousbee @sunshinehollandd @katsukis1wife @imherefortea @spideyboipete @lonelywidow @louderfortheback @actual-mom-steve-harrington @ducky-is-dead-inside @manyfandomsfanvergent @ih3artcry1ng @escape-in-time-x@sea040561 @annaisweird @dahliamae

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[writefightandflightclub]

That special something: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader (a fluffy, cute Christmas story!)

A/n: wrote this quickly on Xmas morning while everyone else in the house was still asleep! If you want some romantic, cute, Hallmark movie Santi vibes this Xmas, this is my present to you! Just a quick one (and I’ll come back and proof later as I’m sure it will be needed!)! Merry Christmas lovelies, ILYSM! 🧡

Gif: @fernandabarrera

Rating: general audiences (but my blog is 18+ minors DNI)

Warnings: alcohol mentions.

The last minute rush of Christmas Eve panic-buyers has finally died down, the shelves of your cosy little artisan store almost emptied of goods.

After an exhausting day of supporting frazzled shoppers to secure the perfect purchases, you are now mentally slipping into festive mode. You’re polishing off a glass of the mulled wine you’d been handing out to customers, humming along to the lilting Christmas tunes as you finish cashing-up, and you even imagine you’ll be able to close-up on schedule until-

-The bell above the door tinkles once more, indicating a new arrival. You have to suppress an audible groan as you turn towards the noise, but you plaster on your game face. You can do this. Just one more customer.

“Merry Christmas Eve! Let me know if I can help you to find that special something,” you recite, the words spilling out on a weary auto-pilot. Your words, however, falter as you turn towards the man who has just stepped inside.

For a moment, you imagine that you might have finally fallen asleep on your feet, or perhaps slumped over the counter. This patron is handsome enough that you could believe you have slipped into a Hallmark-inspired dream.

Your eyes travel down the length of him, and back up again. Sturdy black, lace-up combat boots adorn his feet, leading up to a pair of fitted blue jeans, denim pulling taut around his ample thighs. He’s bundled up in a grey wool coat and midnight blue scarf, looking deliciously cosy, melting flakes of snow adorning his shoulders. And then, there’s his entire head and face area to enjoy.

Damn.

He’s certainly handsome.

His every feature (lips, nose, eyes, brows, cheekbones) is stand-out, yet somehow still harmonious. His brown skin is decorated with a layer of greying scruff along that mighty Disney-Prince jaw. His head is adorned with silvered curls -as perfectly swirled and placed as the ribbons you’ve been gift-wrapping with today- which have been dusted with a sprinkling of snowflakes.

You smile, and as he returns it and the creases radiate out from around his eyes you wonder if winter has suddenly passed and it is spring already, for a flutter of warmth dances in your belly.

As he turns, clasping the door shut behind him to preserve the heat, you first of all plant your hands firmly on the surface of your counter, squeezing the edge. Second of all, you spot the sizeable backpack he has slung over his shoulders. He’s likely fresh from the airport you reckon, just in time for Christmas. A squashy neck pillow is clipped to his bag, and the size of it is more substantial than a day-pack. You wonder idly who he’s visiting for the season.

As he turns back towards the interior, his dark, chestnut eyes do a sweep of you, and then of the stock. He runs a hand over his scruff before taking a few steps inside, his large pack now looking like a hazard as he meanders through the walkways between the precarious displays.

“Would you like to set that down by the counter?”

He lifts his eyebrows and pops his AirPods from his ears. “Sorry, I…”

You try to repeat the question, but with his warm eyes directly on you it takes a moment to push the words out. “Would you like to set your bag down? While you browse?”

He flutters his eyelashes at you while he thinks, and your middle turns to honey.

“Thanks. Been a hell of a trip.” You idly wonder where he’s travelled from. His weariness makes you suspect a little further than a quick hop. You watch the man puff as he emancipates himself from his pack, setting it down at the foot of the counter. You see the glimpse of a jaunty, roll-neck Christmas jumper as he unfurls his scarf too, setting that down as well as the warmth of your store envelops him.

He smiles and nods at you as he commences his browse around your display stands and shelves, scanning every inch of your store. Pausing sometimes in front of some items and rocking foot to foot as he ponders. Picking up little trinkets and items and turning them over contemplatively in his broad hands. Replacing each carefully and stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets -pulling them tight over his rump- as his face scrunches in deep consideration, lips coming to a pout and brows knitting.

Watching him, you find yourself suddenly and entirely ambivalent to the fact you’d just been about to shut up shop; despite having promised yourself yourself only moments before his arrival that you were out of here. Still, you suppose you do have places to be tonight. Stunning as he is, you feel you should probably make some attempt to expedite his purchasing.

Doing your non-intrusive shopkeeper walk, you emerge from behind the counter and round to the door, subtly flipping your sign to “closed” for good measure. Then, you round towards the man, stepping up beside him, your hands clasped neatly in front of you. “Can I help you find that special something?”

He turns. Smiles at you. Points up with his index finger, his eyebrows jumping towards his hairline. “That’s the name of the shop.” You enjoy the gravel in his voice, rough and thawing like gritted sidewalks.

It is. Special somethings.

This close, you notice that his cheeks and the tip of his nose are ruddy from the cold. You notice the subtle dusting of freckles on his nose too. Your face feels suddenly warm. “It is. So can I help you find anything special? Is there someone specific you’re shopping for?”

He rocks from foot to foot again. Saws his hand back and forth over his stubble and you hear it bristle. The sound sends a hum of electricity which beds down under your skin. “I was supposed to pick something up before I left Colombia.” He shakes his head. “I really don’t know what to bring them.”

Parents? Friends? Spouse and/or children?

Is it unprofessional to be willing so hard that he be single?

You smile softly as his eyes flick back to pore over the shelves. He seems on edge. Whoever he is visiting for the holidays, it must be a big deal.

“I can help with that,” you soothe. “We can find something perfect.”

He runs a nervous hand through his curls, displacing them into something even more wonderful. He emits a one-noted laugh, offering you a lazy flash of teeth. “Bottle of tequila’s not going to cut it this time. My buddy…” You can’t help but note the affection he imbues those words with. “He and his wife have invited me over to their place. For Christmas.” He pumps his eyebrows, as if he can’t quite comprehend their gesture.

You make your eyes wide, showing that you are listening. It’s not hard - in truth, you are rapt.

“Okay,” you nod. “We can work with that.” You look hastily around the low-stocked shelves. “A classic gift to ease along their Christmas, and show your gratitude, right?”

He huffs air out from between those kissable lips. “More like a ‘sorry for being here’ kinda thing.” He laughs but it is a terse, self-deprecating sound. “Got anything for that?”

You start to walk in a direction and with your hand you wave him along with you. He follows. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you!” You know you’re certainly delighted to see him. There’s a lot to look at. “Now, what about this?” You pass the item into his hands, your fingers brushing his, and he turns it over in his palms like he had all the others.

“I dunno,” he sighs. “This is great but I…” He chews on his lip, and you wait patiently for him to finish his sentence. “I’ve been away a long time. And I haven’t been the best at… I haven’t really been… He’s my best friend, you know, and I…”

You don’t know, because he’s not finishing any of his sentences, but at the same time; you get it. You can fill in some of the blanks. His buddy means a lot to him. He’s been away for a while, and now he feels like he’s at a deficit. That he has something to make up for. That he doesn’t fully deserve his friend’s freely offered invitation to spend their special day with them.

“Okay,” you reassure softly, slipping the item from his hands and placing it haphazardly back on the shelf. “We can keep trying.”

You hover a hand around his elbow, and lead him over towards the next stand you have in mind, following the same routine. You pass a series of objects to him and he turns them over and around; but not a single one seems to spark anything. Not a single item seems good enough. Nothing, to him, feels adequate enough to gift to this man who clearly means a lot to him. Nothing seems adequate to make up for the gesture he sees as far too generous. That he sees as an intrusion.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, upon seeing you surreptitiously checking the clock on the wall. “Shit, look at me. It’s Christmas Eve. You probably have somewhere to be. I’m such as ass.” He’s been unconsciously stalling, you think. He’s nervous about going to his buddy’s house. And, truth be told, if your store can provide him a temporary haven, then you are more than content to be a little late in catching-up with your friends tonight.

Feeling bold, you place your hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it. I’ve got the perfect thing.”

His eyes settle on you for a moment as you lean in, your voice warm and smooth and enticing like a mug of hot chocolate. His gaze flits gently over your face. “For real?” You quash the vague urge to bite his sizeable earlobe.

“Yeah!” You enthuse, an excited smile spreading over your face. “Come here. Over to the counter.”

You skip over there, your mellow shopkeeper walk forgotten, and you grab something up from the counter, waiting for him to cross to you.

The man obediently stands in front of you, clearly intrigued by the gleeful, slightly mischievous expression on your face.

Then, once he’s stood still, you produce a large, shiny Christmas bow from behind your back, the backing already peeled off to expose the adhesive. Next, with a flourish, you stick it ceremoniously on to his coat, patting it down firmly to affix it to the right side of his chest.

He compresses his chin into his chest to peer down at it, a surprised smile crinkling his nose. “What’s this?”

“It’s you.” Your eyes shine brightly as you explain. “You are the perfect special something to take to your friend’s house.”

His warm eyes search yours, his doubtful tongue darting along his lower lip.

With careful fingers, you fluff out the shiny, elaborate bow, making it perfect. “Really,” you insist. “You clearly have so much love for your friend. And, I’d guess, from the fact you’re invited to share their special day with them, that you mean just as much to them too.” On instinct, you reach up to smooth the lapels of his coat with your palms. “I don’t care how long it’s been since you saw them. You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing you can arrive with is going to be a better present than you being there with them - allll the way from Colombia- just like they wanted.”

His eyes grow misty with a depth of feeling. His lips hover between round shapes of stunned silence and curved watery smiles. His gaze flits all over your face again, until he is finally overcome by a 100-watt smile. “Alright. Then how much for the fancy bow?” He taps it proudly with his index finger.

“Free of charge,” you smile, batting your lashes at him.

“That’s a terrible business model.”

You release a bright laugh. “Silly! I’m just trying to get you out of my shop.” You nod towards the sign on the door. “Don’t you know we’re closed?”

His eyes sparkle as he receives your joke, and you cling on to the sweet, eddying feeling his smile inspires. You each linger there a moment more, until the man finally nods, sweeping up his pack from the floor and replacing it on his back, careful not to disturb the new shiny ornament adorning his chest. “I’d better get going then,” he revs softly, and -you think- as reluctant as you are to part ways. Stalling now for an entirely different reason.

It is as much as you can do to nod, smile fondly, and fold your arms around your middle.

“You, uh, got some nice plans for Christmas?” he asks as you walk him towards the door, dragging out the moment as far as is humanly possible.

“Yeah,” you tilt your head from side to side. “Spending it with my friend Frankie, his wife Ava and their kid. Think they took pity on me.”

Your patron looks at you very curiously then, a wild sparkle of delight dancing in his beautiful warm eyes. “Huh. Frankie sounds a lot like my buddy. The type to take in strays at Christmas.”

“Something like that,” you smile, then, to your surprise, your patron leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek in a chaste kiss, the tip of his nose still cold as he sinks it into the soft cushion of your face.

A giddy delight rises in your stomach. It is something like butterflies; spring already in the depths of mid-winter. Then, your customer grins. “I’ve a feeling I’ll be seeing you again,” he ventures.

“I hope so,” you bravely venture back as he steps out into the cold, snowflakes once again dusting him, like icing sugar all over a delightful snack.

“And hey,” the man says before he turns from you to plod along the street. “Thank you.” You look at him quizzically. What for? He looks you up and down once more, drinking you in like a measure of warming mulled alcohol. “For helping me find something special, just in time for Christmas.”

You heart thuds wildly as you watch him walk away, his words laced with a subtle double-meaning.

You close up the shop, pleased that you stuck around to serve that one last customer. He didn’t buy anything, but he might just be the best gift you’ve had all year.

You giggle to yourself as you pull the shutter.

Makes perfect sense that you stuck a bow on him, you think.

[imawreck]

Torture

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Original Character

Author’s Note: Hey 😬, I am alive, fortunately. I’m SO sorry I was gone so long so here’s an update my lovelies 🫶🏻 Thank you SO MUCH for those who left comments! I really appreciate your support and love ♥️♥️♥️

Summary: The avengers are faced with an impossible task; find Max. While their efforts fail each time, the team’s spirit depletes, especially Bucky’s.

Warnings: Torturing, grief, angst, body mutilation, depression, the whole nine yards. It’s rough, y’all, so be warned!!!

Word Count: 5,270

Bucky-

Torture.

That was the first thought that entered into my mind as the screams rang through the meeting room. Everyone flinched, but Roman remained steadfast in his happiness.

They were bloodcurdling. Not even in my time with Hydra had I ever heard screams as terrible as this. Roman waved to his side and a cart was wheeled in behind him, the sight of its contents had most of the team turning away and paling as white as sheets. 

Bones, still covered in muscle and blood, laid atop the surface on a sterile mat. Some were crushed and cracked, shattered completely, while others were still whole sections linked by the bloodied flesh. They... they were spinal segments.

The contents of my stomach spilled out onto the floor beside me as I hurled over the chair. They had gotten one of their weapons back and it wasn't me. Those bones, those screams, they belonged to Max. My stomach squeezed again.

"Ghost had quite the injury. The Hulk was a wonderful test subject for my new toy, thank you for lending him to me." Giles clasped his hands, "I wanted to let you know that Ghost is alive and well." He snickered at that, "For the most part, anyways. I'm sure she will be back up and running in no time. It's her purpose after all.

“The other reason why I wanted to phone you, was to inform you that Hydra will no longer cower from the mighty Avengers. Not anymore. It is far past time for our reign to commence." His smile grew, "You are on the losing side, Sergeant. If you join us once more, your little Ghost will be elated to see you, I'm sure. Perhaps we will spare you if you come willingly, maybe even cease the brainwashing for good measure."

Tony scoffed, "No one wants to join your little terrorist group, Frankenstein."

Giles's gaze remained trained on me through the screen, "Then you all will die." Another one of Max's screams tore through the speakers once more, but Giles remained unfazed. "I'll be seeing you again. We will be such wonderful acquaintances." 

The call cut off and the screen sizzled with white noise. No one moved, I don't even think they breathed as another beat passed. My body shook from the exertion and my empty stomach, from the anxiety and fear seizing control of my limbs. 

Max was with Hydra. 

I felt my breathing rattle in my lungs, "Did you get a location?"

Tony shook his head slowly, eyes vacant. "They had it blocked and pinging around."

"So, we have nothing?" Bitterness laced my words, "We don't even know vaguely where she might be?"

Another shake of his head.

The rest of the team sat with their heads slumped and eyes staring at anything but the screen or each other. I shoved up onto my shaky legs, stumbling out of the meeting room and slamming the glass door so hard behind me that it shattered in my wake. I marched to the elevator and punched the rooftop, letting the doors close me off from the rest of them. 

The silence was nearly suffocating, so unlike the many times I had allowed it to sooth me when things got too much. The elevator tolled and I shoved out onto the paved rooftop. Car horns and the soft thrum of traffic drifted up from busy downtown New York below, and the lights of the buildings around us illuminated the night and snuffed out the stars above. I was tired, but my body moved to the edge, leaned itself over to take in the people meandering the walkways below. 

I recalled the day I had wandered up here to find Max, sitting with her while she cried. I remembered the way my sweater had swallowed her up and fell from her shoulder. She had smiled at me like I was the best thing in the world. That was one of the first times I had felt like a hero, a real one. Her smile was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Now... now she was gone, and we didn't have the faintest hint where she could be.

I leaned my elbows against the cold concrete, letting it chill my bones along with the emptiness in my heart. I had failed her. I thought she had died, and the last thing I had said to her was so filled with hate. 

I curled my fingers into my hair, tugging at it as I let the tears fall once more. Max was in pain and suffering because we were too ignorant. I was too consumed with false hatred to prevent her from this. I had—no, needed— to make this right. The ache in my heart turned into something hot and burning, angry.

I was going to get her back, no matter what it took.

_____

Steve-

A week passed quicker than it ever had before. With the team wrecked by the Hydra attack, we all were more stressed and overextended than ever. When a mission came up, the least number of avengers needed were sent out and the rest of us were ordered to look over known Hydra locations or rumored movement.

Tony had gone into overdrive trying to find Max. He was constantly in front of a computer screen tracking any indication of weapons movement or any hint of action from them. He was determined nothing was going to get past him.

Since the attack, the security had tripled. More SHEILD agents walked the halls and monitored the building like hawks on a wire, watching and waiting. It was nearly suffocating. 

I had plenty of time to wallow in my own guilt as well. There wasn't a moment my own narrow-minded distaste towards Max didn't haunt me and torture me in every waking moment. Sure, she was the embodiment of my complete opposite. Ruthless, cold, and unrestrained. She was selfish when it came to Bucky like I was. Protected him. It was her sole mission when she sided with Hydra, and she had stuck to it even after leaving them. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him. Nothing, no matter how bad or wrong it was.

Max would save him over anyone else.

I had hated her the moment I realized that. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that she would let hundreds die, innocent people, in order for one person to live. I loved Bucky. He was my oldest friend, but the lives of those innocent people mattered more than one man. Bucky would want them to live. 

Max didn't care though. She would kill all of them if it meant he would live, no matter how much he would hate her afterwards.

But she cared. Even though she would kill and maim those innocents, she would mourn them. I had seen her display her kindness with that young boy and his mother so many months ago. Even as her face remained cold, her eyes gave her away. She wanted to protect people. The way she cared for the team was apparent in the way she laughed with them, checked on them when something would happen, or a rough mission shook them up. 

She was simply human like the rest of us.

Guilt swelled in my stomach at the memory of my harsh words, the slight flicker in her eyes as they hit home on her heart. I had been kind to her in the beginning. I had encouraged her to pursue a relationship, friendly or more than, with my best friend. I'm sure my change in heart was jarring to her, perhaps it stung.

It was always on my mind no matter what I was doing.

Bucky had been avoiding me along with everyone else. He began filling his time with training every chance he had. He had only gone on one mission since the video broadcasting, and it had been ugly. Bucky had slaughtered every agent that had come in contact with him. Every single body laid out on the dirt was mangled in some way, evidence of a slow death on each and every one of them. Tony refused to let him leave on another when he requested again.

He trained and trained. I was sure he was going to cause Tony to go bankrupt due to the number of punching bags he had destroyed just this week alone. Max's absence was taking its toll on him, and everyone could tell.

He never spoke, and when he did it was short and clipped and vacant. It was like part of him had been ripped out when she was taken.

Today was no different. When I walked into the training room, Bucky was already pounding into a bag strung up in the middle of the room. Sand was piled on the floor at his feet and the pile of discarded bags told me he had been at it for several hours now. It was only 6:00 A.M.

I steered clear of him, giving him his space as I grabbed my own bag and strung it up alongside him a safe distance away. The echoes of his fists hitting the bag was the only sound other than his occasional grunt and the heavy breaths leaving his body with the effort. His metal arm hummed and shifted with each powerful movement. I was sure it was hurting him, but he showed no sign of pain as he continued his onslaught.

I began my own training, keeping an eye on him as I went. I tried not to make it obvious; I knew that it made him anxious when we watched him. He didn't acknowledge me for the two hours I remained in the room with him. About an hour after I arrived, he took to throwing knives much like how Max used to. He used the metal dummies, moving fast and precise the same way she did to send the blades flying hard into the metal. Often, they clattered to the floor, but some found their home in the targets.

The week after that one went much like the first. Whenever any of the team members would visit the training room, Bucky would be there. He never stopped training, and it was beginning to show. Due to the serum pumping through our veins, it was easy for us to gain muscle faster. Bucky was growing at an alarming rate, and it seemed he was doing it on purpose. 

His shirts began to cling to him a little tighter, and more and more agents began to whisper about the way his frame filled the doorframes a little more, how hard it was becoming to avoid bumping into him in the slim hallways. 

I had begun to worry more. He still had not talked to me, not unless he had to for a meeting or update from Tony. He isolated himself in his room more often, and frequented Max's empty rooms in the middle of the night. Friday had reported to Tony one evening when he had asked her to locate Bucky. The AI had reported that he was in her rooms, admitting that he was there most nights and often went through that poetry book she always clung to. 

One particular afternoon, Tony went as far as asking Friday to pull up camera feed of Max's room. He never used those camera's unless it was necessary, respecting our privacy unless it could be harmful and with the way Bucky had been acting these past few weeks... all of us were on edge.

Bucky was laid out on Max's bed, a small blanket discarded on the floor next to one of the pillows missing from the delicately made bed. Max's poetry book was clutched in his metal hand as he ran his flesh one over the faded cover, ever so gentle with it. A single pressed flower was set on the corner of the nightstand next to a hat that I was sure he had given her. Max wasn't one to buy things that weren't necessary, but she cherished anything given to her regardless of its usefulness. 

We watched him set on the bed, the mattress dipping as his weight settled into it. For a long while he just stared at the cover, dragging his fingers over it every once and a while and turning it in his hands. When he opened it, every movement was made as if it might disintegrate in his palms. I could tell from the glimpse of the page as he shifted and flipped through them that nearly every page held delicately printed notes, some covered in more than the others. He read them, mouthing them to himself as he traced them over with the pads of his fingers. 

I felt like I was intruding on something private, intimate. "Turn it off," I muttered as I turned away from the display and leveled my gaze at Tony. It seemed that he too felt like he shouldn't be seeing it as he instantly sent the feed away, a grim expression set on his face. 

His fingers tapped on the keyboard as he spoke to me. "He goes over that book every night."

"You shouldn't stalk him, it isn't right." Even as I said the words, I knew I would do the same.

Tony sighed, "He hasn't ever acted this way, even when he was worried sick about Hydra taking him back, he hadn't been this bad. I'm just concerned he might do something reckless."

I knew the feeling all too well, but even I couldn't bring myself to confront him about it. "He loves her." We all knew it. Even if he hadn't yet admitted to himself how he felt about her, we knew.

Tony just nodded. The two of us remained quiet for a long while. I sat and went through files containing new reports, all of which held nothing useful in finding Max. Tony continued to type away on his computer for who knows what, but it was obviously as fruitless as the papers lying on the desk before me.

We both jumped when Friday announced that the tower was receiving another video call.

Tony was instantly ordering her to call the others and it wasn't long until we all surrounded the table in front of the monitor. Bucky had been the first through the doors, eyes steely and trained on the empty screen. 

The team waited in utter silence as the feed fizzled to life minutes later and my stomach dropped at the display. A cage took up most of the screen, and a body slumped in the center of it clad in a dirty hospital gown.

Giles entered the screen moments later dressed in a crisp clean button up shirt and his lab coat, that jarring smile plastered across his features. "Hello again, did you miss me? I certainly missed you." He stepped aside to let us see the body again, "We have a guest with us today. She's a little tired though, some guards had some fun with her earlier."

Bucky's arm whirred as his fist clenched two chairs down from me.

Giles's smile only widened. "These meetings will occur every two weeks. I want to keep you updated on our progress with our lovely little Ghost."

"You won't get very far, you sick bastard." Giles turned around at the sound of her voice, gruff and low in the speakers.

The scientist just laughed. "Silly girl, we will break you. It's what I do best."

"Come a little closer and I'll show you what I do best." Max snapped her teeth, and I swore I saw them lengthen as they caught the light. Something whirred steadily in the background.

Giles clicked his tongue, "You shouldn't threaten me. I've been kind."

Her scoff grated against my ears, vicious and filled with violence. "When I get out of here, I'll return that kindness." Max lifted her head, eyes flashing behind hair that was still covered in the dirt and blood from the mission two weeks ago.

Tony spoke up, "Get on with it."

Giles tsked, shaking his head. "So impatient, Mr. Stark." There was movement on the other side of the camera, echoing from where none of us could see before a group of soldiers flanked the sides of the cage. Max watched them with a guarded expression, taking each of them in. I glanced at Bucky, watching the way his shoulders rose and fell a little faster. Panic bloomed in his eyes as they all gripped the guns slung across each of their chests. Giles grabbed a syringe from off screen, the silver liquid churning inside it. "This will be our first test of the serum on a Super soldier. The Hulk was an excellent test subject, but Ghost is something else entirely. She was made to withstand many outstanding elements, and her healing capabilities allow her to burn through medication more rapidly than anyone else. We altered her that way so she would not be able to be contained like we're doing now. We've taken some extreme precautions, of course."

One of the guards raised his gun, pointing it straight for her and fired. My heart dropped to the floor and Bucky leapt to his feet as he shouted out. Giles chuckled as Max cursed quite colorfully, yanking out the tranquilizer from her thigh and launching it back at the guard. It sank into his neck, and he fell to the floor. Bucky planted his hands on the table in front of himself and let a breath loose. I could hear his heart pounding a mile a minute from where I sat.

Max swayed in the center of the cell and her lids seemed to grow heavy as she desperately tried to blink away the gloss on her eyes. 

"The strongest sedatives we have," Giles commented, "still cannot take her down. Remarkable, isn't it?" At his words, her body swayed and slumped to the ground. Giles's smile faltered only a little as he motioned for one of the guards to check on her.

We all watched as he stepped up to the cell, nearing the bars and leaning into peer over her body, attempting to catch a glimpse of her face under the locks of hair. It didn't take but a few seconds for her to snap up, gripping the front of his uniform and pulling him into the bars. He screamed as she sank her teeth into the skin of his jugular. It was quick, and then she shoved him away and watched on weak legs as he fell to the ground and began to thrash around. The other guards had raised their guns, eyes wide and flitting between her and their fallen comrade. Someone came to drag his body away as he continued to choke.

Blood dripped from her mouth, slipping down her chin and splattering on the floor of the cage as she turned her cold eyes to Roman who merely shook his head as if condescending a child for acting out. "Come closer Roman, since you want to play so badly." Her smile made my blood run cold.

"That's no way to act in front of them." He pointed lazily at the camera, "They will think so lowly of you. What will your beloved Sergeant think of the way you're acting?"

The smile on her face didn't hold at his words, but her eyes still held him as she came to his side of the cell. Her fingers gripped the bars as she pressed her face between them, eyes catching the lights once more as the pair of moons glowed in the lense of the camera. "They already think of me as a monster. There is nothing you can do to lower their opinions of me. I was simply a strong asset to have around like I've always been." She paused, only for a moment, and pain flickered in her eyes under the blank mask of indifference she held up. "As for Seargent Barnes... He hated me more than all of them combined."

I swore I heard Bucky make a sound, something like pain, but when I looked over I could only find coldness on his features.

"They will not come for me. They will not try and save me. The Avengers will protect those who are helpless from any and all threats. It won't matter what you do to me, you will not capture them. They will kill me just like they do any villain and terrorist, and then once I no longer stand between them and you... They will slaughter you too." A wave of grief passed over the room as we all soaked in her words, the belief held within them. Max really thought we would not come for her, that Bucky would not spend his every waking moment looking for her.

Something cracked, sending our attention towards the left side of the room. Parts of the table where his hands had gripped crumbled from his clenched fists. Giles took note of the noise, his eyes lingering on the screen where we knew he was soaking in the reaction. "I don't believe you are correct."

Giles handed the syringe to one of the guards closest to him, politely folding his hands as the guard loaded it into his gun and cocked it. Max pushed away from the bars, every inch of her displaying the exhaustion I was sure ate away at her. She remained standing though, unwilling to waver under their hateful eyes.

I admired her bravery, I realized, and perhaps I had envied it while she stayed with us.

Tony leaned over towards Bucky and muttered something I couldn't decipher, but whatever he had said had Bucky's fists relaxing and his face returning to that void mask. The team watched with dread as Giles nodded, and the guard shot her once more. Max tried to catch it, to deflect the needle, but her limbs moved too slow. The needle sank into her side and the contents were already halfway drained by the time she managed to pull it from herself. It clattered to the floor as she began to shake her head, her eyes seeming to focus and then blow wide as she blinked rapidly. 

Max careened into the bars of the cell, her bones clanging against the metal hard enough to make me flinch. Silver swirled in her irises and Giles watched her intently. A snarl tore through the speakers and Max bared her teeth savagely at him as her eyes flickered solid silver and back to normal, shifting between the two rapidly. Her hands came up to grip the sides of her head as she cried out, collapsing to the floor with a cry of anger as she folded into herself and kicked as if she was fighting against some invisible enemy. 

Perhaps she was, I thought, none of us knew what that serum really did.

I risked another glance at Bucky only to find him stalk still. I wasn't even sure he was breathing as he beheld what was happening on the screen. Tony was vigorously typing away on his arm under the table beside him. Bucky didn't even spare him a glance as Max let out another shout of pain, slamming her fist weakly against the concrete right as I turned my head towards the screen too. She clawed at the ground so hard blood trailed after her fingers. 

Giles echoed from the other side of the bars, "Just give in, it'll be less painful, dear."

Max only snarled at him, tugging the strands of hair between her fingers. Her back heaved up and down under the thin layer of the hospital gown and it finally dawned on me that she was walking and standing like her spine hadn't been shattered just two weeks ago. I studied her crumpled form as close as I could through the screen, noting the sharp bumps that lined down her back. They shifted with her body as she writhed on the floor, nothing noticeably wrong.

After a dragging twenty minutes, it seemed that Max had cleared her mind of whatever the serum had done. She hauled her body up once more, stumbling over to the farthest corner and slumping against it. Her eyes were unfocussed as she side eyed the camera, her expression grim, before they snapped over to a very disappointed looking Giles. "Better luck next time." But her words didn't hold the same ferocity as they had before, and her breath was still bated. 

Giles sighed, shaking his head. "How disappointing. I really wanted to put on a show for them." He whipped towards the camera, "Anyways, no matter. We will improve for next time. Did you enjoy seeing your beloved Ghost, Sergeant?"

Bucky didn't grace him with a response, not a verbal one anyways. He only stared the man dead in the eyes with the burning embers of rage igniting in them.

Giles didn't seem to mind. "Ghost, say goodbye to our guests, would you?" He stepped aside to let her come into frame again.

She had curled up against the metal, the gown had rose enough to allow us a glimpse of the bruises littering her legs. Bruises that we all knew shouldn't be there. Max's eyes lifted from the cage floor and held the camera with her stare, waves of emotion finally breaking through on her face. Pain, longing, sorrow, and anger. But mostly fear. I had never seen Max afraid, and it unsettled something deep within me. When her mouth opened, her voice was soft and broken. "If you get the chance, kill me before I can hurt anyone else."

Pleading, her eyes were pleading for just a moment and then it was gone. She curled back up against the wall and said nothing more.

Giles scoffed, "So dramatic. They'd never kill you." He turned back to the camera, clasping his hands, "It was a good talk, friends. I look forward to seeing you in two weeks' time." With one last smile, the video feed cut off.

_____

Max-

I was never left alone, not truly. The guards' heartbeats thundered right outside the closed door, and I was certain that they listened to everything I did. I had been here for a long while, the only real telltale marker of my time was the video's Giles forced me to participate in. So far, there had been two to my knowledge. The recent one... and one I had not been in the room for. I wasn't sure I had even been fully conscious the first week here. Hydra kept me heavily drugged, hardly able to keep my eyes open. 

I remembered the pain, the scalpels and the scent of alcohol in the air. I remember the echo of metal and the cutting, screaming pain in my back. They had not been kind enough to numb my shattered spine before they cut it away. They had machines to do it, to avoid severing anything important, but there were others there too. I had listened to them when my mind wasn't completely consumed in my own agony, when the nerves went numb for a few moments before the IV they had inserted replenished my stores of energy to heal enough to feel the pain all over again.

I still woke up on the cold floor with the echo of pain skittering over my skin.

They had done something to me, changed something about me I couldn't see. I could feel it though, hear it click with every move I made. It nearly drove me mad. I had tried to reach it, to trace my fingers over the base of my neck, the place just where my shoulder blades began, but I couldn't. The thing just whirred, adjusted, and clacked together. I clawed at the skin, uncaring whether the skin bled or scarred, I just wanted it off, off, off.

Giles would leave me in the cage for days without food. He only ordered a loaf of stale bread be brought to me once every three days. The cup of water that was sat on the rim of the cell floor at the end of every day was the only liquid I was allowed for that day. It was hardly half a cup. The grey plastic rolled next to me on the floor empty. 

I was spent, completely and utterly spent. After my little show during the last video to the Tower, Giles had punished me with no water and a harsh beating by the soldiers who now guarded the door. My body ached with the bruises that still tried to heal on my arms and legs, but Giles had ordered them not to touch my back.

Everything was cold, and the lights above the cell were dim and hardly did anything to illuminate the room. Someone laughed in the distance, a cruel sound. I sat with my knees tucked into my chest and focused on the absence of feeling where my back touched the bars. When I moved, something scratched the metal. Metalic, whatever they had done to me was metalic.

The door cracked open to reveal the pair of soldiers there, and another body made its way down the bright corridor behind them. I knew by his lanky frame and blonde hair that caught the white lights that it was the madman himself stalking towards me. I didn't even have the strength to push off from where I sat slumped against the far wall.

In his hand hung a long slim case. He muttered for the soldiers to close the door behind him, and they obeyed immediately. I shuffled away from him, trying and failing to ignore him when he spoke.

"I hope you are faring well." His fingers unclicked the latches of the case one by one. A taunt if there ever was one.

I hardly recognized my voice as it left me, "Go to hell."

Giles shook his head, his hair falling over his eyes before he brushed them back into place with a sweep of his hand. "That's no way to treat a superior."

I couldn't help but snarl at him, "There is nothing superior about you."

He tsked, "I happen to think the opposite." The case flipped open, and a blue light emitted from whatever was held within it. I couldn't see what it was from my spot on the floor. "You should have seen the look on your poor Sergeant's face. It was priceless, darling."

A sound foreign and inhuman tore at my throat. Giles just chuckled at it and pulled the glowing thing from its place in the box and let the lid fall shut. The grin on his face was nightmarish as he beheld the metal handle of the scepter that I knew to be Thor's brothers'. It was otherworldly, and I knew that it was powerful. I could feel it emanating from the blue hue from the orb held at the tip of it.

"I hope you're ready for some fun. It made those two siblings so powerful and different. Who knows what this will do to you?"

I could hardly breathe at his words.

He took a step forward, then another, fear holding me in place with the exhaustion that felt like lead in my limbs. 

No, not this.

 I couldn't even form words.

 Please.

But there was nothing to be done, not as that scepter glowed brightly and Giles placed it upon my chest.

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