#or the iron or the stove or whatever

[imaginaryberries]

Recently I saw someone on the Glasgow subreddit post about an experience they'd had in primary school of being taken to a 'safety centre' as a class where they were put through various simulations of dangerous situations - like loads of wee rooms, one for example being set up to be a train platform with a track that had a fiver on it, to show the dangers of jumping on to the tracks, that sort of thing. Reading the post was like a jumpscare because I remember this too, and the one that always haunted me was the one that was set up like a kids' bedroom and they showed you all the potential fire hazards - plug sockets by beds, charger cables getting hot etc.

Something I'd forgotten though, but then vaguely remembered once I'd read it, is that they also then simulated a fire happening. Like, room filled with smoke, people banging on doors and acting like it was real etc and you had to escape without making the mistake of grabbing the door handle (as it would be hot and your skin would melt and stick to it) and whatever.

The thing is. Obviously unbeknownst to them but still something that could be predicted to have happened to at least some of the children going through this. I had already had a traumatic fire experience very similar to this a few years previously. When I was a kid my dad's neighbour set his flat on fire and we all had to be evacuated. It was a Defining Childhood Event for me.

Like. The OP of the Reddit post only wrote it in the first place because they'd been explaining it to Australian friends who were horrified. It just seems an insane thing to put children through when like I said, there's bound to be a portion of them who will be legitimately retraumatised by it. I'm a lot better than I was but I have previously been, like, OCD-level anxious about fire, and those two incidents - in fact the 'safety centre' one more than the actual fire - are absolutely the reason why. Obv teaching kids to be careful is important but I feel like there are better ways to do it lol

[hollowdeath]

Thank god, another Harry Potter lover! 👓⚡️He really deserves more love! ❤️ That’s why I imagine him and the reader settling in a cottage by the sea or lake (you decide) to heal from the Wizarding War. They find comfort and solace in each other, and yes that includes countless lovemaking. 🥰 It’s just the two of them, so they’re free to express their love whenever and wherever they want. They especially enjoy making love on the shore under the stars after a swim, by the fireplace on a soft blanket, and in the bathtub surrounded by candles. They just need to feel and hold each other to remind themselves that everything’s okay now. You can do whatever you want with this, I just wanted to put it out there. Take care!

thank you so much for this request, i fell in love with it as soon as you sent it! i hope you enjoy!

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader (18+)

summary: you & harry have moved away from everything & everyone to a remote cottage where the forest meets the sea. all harry wants after everything he's been through is to find peace, & he finds it in you.

c/w: smut!!! oral sex, penetration, rough sex

word count: 7.3k

harry was up early. he was watching the kettle boil on the gas stove in front of him, enjoying the warmth coming off of it, letting himself relax for just a moment. the steam from the water enveloped his face and felt nice. it was so chilly this morning. the windows were fogged over from the fire raving inside the stove, the wind whistling through the walls of the cottage.

the cottage was beautiful, harry couldn't deny it, though he could do with a bit more insulation. the raw, exposed stone walls were charming, and the moss and vines growing on the outside were something out of a fairy tale, but the fire needed to be fed every hour or so most of the day for at least half of the year or else it dropped below freezing inside. however, luckily, harry came to find wood chopping and trimming to be extremely therapeutic. just him, a sharp ax, and acres of woodlands to explore.

that was another thing harry could never deny about this property: the land was worth every penny. it's not often you find such a stunning cottage sitting on the border between a local forest and, what was essentially, a private beach on the north sea. the beach stretched at least a mile, but was obscured by the trees just behind the cottage. the land wasn't cheap, but harry was ready and extremely eager to spend whatever it took to finally get away from everything, live a simple life, and be alone.

alone with you, that is.

you and harry had gone to school together until the war, but eventually ended up reconnecting and began casually dating just over 2 years ago. since then you and harry had found complete solace in each other, both suffering from the negative side effects of witnessing and experiencing the war firsthand and supporting each other through difficult times. you were mostly struggling with paranoia and anxiety, and were actually the first to suggest getting a place together away from everyone else. you thought it would help if you were out of reach, isolated from the world, practically invisible from all danger.

harry, of course, was utterly haunted by the events of the war, and everything leading up to it. he gets angry at the world, has bouts of depression, deals with monumental grief and guilt, and has chronic, clinical sleep issues caused by nightmares. which is, ironically, the exact reason he's awake so early right now.

as he's pouring the boiling water out of the kettle and over a tea bag, harry can feel his eyelids fighting to stay open. he's barely slept this week, and he's starting to feel the effects of it. he's lightheaded, detached, and just wants to rest.

as he's walking to the front porch, mug in hand, harry takes a moment to pause in the doorway of your master bedroom and admire you. sleeping, surrounded by white cotton comforters, drowning in pillows, your hair wildly framing your peaceful face. he just stays there for a while, leaning against the doorframe, watching. he often watches you sleep when he can't himself. it brings him relief knowing you can get the rest you need.

before he heads outside harry slips on his favorite quarter zip. as he's sitting on the stairs outside, he admires the sound of the waves crashing just a few hundred or so yards away from him. he finishes his hot cup of tea, closes his eyes and lets himself sit in the cold waves of the wind. it's nice. like sleeping without the nightmares.

the moment is short lived as he hears the door creak open behind him. he looks back, and is in disbelief at how beautiful you look just waking up. a nightdress that barely covers anything at all draping around your shoulders, messy bed hair, sleepy eyes and a smile as you stand with the door cracked open, admiring harry in return.

"morning," you say simply, your voice still soft and hoarse from sleeping. harry smiles at you with soft and loving eyes. you walk towards him and let the door close behind you as you cuddle up next to harry on the stairs.

you don't seem to mind the chill in the air. your exposed skin is still hot from the fire burning inside. you lean your head on harry's shoulder, reaching for his mug, seeing there's nothing left, and leaving the mug in his hands. harry's chest hums as he chuckles. "would you like some? kettle's still warm," he asks.

you shake your head. you want to stay right here with harry in this moment.

the sea is so beautiful at this time of the morning. the sun was up, but only just barely above the horizon. no clouds, no birds, just the waves and the wind carrying their breeze.

speaking of breeze, you begin to shiver the longer you're out there in only a sleep dress. you still want to stay with harry, enjoying the view with him, but he notices you shaking.

"darling, let's get you inside,"

harry sits you in front of the stove and opens the small latch, letting the door stay open as you attempt to warm your hands. harry feeds the fire and rearranges the coals to make it burn hotter for you. after a minute or so, he also slips off his quarter zip and pulls it over your torso, smiling to himself at just how big it looks on you.

you find yourself finally starting to warm up, your toes burying themselves into the fur rug you're sitting on. after harry pours you a cup of tea, he joins you next to the fire. "thank you," you tell him with a smile, eagerly taking a sip of the warm drink.

harry's arm wraps around you and he watches the fire as you continue to sip your tea, enjoying the feeling of it warming you up from the inside.

you relish this moment with harry. since moving here barely a month ago, you've grown so fond of these smaller moments throughout the day with him. watching the scenery, watching the fire, sitting in comfortable silence, sharing a kettle of tea in the morning and afternoon, simply enjoying each other's company and the peace you've created for yourselves. it was one of your favorite parts about settling into this little slice of life.

and, of course, there was all the alone time.

while living with harry at grimmauld place was lovely, there was never truly a moment alone with him there. you had your own room with locked doors, but could hear someone walking, talking, cooking, always something in the background.

here, you were completely alone. a lot of people might find this situation to be even more terrifying, being so far away from everything, but you both agreed the isolation made you feel safer. safe from death eaters, safe from drama, safe from other people.

the safety from being so alone out here also meant that you and harry could be vulnerable with each other 24/7. you never had to put on a face or pretend things were okay if they weren't. if harry had nightmares, he could make some tea and enjoy a moment outside alone without anyone trying to psychoanalyze him. if you wanted to lay in bed until it was dark out again, harry wasn't going to judge you for it.

that vulnerability spread into other parts of your life as well.

you set your mug down next to the fire and turned towards harry who's already watching you as you admire his blue eyes, bloodshot from barely sleeping last night, or the night before. you take his face in your hands and just hold him for a moment, feeling him lean into your touch as his eyes flutter close. "i love you, harry," you say just above a whisper, breaking the comfortable silence.

harry looks up at you, but his eyes are now full of lust. you barely have a moment to process what's going on before harry leans in for a gentle, wanting kiss.

harry's always so soft with you despite his clearly strong desire. you've never been with someone who wanted you so bad no matter how many times you've been with them. everything with harry was like the first time all over again; the same desperation and desire to please that just never left.

the kiss quickly gets heated as harry pulls his quarter zip off of you, making you both giggle at the fact that he just put it on you only a few minutes prior. your lips reconnect in a haste, not wanting even a single second away from each other.

harry lays you down on the rug beneath you as his hands make their way to your exposed legs, feeling the heat from the fire on your thighs. his shirt quickly comes off as well from you tugging at it. a moan escapes your lips just watching his body as he pulls the shirt over his head.

harry's suffered from many injuries in these last few years that have left him littered in scars. and while you obviously hate to think about harry in pain, something about his scars drove you crazy with lust. a brave boy who faced death and came back, now healing far away from the cruel world with you as his lover. it was just another reminder that you were safe, that he was finally safe.

harry smiles as he goes in to kiss you again, his hands going right back to your thighs as he pushes your nightdress above your panties. you're holding his face lovingly but harry pulls away from the kiss to look at you. he watches your expression intently as he starts sliding his fingers over your panties, earning a sigh of relief from you. harry's eyes grow darker the longer he teases you. he sits up to use his other hand to hold down your bucking hips, causing you to whine in frustration.

"patience," harry commands from you in a stern voice. you look up at him, jaw lax, breathing uneven, and simply give him a nod.

you love this side of harry. of course you fell in love with the soft, gentle, careful parts of him first, but over time you saw more and more of his angry, controlling, dominant side during sex that you were completely weak for.

living at hogwarts and then grimmauld place right after, most of your intimate moments with harry were kept quiet to avoid being heard. soft whispering, quiet moans, slow movements, and breathless orgasms under a heavy blanket with the lights dimmed. once you moved here, away from everything and everyone, things were different.

of course, you were both still a bit quiet and shy at first, not used to having a place all to your own where no one can hear you for miles. but, slowly, you and harry learned to break old habits and started experimenting together. a lot.

it seemed like neither of you could ever get enough of each other since coming here. you'd always been really attracted to each other, maybe more than the average couple, but something about being alone together in this corner of the world where the forest meets the ocean made you feel so connected, so in tune, and completely and utterly obsessed with each other.

it started with long, drawn-out, foreplay-heavy love making in your new bed to "break it in", sometimes spending hours each day just entangled together on top of the sheets, admiring the other's body and exploring every part. then it would slowly move over to the bath, naturally, after spending so much time sweating together in bed. after a while the sessions would get shorter as you would both be completely exhausted afterwards. instead, they increased in frequency.

either you or harry would find little opportunities to sneak in a quick fuck throughout the day between chores, or would give the other person head as they made dinner in the kitchen. it was thrilling. neither of you had ever been sexual outside of the bedroom/bathroom before, but you found it completely erotic.

you had yet to have sex in front of the fire, oddly enough, but you had thought about it quite a few times before. the warmth of the stove, the soft rug beneath you, the light on harry's skin, the sweat dripping off of him…

"[y/n]," harry said, snapping you out of your daze. "are you even listening to me?" he asks with a smirk.

you blush immediately, so lost in your thoughts about the sex you were just about to have that you couldn't even focus on what was currently happening…

"s-sorry…" you mumble. "you just drive me crazy," you admit shyly.

harry's hand pushes further into your hips, a groan crawling out of his throat as he glares at you. "don't make me cum already, darling," he growls, his voice deep and rumbling in his chest.

you whimper under his pressure, your back arching as your body attempts to find some kind of release from the growing tension inside of you.

"so fucking desperate already," harry says, clearly enjoying watching you struggle under his control. "if i could resist you even a little bit i would sit here and watch you struggle all day," he tells you as he leans into your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin. you wince and squeal, your heart racing from the pain.

harry smirks at your reaction. he sits up and releases the pressure on your hips, causing them to buck upwards instinctively. a pathetic "please," is all you're able to muster as you attempt to catch your breath.

normally harry wants to hear you do a lot more begging than that, but he's just as desperate as you are at this point and he can't resist you much longer.

harry props your legs up for him after helping you take off your panties, throwing them to the side as he lays between your thighs. you prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at harry who's hungrily looking between your eyes and your pussy. your breathing is rapid and shallow as your heart continues to thump in your chest. even after all these years and all the times you've seen harry between your legs you just never get used to the sight. he still gives you butterflies like a nervous girl with a crush.

your head rolls in pleasure as harry starts kissing your thighs; even in both of your desperate states, even when he's at his most dominant, he's still the gentle, loving harry you're so in love with.

harry's hands find your own and intertwine your fingers together as his tongue begins exploring your pussy. you can feel yourself getting even more wet as harry's mouth attaches itself to you, enjoying how you taste. moaning, whining, hips bucking onto harry's tongue, you start to feel yourself sweat from both the fire and harry's intense gaze up at you.

"f-fuck," you cry, your thighs instinctively squeezing around harry's head. he can't help but moan as he sucks on your clit, practically letting you ride his face.

you reach for your silky nightdress and lift it above your chest, exposing your nipples to the warmth of the fire as you continue watching harry make your legs tremble.

harry's eyes droop in pleasure. one of his hands grabs for your tits and the other applies the same pressure to your hips as before. you let out your first real moan above a whimper, your hips still trying to grind against harry's mouth as he continues pushing you further into the rug.

his tongue's now inside of you, teasing you as you clench around him, your thighs still quivering.

"harry, harry, please," you say breathlessly, begging for more. harry ignores you, instead only going slower to drive you mad. you groan in frustration. he looks back up at you for only a second, but you can see the smirk in his eyes.

his hand lets go of your tits before making its way to your thighs, pushing them away from his head as harry takes a moment to breathe. you're blushing, completely flustered, eyes half-open. "sorry," you apologize.

"don't be. give me more." harry demands.

his hand pushes further into your pelvis, his elbow holding down your thigh as you wince at the pressure.

harry's mouth returns to your clit as his fingers feel how wet you are for him. your body jolts at the sensation, but harry just holds you down tighter. starting with one finger, harry pushes inside you slowly as you writhe under his grasp. your hands get tangled in his hair again, desperately pulling his face further into your pussy.

harry just chuckles, looking up at you as he slowly pushes another finger inside you. you gasp, your grip in his hair tightening as your other hand plays with your tits. just the look in harry's eyes watching you chase your high is enough to bring you close to the edge.

harry's fingers were pumping in and out of your pussy, his lips and tongue still teasing your clit. your thighs threatened to close again, but harry kept them spread open for himself. "enough," he states, planting his elbows into your thighs and his hand against your pelvis. he glares up at you as he repositions himself. "stay."

you can feel your body react to the aggression in his voice. this is the hungriest, and hottest, side of harry you've ever seen. you're already brought back to the brink of orgasm as soon as you can see harry's fingers pumping inside you again, his wrist and forearm veins pronounced against the light of the fire as he picks up his speed.

the moans coming out of your mouth are filthy and involuntary, your mind going blank at the sudden rush of pleasure through your body. once harry's tongue begins circling your clit again, you don't have a chance at lasting much longer.

"i-i, harry, stop, i'm–" is all you're able to get out before your legs begin shaking, your head thrown back, crying out in overwhelming pleasure. it feels so good not having to hold back your moans anymore.

harry's lips detach from you, swollen, covered in your wetness. his fingers continue thrusting into you, gently now as you ride out your high. he slowly removes them after a moment, his hand and elbows relieving the pressure that kept you pinned to the ground.

you're still whining, your legs aching from struggling against harry's weight. they feel impossibly heavy as you try to bend your knees up. harry just watches you, enjoying the aftermath of his work.

you're still seeing stars by the time harry's pants have come off, his cock barely peeking through the front of his boxers. he starts rubbing himself through the fabric, his breathing becoming labored as you watched him in a daze.

you look up at him innocently through your eyelashes, your mouth slightly ajar as you lean your weight to one elbow, using the other hand to take his place. he lets you take over, slowly stroking his erection through his boxers, enjoying his gaze down at you from above. his hand goes to your cheek, softly tracing the curve of your smile.

his fingers delicately open your lips before roughly shoving them into your mouth. you make a surprised noise, but quickly begin sucking and licking his fingers. he pulls his boxers down with the other hand, and uses your spit to lube himself up. you lick your own fingers and do the same, helping guide his cock into you with a groan of both pleasure and discomfort.

harry gradually thrusts into you, letting you adjust to him, taking his time with you. he watches your aching pussy welcome his cock eagerly, your legs already starting to tremble from the pressure building inside you again. "oh, fuck," harry's voice cracks, his hands gripping your thighs as they continue to involuntarily shake.

a hand flies to your mouth, barely able to contain yourself already. seeing harry's face of relief as his cock slides all the way inside you only makes you clench around him tighter. he lets out a struggled breath, his grip on your thighs only tightening as he spread them open for himself again.

harry's eyes are closed in bliss, his thrusts slow but deep, forcing a whine from your throat each time he's completely inside you. he's starting to sweat, his hair hanging loosely around his forehead, arms flexed to keep his grip on you, his body leaning down into yours as he starts picking up his pace.

harry looks down at you. one of his hands grabs the hand covering your mouth. "let me hear you, angel," he speaks gently but his voice is hungry, immediately earning a soft moan from your lips. he smiles, leaning down to kiss you sloppily.

harry takes this time to really pick up his speed, adjusting his position to roughly thrust himself into your throbbing pussy. his hands grab for the back of your knees, forcing your legs to bend back as he only pushes himself into you more.

"oh my god," you gasp into harry's kiss, your hands wrapping around his shoulders to steady yourself. harry's forehead rests against yours, looking down, glasses fogged up from the heavy breathing and heat from the fire. he's watching himself from your angle, slowing down his thrusting to a torturous pace. you both groan at the feeling and sight of harry pushing his cock completely inside you and slowly pulling back out before thrusting into you again.

"fuck, baby, you take my cock so well, feel so fucking good," harry says breathlessly into your ear.  your nails dig into his shoulders as you try not to cum again already just from harry's voice. you're both sweating, faces pressed together, the fire slightly dying beside you but still creating a warm glow.

"y-you're, mmph, i'm so close, again," you cry, letting yourself rest back on the soft rug. you feel so at peace despite the growing tension in your stomach – watching harry prop himself up with one hand on the ground beside you and the other still holding your leg back, his chest heaving as he continues thrusting inside you with a growing pace.

harry looks at your twisted expression, eyes glossed over and cheeks flushed, your tits bouncing as he roughly uses your body for his pleasure.

"yeah?" harry looks at you, his grip on your leg tightening as he fucks you roughy into the rug. "fucking cum for me," he commands from you.

you barely need his permission before you're already over the edge, legs uncontrollably shaking, eyes rolling back, incoherent words getting lost in your broken moans and cries of pain.

it's all harry needs before he feels himself release inside you, still thrusting into you slowly as his cum spills out of your pussy.

your body is shaking from the sensation, your legs still vibrating as you clench around harry's cock. he struggled to finally pull out of you.

still trying to catch his breath, harry lovingly rubs your thighs as he watches your swollen pussy ache for the feeling of his cock again.

"so fucking beautiful, my love," harry sighs, relaxing his body on top of yours, his head in your neck. "my beautiful, beautiful girl," he repeats, covering you in kisses as he showers you with compliments.

you just giggle at him, exhausted, trying to come back down to earth.

"i can't…move," you mumble between breaths, your eyes drooping closed as your feet touch back down on the rug. you feel even more weak than before.

harry hums, kissing your forehead. "it's okay, i've got you, darling," he says with a warm smile.

he stands up, slowly, but isn't in as much pain as he expected. his knees are sore for sure, but otherwise, he couldn't feel better.

he leans down to help you sit up, guiding your body into his arms as he picks you up bridal style, your head resting in his chest. you giggle again but you're too weak to reject the gesture. he carefully carries you to the bathroom just down the hall from the living room.

harry runs you both a warm bath as you watch from the counter. he's still naked, as are you, but it's not awkward or sexual – it's just natural.

he shuts the water off and reaches for you once again. "i'm okay now," you insist, standing from the counter and steadying yourself with his hands. he still helps you walk to the tub before helping you climb inside. the water's extremely hot, but it feels so nice on your sweaty, aching skin.

"i'll be right back, gotta feed the fire, just wait for me, yeah?" harry says before he dips out of the bathroom.

looking around you as you warm the rest of your body with the water, you notice the candles sitting around the tub from the last time you both took a bath together. just the flash of the memory through your brain is enough to make your stomach twist into knots again. harry had you bent over the side of the tub as water splashed everywhere, the feeling of freedom and carelessness intoxicating you both as you cared about nothing but each other's highs.

with a flick of your wet hand, you light all the candles again, and the room is lit with a warm glow. it's not often you use magic anymore, harry prefers to do things manually now that you're both caring for a piece of land, but the convenience of certain spells are too useful to forget completely.

walking back in, harry smirks at all the candles being lit. he admires you for a moment, naked, sweaty, half submerged in the huge clawfoot bathtub surrounded by the glow of the candles. "trying to insinuate something, love?" harry asks, closing the bathroom door behind him.

you blush, curling your knees into your chest. "just thought it'd be nice to have some light," you say softly.

harry grabs you both towels and sets them next to the tub before climbing in himself. he positions himself behind you, holding your body as he guides you to relax into his chest. once you laid your head back, you and harry sat in comfortable, warm silence for a long while.

it takes a few minutes before harry's hands begin rubbing at your stomach, slowly, making ripples throughout the water as you lower your knees, letting harry comfort you. he's humming softly, your head rumbling in his chest. he rests his head next to your own and watches his hands from your perspective.

his rubbing gets further and further down your stomach, running his hands along your waist and hips before finally grabbing at your inner thighs roughly. you let out a pathetic whimper, watching his hands from above the water.

"is it bad that i already need you again?" harry chuckles, half joking but half already turned on. you shake your head quickly, your hips thrusting up for relief, moaning at his words. "no, need you, please," you respond desperately, looking over at him.

harry's eyes are darker once more, watching as his hands gradually move to your sensitive pussy. you groan in response, but harry quickly kisses you to cover it. "i know, baby, just let me take care of it," he says into your lips.

slowly circling your clit with soft fingers, harry watches as your eyes droop more and more from the building pleasure. eventually his fingers are back inside of you, gently pumping in and out. his head turns back to your body as he watches you react to him. his other hand goes for your tits, grabbing one roughly from just above the surface of the water.

while it feels good being teased you're insanely desperate for harry once again. your hand reaches behind you, feeling harry's growing erection against your back. harry's grip on you tightens as your hand starts stroking his cock slowly under the water.

"fucking dirty girl," he groans under his breath, taking his fingers out of your pussy to continue rubbing your clit. you cry out at the loss of feeling, your hand squeezing around harry as he just enjoys the feeling.

soon, harry's moved your hips to align with his, your arms holding your body up on either side of the tub as you slowly insert harry back inside your pussy once again. the familiar feeling is only enhanced by being underwater, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease as you adjust to the feeling.

"oh my god," you sigh, your stomach already tightening, thighs still a bit shaky. harry's guiding your hips expertly, groaning in pleasure watching your ass dip in and out of the water onto his lap. his head is resting against the edge of the tub, mind blank, solely focused on your pleasure and his.

"fuck, harry," you whimper again, rolling your hips around on his cock before thrusting it inside you again. harry wishes you could see just how sexy you look from this angle, your hair flowing down your back, your skin glistening in the candlelight, the water droplets running down your hips, it's enough to make him resist the urge to finish already.

"you're so perfect," harry groans. he smacks your ass, slapping the water with it, causing you to squeal and quicken your pace. the same filthy moans are still spilling from your mouth, hardly able to contain yourself in this situation. something about using the time meant to help each other clean up to only continue fucking makes you feel so dirty, so used, and it's driving you crazy.

harry suddenly stops you, much to your disappointment, and tells you to trust him. "just get out and stand up," he says.

you do as he says, and eventually harry has you bent over the bathroom counter, barely lit by the candles behind you. he slowly returns his cock inside of you, your bodies dripping water everywhere.

as harry's thrusts become more consistent, one hand grabs for your shoulder and the other for your damp hair. he forces your face to look in the mirror, your eyes barely open from the pleasure. "watch," he commands. your eyes shot open at his voice, tracing the shape of your shadows in the mirror in front of your face.

harry loses himself in you, his head rolling back in pleasure hearing you struggle to take his cock for a second time. you're trying to moan, say anything at all, but your voice is incomprehensible as harry only becomes rougher with you.

"god damn it, [y/n]," harry spits out, his voice clearly exhausted. his hands travel back to your tits, pulling you back up into him as he continues pounding into you from behind. you're a mess in his hands as they roughly grope your tits.

"look at you," harry growls into your neck, looking into the mirror just in front of you as his gaze meets yours. "so fucking sexy,"

your hands desperately grip the edge of the counter for balance, your legs getting more and more weak by the second. harry pushes you further over the counter, his moans becoming urgent.

"i'm gonna fill you up because you're fucking mine, yeah? look at this perfect body of yours," harry's voice strains, his sweaty chest against your back as he forces you to continue watching yourself get pounded in the mirror, one arm over your chest and the other holding your hips. the light of the candles is just enough to let you see harry's dark expression. "fucking perfect, just for me,"

you haven't been able to get a single word out, your mind spinning as harry only gets more and more desperate, his pace getting sloppy.

"fuck, baby, just be good for me and let me cum inside your tight little pussy, hm? let me show you what's mine,"

you're already starting to cum just from harry's words. the overwhelming pleasure racks your body harshly as harry continues to use you for himself. shaking, barely able to stand without his help, your voice is breaking as you cry out in ecstasy for the third time just this morning.

harry's barely able to last much longer. his thrusts have slowed to uneven, jerky motion as he feels his cum spilling deep inside you. breathy moans and aching bodies, harry rests against you with your body limp against the counter. he lifts his head from your neck to kiss your skin softly, everywhere, slowly helping guide you back to the tub for a second time. your legs are weaker than before and you're barely able to contribute as harry leans you into the water, still kissing your damp skin.

"i love you, i love you," he's mumbling between kisses.

you're too weak and dizzy to respond in any way, still trying to catch your breath as harry begins cleaning your skin. he rubs a soft rag along your chest, neck, back, shoulders, and arms. the whole time he's complimenting you lovingly, a gentle touch and warm gaze upon your tired face.

after washing himself, harry also dries you off, carrying you back to bed before getting you both dressed in comfortable, warm pajamas. "just rest for today, my love," he told you as he laid you down. you reach for his hands. "stay?"

harry smiles. you didn't have to ask, it was literally his bed too, but he admires how soft and innocent you are in this moment. though he loves to be rough with you like he just was, there's nothing more special in the world to him than the gentleness between you two. his whole life has been nothing but challenges, setbacks, problems, and you're everything but. he just wants to be soft and gentle with you.

harry climbs under the sheets, his body also succumbing to the ache and exhaustion. he wraps himself around you, already falling asleep against his chest. harry joins not long after, finally getting his much needed sleep without the threat of his nightmares.

a few weeks later it's just a bit warmer out than it has been, so you and harry immediately started the day doing outdoor chores while you could. harry was chopping wood as you cleaned up around the cottage garden. it was too cold most of the year to grow much of anything out of it, but you still liked to keep it manageable for the smaller animals that stopped by to look around.

you also took the time to admire harry, shirtless, sweaty, groaning each time he drops the ax into another cut of firewood. his body had become well built from all the manual labor he's been doing lately, carrying entire trunks or stumps of trees out of the forest, lifting heavy bags of mulch and dirt for you, digging out the flower bed around the cottage, he was more muscular and toned than you'd ever seen him. it never mattered what harry's body looked like to you, you always found him attractive no matter what, but you couldn't deny that his toned back and broad shoulders got you more worked up than usual lately.

it was nice getting to work on the home with each other, a comfortable silence filling the day broken by the occasional question, favor, kiss, or compliment. it was peaceful, this routine you both had, and it felt so natural to work with each other. you hardly had to communicate your ideas because you were often thinking the same things.

tea in the morning, chores once the sun is out, taking a dip in the ocean at sunset, and having a warm home cooked dinner in the dark, the cottage lit from within from candles and the fireplace. it was perfect. for both of you.

and, of course, the sex had never slowed down as well.

you had both joked at the beginning of your move that you didn't think you could ever stop yourselves now that you were isolated from the world, but that's exactly what ended up happening. neither of your desires could be relieved no matter how many times you tried. not that you wanted them to go away by any means, it was just overwhelming, the feral need to spend hours each day pleasuring each other in every way possible. it was always passionate and desperate for more, never becoming repetitive or any less exciting. it was exactly what you both needed and wanted all the time.

as the sun was setting for the day, you and harry sat together and shared an orange you had gotten at the market just a few miles away earlier that week. you were lucky to be close enough to something that offered fresh produce, even in the colder parts of the year. harry watched the waves crashing against the sand, his knees to his chest as you both steady yourself on a large rock between the cottage and the water.

"thank you," harry says softly. you look over at him, his hands now empty as he's swallowing the last of his orange slices. you finish yours as well. "of course," you respond.

harry shakes his head. "no. really. thank you, [y/n], for everything." he says, still watching the sea. you blush, giving him a soft smile before turning to watch it as well. "i'm finally, really, truly happy. for the first time in my life, i feel at peace." harry explains, still speaking softly just over the crashing waves.

you could cry just from harry's words. all you've ever wanted was for him to feel safe. he's had such a difficult start in life and didn't deserve what happened to him, or what he was forced to do. he deserved simplicity. a normal life in a normal home doing normal chores. he deserved to be happy.

overcome with love, you stand from the rock and grab harry's hand, pulling him with you. he silently follows you down the beach. once you're a few yards away from the shore, you pull down the straps of the dress you had been working in off your shoulders, letting the material slide right off your body and onto the sand as you continue heading towards the water.

you turn to look at harry, and he's stunned at how beautiful you are. the shape of your body against the warm sunset over the water, nothing but a pair of panties covering your sweaty skin. your hair was flowing in the salty breeze of the ocean, hands reaching for his as your feet began to touch the water.

harry's ripped and dirty blue jeans come off as well as his glasses, leaving them behind on the sand as he grabs for your hand. you walk into the water together, slightly shivering from the lingering chill beneath the warm surface, but quickly adjusting to the temperature. harry's only admiring you, like he always does, as you dip your head under the water and come up, pushing the hair out of your face.

harry does the same, wiping his face of the sweat and dirt that's collected over the work day with the salty water. this has become one of his favorite parts of your routine together, cooling off in the ocean after a long day. not just to wash off the sweat and stress of the day, but also to admire you in all your glory under the shining sun.

harry wastes no time reaching for you, pulling you into him as you float in his grasp. he holds you for a moment, mesmerized by the light in your eyes, a smile permanently fixed on his face. "my beautiful girl," he reminds you, his forehead leaning against yours. you hum, reaching your hands to his neck as you pull him in for a heated kiss.

you've had sex in the ocean a few times now, and it's quickly become one of your favorites. it's the ultimate form of freedom being naked together making love in the gentle waves, harry holding you around his waist as he hugs your body into his.

most nights you're both too tired from working to go further than sloppy making out and feeling each other up; but other nights, like tonight, you're both too desperate to care if it hurts.

as harry continues kissing you he carries you back to the shore, your legs still around his waist as he lays you down onto the sand. the water just barely washes over harry's legs as it meets the shoreline. you relax into the warm sand beneath you, harry already pulling your panties off. you giggle at his eagerness. he smirks, his hands gripping your waist hungrily.

you can see harry's erection through his soaking wet boxers barely hanging off his hips. just as eagerly, you pull them down for him as he kicks them to the side.

harry easily slides his cock inside of you, letting out a struggled sigh of relief at the feeling. no matter what's going on around him, harry will always feel perfectly in place when he's inside of you.

your hands are tangled in his wet hair, gripping tighter as he bottoms out. he moans desperately, leaning in for another kiss. his pace evens out to a familiar rhythm, your body wrapping around him as he fucks you into the wet sand. the warm sunset is perfectly met with the chilly breeze of the water that's still waving over both of you gently. each time it gives you shivers, your body arching into harry's from the shocking feeling.

harry's not sure if he's ever wanted to finish this quickly before. it was so perfect, this moment, the sun, the waves, you. he just couldn't believe this was his life. making love to the most beautiful girl in the world where the land meets the sea. he never thought life could be this simple and beautiful, but with you it was effortless.

he pulled away from the kiss to simply look at you, eyes drooping, cheeks blushing, eyebrows pinched together in desperation. he smiled. "i love you," he says so simply, his thrusts beginning to stutter against you. you smile back, eyes still half open. "love you, harry, so much," you manage to say between heavy breaths.

you pull him back in for a kiss, and feel his body weaken on top of you, leaning on his elbows for support in the uneven sand. "baby, baby," he tries to warn you, but you just continue kissing him and wrap your legs back around his waist, pulling him deeper into your pussy.

he completely unravels, pumping his cum inside you as he cries against your lips. "fuck," he keeps groaning in a broken voice. you can feel yourself letting go as well, your thighs squeezing around harry's waist as the water crashes into your body again, making you shake even more.

you both enjoy the moments after your climaxes together, letting the water continue to run over you as the sun's light falls below the horizon. harry, still inside you, his body resting on top of yours, tells you he loves you in the softest, sleepiest voice he can manage.

you kiss his head, reminding him how much you love him.

you both eventually sit up, covered in sand, and chuckle to each other about it. harry invites you back into the water where he washes you off, giving you a loving kiss under the dim sky.

he continues holding you there in the gentle waves, the emerging stars lighting the sky above you. he's a bit cold now, but he couldn't be more warm inside. harry just loves you and the little life you've built with him here on the sea. he feels happy, loved, and completely at peace in the ocean with you in his arms.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

For the Jason drabbles, what about Jason conforting/taking care of reader while they are sick or even on their period?

We love a supportive man. What he receives he gives back tenfold.

“Show me where, baby.”

His hand roamed along your lower abdomen, imagining the soreness in your tense muscles. The spikes of pain that riddled you bedridden during your most heavy days.

“Here?” He applies pressure, fingers rubbing circles down just under your stomach, along the spot near your hip bone.

“Oww, yes,” you whine, wincing from the pain before being soothed by his massage.

Jason knew what periods were. He knew it’s a natural thing women dealt with. He’s worked with women for years, alongside doing his own research on it during one time you hadn’t left your bed for a while, thinking you were sick at first. It was an.. interesting conversation with Babs over what more he could do to help that the internet didn’t tell him about those relentlessly heavy cycles.

Pain like this took a lot longer to be rid of than a heating pad would allow. Especially the good quality ones with different settings.

Or, if you want something different, something fun that he wouldn’t mind shoving into the microwave for a minute, he’d get you a heatable, plush teddy bear. Or a duck. Or a menstruation crustacean.

He had no idea what the hell that was until you showed him on the site. You received whatever you chose in a box nearly three days later from Prime shipping.

Don’t freak out about blood. Accidents happen. If you got some on the sheets, along his lap when he held you, or on the couch, he could’ve cared less.

He wouldn’t even point it out, if you didn’t know. If you did notice it, he’d immediately shush you in an consolation attack, hiding your shameful expression in the crook of his shoulder.

“Shh, baby,” he’d murmur in your ear. “Easy. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before. S’alright, it’s okay.”

With advice from Babs, he cooks a lot more iron rich meals for you a lot more during this time. Usually, it’s been a team effort. You cook, he cleans up, you wash dishes together. Vice versa.

This week, regardless if you suffer from irregular periods, he does it all. He’ll do it even if he was a walking zombie, he doesn’t care.

Jason will not, no matter what you say, let you lift a finger if he knows you’re in pain. He’s an expert of masking his own, he can tell when you do it.

This even goes if you’re not used to being babied, get used to it. You tend to him for weeks at a time in a single month alone, this is his way of saying thank you for it all.

“Bed.” Jason demands, not even having to turn around from his attention on the stove to hear your shuffling to the kitchen.

“But I’m—“

“I brought you a drink,” he replies. A cup of warm raspberry leaf tea sitting on your bedside.

“No, I mean—“

“I know it hurts, but you can’t take anything until after you eat,” Jason peers over his shoulder, seeing his olive green shirt loosely draped over your body. “Go back to bed, Princess.”

“Can I stay here?” You plea, making his shoulders slump with a sigh. Try as he may, your weakened state makes him more pliable to your every request.

Might as well, since you’re already up. Stubborn girl.

“Go sit on the couch,” he sighs, knowing a few comforters were folded up on the cushions. “Get comfortable, an’ stay there. Dinner’s almost done.”

Jason has pills, plenty of them. From plain Tylenol, ibuprofen, to doctor prescribed muscle relaxers, morphine, etc. All thanks to Alfred.

Broken bones or severe, suture required injuries would be the only times Jason felt complied to take them. He knew addiction, watching it first hand and being involved in it at one point himself. He only took them when he absolutely, positively needed it.

For you, if you needed something stronger, he’d give you half of one pill, or a full, single pill at most. No way would you ever fall victim to such a cruel, toxic routine. He’d keep them locked up, for both your safety and his.

After your said hearty, iron rich meal, you remained on the couch snuggled up together like true lovers.

His guilty pleasure during your period of vulnerability was how much you relied on him for comfort. Positions varied, but his most favorite would be your body laying in his lap as he lounged on his reading recliner.

A gray comforter over your shoulders, some fuzzy socks on your feet. The furnace you called your boyfriend leaving you nice and toasty, his hands settling along your hair and back, preparing to soothe and massage when needed.

He adored when you needed him, he loved catering to you. You were his woman, his little nurse turned patient.

This also sort of gave him an excuse to skip out on patrols, but he never voiced the reasons why he’s gotten calls about it. He just didn’t feel like it, refusing the idea of abandoning you late at night, leaving him tense and unfocused on his routine on if you needed something, and he wasn’t there.

The others, with their detective mindsets could figure it out for themselves as to why Jason didn’t show up on a Saturday night. Or a Sunday, and definitely not a Monday.

He had important priorities, after all.

Just him, you; snuggly comfortable and content, and your herbal scented, menstruation crustacean.

[threadbearsweater]

arthur morgan x reader. canon-divergent, just a little daydream. I'm working on something a little bigger, but please accept this short offering for now.

Arthur likes to kiss you in the kitchen.

Its probably the most dangerous room in the house for him to do so, what with your array of carving knives and heavy cast-iron skillets that could do some serious damage if he were to catch you in a bad enough mood. But it's his favorite place to catch you off guard. He thinks it's downright precious to see you standing there in your apron with one hand on your hip and your favorite spoon in the other, tasting whatever concoction you've got simmering on the stove. You always look so deep in thought, concentrating on your task at hand. He may or may not have sketched you in that pose a couple of times while sitting at the table, talking to you as you listened to him absentmindedly, not fully focused on him as much as you are your recipe.

He smells whatever it is you're cooking long before he even enters the house and leaves his gun belt and boots by the door. The windows are fogged over from whatever you've got boiling on that little wood stove, and his mouth waters both at the sight of you standing there and the thought of how that food is going to warm him from the inside out once he gets a taste.

"Hey, stranger," you say, having felt the draft from the door when he entered. You throw him a smile over your shoulder, and his heart does a funny little thing.

"Hey yourself," he returns, and you're in his arms before another word is spoken between you. He presses you against the counter and cups your face in his hands, kissing you deep and sure. Days worth of his stubble scratch against your cheeks and his heart beats wildly beneath your hand on his chest. He kisses you like he means to devour you but in a slow, exploratory sense of the word. He's tasting, testing, savoring every glide of your lips and tongue.

"Arthur," you murmur against his mouth, wooden spoon in your hand dripping broth from your stew onto the floorboards.

"Missed ya," he whispers, grit and gravel in his throat.

You drop the spoon and loop your arms around his neck. His hands trace down around the curve of your hips, the round of your ass, and he grips the back of your thighs to hike your legs around his waist.

"But– the stew!" you cry. He sucks a bruise into the side of your neck and your protests fade into a desperate whimper.

He grunts and hauls you off to the bedroom. "Gonna be quick, I swear."

Dinner isn't ruined after all, thank the lord.

You swear up and down that you'll never let him kiss the cook again, but you manage to bend your own rule the very next day.

[misstycloud]

Love on a loop

What the hell do you do when you can’t seem to break up, no matter what you do?

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You stared blankly at him, a hundred questions ran through your head all at once. On the inside, you were panicking. You had experinced a range of emotions in just a span of a few hours; pain, regret, sadness, anger and great confusion.

All this happened while he, you boyfriend, simply looked at you with an unsure smile. He tilted his head and asked with a slight chuckle, “Are you okay?” When you didn’t answer, he decided to return to his previous question, of which you didn’t respond to either. “Ehm, do you want one egg or two? We only have three right now, but you can have the two, since I feel bad about always eating all the eggs.” He laughed.

You finally decided to speak. Your voice wavered a bit when you inquired, “What are you doing here?”

Your boyfriend paused his happy expression, and frowned. He glanced around as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. “I live here? Or have you gotten a mysterious case of amnesia?” He joked.

“No, you don’t- not anymore.” Your emotions turned to annoyance, and it was evident in your tone how displeased you were with him.

The irritation in your tone gave away that you really were angry at him and that it was not a silly attempt to be funny. What you could be upset about, he had no clue. He searched in his mind for anything he could’ve done to land him in the dog-house, but found it empty. There was nothing he could think of that would start a fight.

Your boyfriend switched off the stove and gave you his full attention. He asked in genuine bewilderment, “Love, is everything alright? Have I done something to make you mad at me- although, considering you liked me yesterday, I frankly can’t imagine how I could’ve fucked up so fast.”

Your mouth fell open. The audacity! “What are you doing? Why are you back here? I don’t get what you’re playing at but it is not funny. I just- what??” You pointed towards the door. “Get out!” You didn’t like to shout, however, this situation demanded some force, whether it was pleasant or not.

It was evident on his face that your yelling had hurt him. That sad, hopeless expression always made you melt in the beginning of your relationship. Everytime you would fight, he would put it on full display and immediately after you’d feel bad and apologise for whatever the fight was about. He stayed quiet as he untied the apron around his waist and hung it on a chair.

“Hey….I don’t know what this is about- seriously, I don’t! But you need to tell me if somethings wrong, I can’t help fixing it otherwise.” He held his arms up in surrender and began approaching you.

“No, don’t come closer, you need to go! Get out.”

“Love, I’m gonna hug you now. Is that okay?” He continued his advance. The way he spoke to you reminded you of someone trying to soothe a frightened animal; yes, you were freaking out- because of him! He was the one acting weird.

You backed up against the wall. “I don’t want your hugs- no, don’t touch me!” You felt a shiver down your spine as the familiar embrace surrounded you.

Your attempts to pull away proved fruitless, his grip was like iron chains. There was no way you could get free. Still, your small tugs continued even after you’d exhausted all of your strength. Your boyfriend stroked you hair, undoubtedly to calm you down. It was meant to be comforting, but the only thing you felt was uneasiness.

This was crazy. You had no idea what was going on. You were absolutely certain that the two of you broke things off for good yesterday.

You’d waited for him to come home that day, which he did, all happy of course; now he was able to see you. You had decided to cook his favourite meal in preparation to soften the blow. It was unlikely it would do anything to help, but it was worth trying anyway. You recalled how his mood turned from happy to totally elated. He chuckled and asked if there was any special occasion(it was, although not in the way he wanted).

You say him down and let him eat himself half-full before you broke the news to him: you were planning on leaving him. He took it surprisingly well compared to the expected reaction. Of course, there was the crying and self-blame, but after that he seemed to accept your decision with a sniffle. He was kind enough to let you have the apartment, he insisted even as you said that there was no need to concern about it yet and you could decide later on. He packed his essentials in a bag and threw the rest of his belongings into boxes and moved out the same evening. Again, you explained he didn’t have to but he said it was fine; he wanted to be out of your hair as fast as possible.

He seemed fine. There was no yelling at you and no big storm that came. So you let him leave(to a friends place, he said) and after a couple drink, you went to bed. The day had stressed you out to the point of exhaustion.

So why was your ex back in your apartment, and why did everything look the same like before, it’s as if yesterday never happened. Because, it did…right?

“It’s alright, sweetie. You’re safe, I’m here to protect you so don’t be scared.” He let go of you just enough to look up at him. “Mind telling me what got you freaked out this morning?”

“Yes: YOU.” Sending him a furious scowl, you said, “You are what’s got me so freaked out. Mind telling me why you are back?”

His expression was mixed with dejection and confusion. “I’m sorry. I really don’t understand what you mean.”

“Don’t play fucking dumb. We broke up. You moved out. Explain why you’re here and why-“ you gestured around the apartment “- did you put up all your things again? We are over, you need to accept that and move on.”

You wouldn’t call yourself a mind reader, however, it was easy to see that your eruption shocked him and sent his mind into a downwards spiral.

He spoke with urgency. “What? Broke up? Why would we do that? I don’t-“ he looked away and inhaled deeply. “I would never leave you.” Staring into your eyes, he asked in a quivering voice, “Are you not happy with me, is that it? Please, make me understand.”

“We already had this conversation-“

“When?” He interuppted you.

“Yesterday!”

He shook his head. “I think I would remember an important conversation like this. Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?”

You gaped at him. “It wasn’t a dream- I would know if it was. It was real and it happened. You are playing me, because what? Because I told you the truth that this is not healthy? This is not what a relationship should be like.”

“How is this not a good relationship? I love you and you love me. Is anything more needed?”

Your boyfriend could seemingly not honestly comprehend your point.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “A relationship can’t be when two partners are so dependant on each other- like we are. We need other people too, it can’t be just us forever. Like, my friends don’t even bother to invite me to stuff anymore because I’ve always had to say ‘no’ because I’m constantly doing something with you. Can’t you see, I’m spending every waking moment with you? Hell, I barely talk to my family anymore.”

“I’m fine with only being with you. I don’t care about seeing anyone else, you’re all that matter to me. I don’t need other- is it not the same for you?” You noticed the tears brimming his eyes.

Sighing, you let yourself be honest. “No. It’s not enough for me. I’m sorry, but I can’t let my entire life be ruled and centered around you.”

The air was still around you. It was quiet. While you’d previously desired him to shut up, now you found yourself willing to do anything to make him say something. Finally, he spoke.

“Oh, wow. Okay.” His attention was focused on the floor. “I-I’m sorry, Love, I had no idea you felt that way. I didn’t mean for you to- you know.”

“It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean for me to feel bad. And besides, it’s partly my fault too. I can’t put all the blame on you.”

You ex tried attempted a little laugh, it came out forced and not at all smooth like he’d imagined. “I dunno what kind of dream you had, but maybe it was a sign- for us to…move on and stuff- I’m not mad though, I want you to understand that.

“Yeah.”

“Ooof, I guess that it’s also a sign for me to move out?”

You nodded. He was obviously depressed, however, he still tried smiling for you. You supposed he didn’t want you to feel bad. Within two hours he was ready to go. He sure was a fast packer when he wanted to.

Just like in your dream, you told him he didn’t need to move out directly, and similarly, he also said it was no bother. After he went, you breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed on your (formerly shared) bed.

It went well, didn’t it? You thought.

He agreed to break up without any fight. It was good. You could relax. You closed your eyes and let sleep come to you.

What you weren’t prepared for was to be awoken by the smell of cooking. You groaned and rolled out of bed. Checking the clock you saw that it was still a little early. You followed the noise to the kitchen.

“Hey, I was just about to wake you up. Do you want one egg or two?”

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This fic didn’t really turn out exactly like I wanted to. Sorry if it seemed a little rushed at the end. Hope it’s still acceptable tho

[slamminslamminmcgill]

I just know wade would be asking u to grind ur teeth down on it...i just know it....

hi anon ur so right wade actually has you do insane shit to him dick biting is just the BEGINNING‼️😮‍💨 and the first time he suggests it you’re mortified 😭 you’re giving him that gawk gawk 3000 typhoon top but he’s still kinda soft 😰 you’re lowkey worried feeling self-conscious about your head game until he cups your face and swipes his thumb across your cheek

“can i ask you a weird question?”

when you’re having sex with wade wilson, this could lead to literally anything. “does this bump on my nutsack look different than usual?”, “what’s your stance on the death penalty?”, “did i ever tell you about that time i got my dick stuck in the toaster?” you brace yourself for whatever batshit insanity is about to slide out of his mouth.

“yeah, go for it.”

“can you use your teeth on it? just, like… keep doing what you’re doing, please, it’s fucking amazing. i just want a little more texture.”

huh?! is he for real?! but you’ve worked so hard to NOT do that! years of toiling in the dick-sucking mines has trained that right out of you, and he wants you to throw all that away? why?! “uh… are you sure?”

he just laughs in response

“aw, you’re so cute! so sweet, worrying about me like that! think about it. why would i ask for this if i didn’t want you to do it, stupid boy?”

…y’know what? fair enough. you close your teeth around his shaft and cheese grater up and down the length of his throbbing, bumpy cock.

“OH~! fuck, just like THAT, baby, YES~! mmm… fu-u-ck, that’s perfect… like… like you’re trying to bite the batter off a corndog, baby, there you go…”

and when i say it gets worse from there i mean it gets WORSE!!!! like he’ll come up behind you while you’re cooking dinner.

“hey, slutter-butter, you got a minute?”

“uh… yeah, actually!” you put down the knife you were about to use to chop an onion, and spin around to face him. “haven’t really started yet, what’s—“

he’s holding a strap-on.

“yes, hi, this is wade wilson, i’ve got an appointment for a prostate exam at 4PM?”

you smirk and saunter towards him, eager to play along with this spontaneous bit, “hmm… i’m not seeing you on our records, mr. wilson. are you sure it was scheduled for today?”

“i’m not sure, actually. i’ve made that mistake before. but this clinic takes walk-ins, right?”

“yes we do, sir, but today’s been pretty busy.” you wrap your fingers around his on the silicone shaft and pull him into you. “but i’ll see if i can squeeze in you.”

wade bounces and squees with joy and hands you the strap. you don’t even get it all the way on your hips before he’s bending over. onto the stove. where you were preheating a cast-iron skillet.

“oh, shit, WADE—!”

“what?” he stares at you blankly, holding the hot pan you were about to use. he’s silent for a moment, then two, and then it clicks. “oh!” he sets the pan down in the sink, claps his hands together, then points at you. “forgot you’re a normie! logan fucks me over the stove all the time. doesn’t really matter for us, since we’re freaks of nature and third degree burns just tickle us psychosexually, but, uh… would you… wanna try it? do a little flambé action? roasted wade wilson breasts? i promise, it’s fun. it makes me moan like a coked-up whore late on rent.”

you snort at his stupid comparison, and it actually puts your mind at ease a bit. it doesn’t surprise you that him and logan get up to this kinda thing when you’re not around. in fact, you’re actually flattered to be allowed to take part in it. to take advantage of him like this.

“fuck it. bend over, you fucking weirdo masochist.”

“yippee! yay! thank you, daddy!!!”

wade eagerly yanks his shorts down, widens his stance, and slams his bare chest onto the glowing red burner. his leathery skin sizzles with the smell of cooked human flesh.

“ooooh, that feels so fucking good on my right nipple… lemme roll a little, get the other side, ah~! oh-h-h, it hurts so fucking good!!!”

you get into position behind him, but he holds his hand out backwards to halt you.

“wait! one more thing!”

he reaches over and grabs the gigantic chef’s knife, freshly sharpened and pristine, that you had lying on the cutting board next to a soon-to-be mutilated onion, and offers it to you.

“jam this through my palm when i say i’m getting close. that’s the finishing move. have me spraying a whole little league team out my dick.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Sugar Tonight 5

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The townhouse is big compared to your apartment, though most places are. Brock keeps his hand tight on yours as he brings you up the front steps. He punches a code into the lock, the numbers blocked out by his large figure. You teeter on your feet as he pushes down the lever and shoves the door inward.  

He points you in ahead of him and adjusts the straps of the duffel bag hooked over his shoulder. Those are your things, parsed down to a single bag. He follows you in as your eyes skimp the walls. Despite your muddled fear, you can’t help but stand in awe of the antique panel and brick. 

“You seem like the old-style type,” he plops the bag down on the wooden bench against the wall, “shoes.” 

You look down and nod. You kneel to unlace your work sneakers and put them on the rack. He sits beside the duffel as he works at loosening his boots. 

You tear your attention from the tear drop bulbs of the chandelier light above and look at him. Like really look at him. He’s in all black like always. His hair is a similarly dark hue and a shadow of stubble never leaves his square jaw. His shoulders are broad and straight and even sitting, he looks huge. He looks up and narrows his eyes as he catches your gaze. 

“Sir, er, Brock,” you twist your palms together. 

“Yes, baby,” he sits up, his shoulders squaring. The pet name tweaks in your stomach. 

“Erm...” you peer around. “I... I don’t know.” 

“You don’t like it?” He stands and you take a step back. “We can update it.” 

“Um, no, it’s... pretty but... what... what am I doing here?” 

He snorts. It’s as close to laughter as he’s come. 

“Whatever you want, baby.” He nears and reaches for you. You wince as he cradles the back of your head and draws you close. “It’s our home, we make the rules.” 

He bends and kisses your forehead. You gulp as the heavy scent of his cologne strangles you. His fingers curl into your scalp and he hums. He hesitates for just a moment before he pulls back. 

You suck your lip in under your teeth and turn away. You’re buzzing from his proximity. The way he crowds you is unnerving. Everything about him is. 

You sense him watching you as you tiptoe around the bottom of the staircase and stop to stare at the framed painting of a woman in 19th century garb. She seems familiar as she sits on a stool in flowing ivory and pets a lamb, her stomach swollen with child. 

“Like I said, you can change it,” he grits as he comes closer. “Have a look around. Explore. It’s all yours.” 

You flinch and bat your eyes at the picture. This is real. You peek over at the duffle bag as the horror rolls up your spine. You don’t think you’re ever going back to your old life. This man won’t let you. 

You continue down the hallway next to the stairs if only to get space from him and your looming fear. You turn to look into the den. A long sofa and cushy armchairs, bookcases on either side of the vintage fire stove and a rustic rug across the aged wooden floor. You can’t deny that it’s cozy. 

He lurks like a shadow but allows you enough space to make your own way through the place. The kitchen is wrought in walnut and iron. A gas stove, a black fridge, and a dishwasher to boot. The walk-in pantry is stocked to the ceiling. You back out as he leans in the crook of the counter. 

“There’s more upstairs, baby.” 

You take his subtle directive and retrace your path. The dining room on the other side of the stairs gets only a quick glance before you climb to the next floor. Another hallway with several doors. A bathroom with a clawfoot tub and separate shower booth, a linen closet, and office, and the main bedroom. You stop in the last and stare at the four-postered bed. 

You retreat and pass Brock as he stands against the wall, halfway up the stairs. There’s another door but it doesn’t open. You don’t try to get past the lock. You go back to look down at him. 

“It’s nice, er... Brock.” 

“All for you,” he turns and climbs up patiently. 

“I--” your wring your hands, “really?” You look one way then the other, “thanks, but...” 

“You shouldn't chew your lip. It’s already chapped.” He grabs your hands and pulls them apart, “stop picking at your nails.” 

“Sorry, I--” 

“Don’t be. I’ll take care of ya until you take care of yourself,” he brings your hands up between his, grazing his calloused skin over yours. He turns your palms to his and pushes his fingers between yours. His cheek dimples and he guides your hands to his chest. “You’ll be safe here.” 

You nod and stay silent. His warmth seep through his shirt into your hands. It adds to the sheen of sweat speckling over your body. That fiery heat of fear, the nip of the inevitable. You still can’t wrap your head around it all but you know deep down, you’re not going back to your boxy apartment. 

[justporo]

A Night of Staying In

After all the doom and gloom in other writing I really needed some cutesy fluff to feel myself again - and also to give Astarion and Tav a break.

Summary: So have Tav and Astarion just enjoying a cozy night in - also Astarion gets a carrot hurled at his face.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav Warnings: Mention of sex, a carrot gets thrown and then murdered Wordcount: 2,2k

Delicious smells of slowly cooking meats and vegetables, spices and a forgotten mint tea were wafting through the kitchen of your cozy little townhouse.

You were bustling around the well-equipped kitchen. The apron you were wearing was full of stains and its pockets full of cooking utensils – even a half-full spoon absent-mindedly tugged away in one of them. It was slowly leaking through the linen with something on it that looked like blood – but was simply a tomatoey sauce. Your hair was messily put up in a bun, but several strands of hair had fallen out of it and you looked only so far from a mental breakdown.

At the kitchen table Astarion was sitting with a lantern, bowing over an embroidery project. He had the very bright lantern you’d gifted him specifically for this purpose directly next to him, but he was still squinting at his work and holding it so close his nose was almost touching the fabric. He looked a lot less demented than you but still very absent-minded.

Fabrics and threads were strewn all about the wooden table. Different needles were glinting everywhere on it too. One could only hope that those would be remembered at some point – preferably before someone stuck them in their fingers.

Next to him were also laying some loose papers, a feather and an ink pot with lots of writing that was then crossed out again and also some small little doodles on the corners – one for whatever reason happened to be a goose with a knife in its beak.

You had several pots on the iron stove and something about to go in the oven as well. Critically you were moving around between all of these things, clattering with copper pot lids, jars of ingredients and spoons to try the food (always in the same pattern: grabbing a new spoon, trying something, putting the spoon in the dish bowl full of dirty water – then having to grab a new spoon). You had some potatoes boiling and in another pot you had been cooking a mixture of vegetables and beef for quite some time. You wanted to recreate a recipe of cottage pie that you had once tried many years ago in a tavern and had kept reappearing in your dreams. And now you finally had the kitchen and the tools to try and cook it yourself!

But it seemed impossible to get it right, this already being your fourth attempt this week. The vampire had already been moaning that you had basically force-fed him the meal because you had no way of eating that much pie on your own. It was not, that the finished pies hadn’t tasted well, but they just weren’t like you remembered. But you started to think that it might be your memory that was tricking you and not your cooking skills.

You went to try the pie filling again after adding some more spices and dash more red wine (directly from your goblet because you didn’t seem to remember where you put the bottle).

As soon as the spoonful hit your tongue you knew you had done it – finally.

You shrieked and immediately heard another shriek behind you in reply. You turned around to Astarion with glee and saw how the vampire was staring at you angrily and shaking his hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out your sudden excitement had caused him to stab himself with his needle.

“Darling, can you maybe not scream like a dying goblin, I was concentrating!”, he hissed at you. Your joy evaporated at his flare of anger – so you turned around again, grabbed a left over half of carrot and threw it at Astarion – and maybe a bit more forceful than would have been necessary.

But he was still a rogue and dodged the vegetable easily. It flew against one of the cabinets and then to the ground. There it stayed until Scratch came into the kitchen, drawn there by the sudden noises. The dog sniffed at the piece of vegetable, then grabbed it and went off again.

“Oh really, are we at the ‘I throw stuff at my lover’ point of our relationship now, love?”, Astarion replied to your responsive outburst of anger with a raised eyebrow. “Am I going to have to sleep on the sofa next?”, he continued sassily.

Your hand itched to grab more produce – there were some potatoes still laying around and they made for excellent improvised throwing weapons. But you saw the smirk that played around the vampire’s lips. So you settled for a verbal rebuttal.

“Don’t be such a prick and you can keep sleeping inside”, you said and flipped him off. Then you turned around again to your cooking and grabbed – yet another – spoon and scooped up some of the filling. The vampire mumbled something under his breath about he wouldn’t have to be a prick if you didn’t make him prick himself.

“Oh, that would be so gracious of you, my dear lady, if I was still allowed in your shining presence”, Astarion then said loudly as you were busy with the pots. The tone still very sassy but you heard the playfulness in it now and knew he was now only teasing.

You went over to him, with one hand under the spoon full of hot goodness that immediately started dripping and burning your hand. You winced but kept going.

“Here, try this – I think I got it now”, you said as you stood in front of Astarion who had put down his needlework for the time being. He threw you a pained look: “Love, if you keep feeding me this I think I might actually start to get a pot belly.”

You snorted at him and eyed what you could see of his upper body. “Pretty sure, you will never have to worry about this kind of thing. Now. Try. It”, you answered and insistingly came closer with the spoon.

Astarion sighed, gave you another suffering look and then let himself be fed. His doubtful expression quickly changed to what you interpreted as pleasantly surprised.

“Alright, I take everything back, that was well worth the scream of enlightenment, my sweet. That tastes wonderful”, the vampire said and grinned at you.

“See, wasn’t so hard, was it”, you said and gave him a quick peck on the lips as you could see his face changing to annoyance once more at your petty remark.

You threw the spoon in the dish bowl and rubbed your hands on your apron and started to get everything ready for the final step of the recipe. Meanwhile you said to Astarion: “So, darling, could you write down the following: one and a half cups of red wine and three instead of two sprigs of thyme and just loads of black pepper.”

“Of course, my darling chef”, Astarion replied cheerfully and grabbed the feather and papers laying next to him to write it down. “Any other changes?”

“No, this will be it”, you responded and happily clapped your hands before you put your filling in a cast iron pan, mashed and seasoned the potatoes and then put them down as the topping of your pie. The final touch was some hearty cheese sprinkled on top. Then you put it all in the oven.

In the meantime, you heard the feather scratching over the paper.

“What are you doing, Astarion?”, you asked as you took off the oven mitts from pushing the pan in to cook.

“Just putting the recipe in clean writing for you, my heart”, the vampire replied as he kept looking through older versions and notes on the papers. Brows furrowed as he was concentrating on it.

“That’s sweet, love, thank you”, you said to him but he didn’t reply and probably hadn’t even noticed. Of course – if you said something actually nice you fell on deaf ears.

So you decided to thank him with another gesture. You grabbed another goblet to pour your vampire a cup of wine but as you looked around to find the opened bottle you saw that it had been next to Astarion with an already filled cup all along.

You gave up and sat down across the table with your own cup of wine as Astarion finished up writing. You put one leg up on the bench and hugged it to your chest, head on top of the knee and watched the pale elf.

“Here you go, my sweet”, the vampire exclaimed cheerfully after a few more moments and handed you the finished recipe that was now written cleanly in his neat and beautiful handwriting. ‘Tav’s specialty cottage pie’ stood atop the page and next to it was a little doodle of some steaming hot pie.

You smiled broadly at Astarion: “Thank you, darling.” Then you shortly leaned on the table, almost climbing over it to give him a kiss while carefully trying to avoid the needles.

“Do you sometimes wonder how we ended up like this?”, you softly asked him after you had read through the finished recipe.

“Like what?”

“Well, like this – all domestic. I’m cooking, you’re embroidering, we’re bickering like an old married couple, drinking wine and just enjoying a cozy night in instead of wreaking havoc somewhere out there”, you said and waved vaguely in the direction of the city beyond the walls of your home. Then you took another sip of wine.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, we’ve been bickering like that from the moment we met”, Astarion answered and looked at you sternly. You shrugged in agreement.

“As for the rest – well, are you enjoying the way we spend our nights like this sometimes? Because if you’re bored-“

“No no, I’m enjoying this an awful lot. It’s just – this is somehow the most unlike turn of events don’t you think? Like, I sometimes can’t believe we actually ended up in the version where we’ll live happily ever after”, you said and cradled your face in your hand not currently holding a cup of wine.

At your words a warm and adoring smile crept onto Astarion’s face.

“Are you though?”, you asked then.

“Hm?”

“Are you enjoying these kinds of nights?”, you asked Astarion again and lifted your head up to look straight at him.

The vampire looked at you, smile still playing around his lips: “Well, my love, after two hundred years full of godsdamned shit I am enjoying this sort of mundanity quite a lot. And I enjoy it even more because I get to spend it with you. I might even enjoy doing the dishes with you later on – unless you don’t splash me like last time.”

You smiled at him too now, broadly – feeling incredibly lucky that you had indeed taken all the right turns that had led you here, to this: sitting at this kitchen table with the love of your life, talking about doing the dishes.

“But if we ever get bored, my sweet, I have quite a lot of ideas on how to spice things up”, Astarion continued afterwards. The smile morphed into a lewd smirk and his red eyes sparkled mischievously: “For example, I could dramatically throw everything on this table to the ground, rip all your clothes off and have my way with you on this table until you forget your own name.”

His voice had suddenly become deep and smooth like dark molten chocolate. You bit your bottom lip as the mental image of his words set in and you just stared into his eyes point blank. Astarion still looked at you, not breaking eye contact, and his teasing smirk only growing.

“Nah”, you made after some more moments, “not tonight. My cottage pie would burn.” Your tone was matter-of-fact and you drank some more of your wine while still looking into the vampire’s eyes.

Then you both broke down laughing. So much so that you had to wipe tears from your eyes by the end and Astarion had his face buried in one of his hands while silent fits of laughter still shook through him.

“Alright”, he said and bit his lip, one of his fangs showing adorably as if he was a cat, “I’ll write it down for another date night then.” You broke out laughing again.

Until you could actually smell your food burning. With an “oh shit” you jumped up and pulled the pan out of the oven – you had saved it just in time.

You got out some plates and forks, and put some generous servings onto them. As you turned around your gaze fell onto the table full of Astarion’s embroidery supplies. Astarion saw your look, then waved it off, dismissing it.

He grabbed one of the filled plates from you and grabbed your then free hand to lead you to the living room. Scratch was there laying on his designated blanket, chewing on his favourite ball. Some telltale orange spots telling the tale of the fallen carrot.

You settled down on your sofa with your food – you swinging your legs over Astarion’s and getting cozy.

And this is where you stayed: eating until you felt like your belly might burst, joking until you were crying again, talking until you got so tired you almost drifted off into dreaming right then and there. And when you had went to bed: holding each other until you woke up in the other’s arms again.

[chronic-escapixt]

Human Sacrifice (Part 2)

prisonworld!Kai x f!reader

content warnings/tags ~ Minors DNI, 18+ ONLY, Dark fiction, NONCON, kidnap, rough sex, bondage, oral (f receiving), abusive behavior, spanking, degradation, explicit language, forced overstim, toys

*Kai is the king of pet names- calls reader babycakes*

word count: 3.8k

summary: you wake up alone in the middle of nowhere. unfortunately for you, you're not completely alone.

Kai sets me down at the table. Each passing moment I spend sitting still, stewing in my own idleness, eats away at my adrenalin. Leaving a fatiguing hunger gnawing in its place. Worsened by the smells coming from the stove. I crane my neck just to get a peak at the bacon frying in the cast iron skillet, sizzling and popping in its own oils, the pancake cooking up to a perfect crisp brown edge before it's flipped over.

Pretty soon he’s setting the plate on the table, directing a sly wink at me to which I return a scowl, not even looking down to acknowledge the food, not even moving to touch the silverware since I wouldn’t put it past him to get my hopes up just to snatch it away and gorge himself on the entire thing right in front of me. If I wasn’t practically starving, I’d be more tempted to vault the plate at his dense head and deal with whatever consequences came later. 

“Oh! Can’t forget the oj!” he squeals, dashing over to the fridge. My critical gaze follows where I notice the children’s doodles tacked to the door with novelty magnets along with what looks to be report cards and a refrigerator magnet with a frilly cursive font that says: Kiss the Chef. 

Not if I can help it.

He pours me up a tall glass then stares down his nose at me expectantly. I lean forward with squared shoulders, tight lips, creased brow, posturing to let him know that this silent standoff between us can go on forever. He leans back with a frustrated sigh and I know I’ve won until my stomach growls out loud, undercutting my small victory.

He smirks and nudges the plate closer to me, “eat up before your eggs get cold.”

“I’m not hungry,” I bite back.

“Mhmm, right.. I bet you think I’m trying to poison you or something - Well, babe, if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.” Each word is slow and direct with brazen condescension. 

I collect my annoyance behind a placid mask.

“It’s just that my parents expected me home like.. yesterday. They’ve probably already reported me as a missing person. If they’re not already, the police will start looking for me soon and no matter what you do to me, everything is going to lead right back to you.”

He nods with consideration as I continue. “They’re gonna either find me alive or dead and you’re going to end up in prison. Doesn’t that scare you? I mean.. a pretty boy like you wouldn’t do too well in prison. Surely they’d do much worse to you than you could ever think of doing to me..”

Kai meets my gaze with a wickedly sharp grin, “you underestimate my imagination.”

His threat makes a tightness take hold of my throat, straining my words in my chest, “I - just think you should consider how this might end for you.”

He groans so loud, it makes me stiffen. “You still don’t get it, do you? We’re not in your world anymore! Your parents can report whatever they want to whoever they want, but no one is going to find you, so as long as you’re stuck here with me, you’re mine.” 

My palpable disbelief makes him inch closer, resting his palms on either side of the table and leaning down to me.

“Let me spell it out for you: we’re in my prisonworld, circa 1994, and there’s no one else here but you and me.” 

He’s dead serious but it’s so ridiculous I can’t help but let out a stream of chuckles, little laughs that clearly bite into his inflated ego the more I go on. I cover my face, trying to stop, desperately as tears prick my eyes. I feel crazy because I’m terrified, but laughter is all that comes out.

“Oh.. you don’t believe me?” His voice laced with reproach, “FINE! When you clean your plate, I’m taking you into town.”

When he turns and leaves me alone, I start to perk up, listening for his retreating footsteps before I stare down the buttery stack of pancakes in front of me, thick cut bacon that’s somehow just as crispy as I like it and a side of fluffy eggs. His proposition provides me food for thought as I begin cutting into my pancakes. Getting out of this house is my best chance at being found and getting away from him, even if it is on his terms. The food is so good I struggle not to scarf it down, still careful as I’m unsure if he snuck razor blades in my scrambled eggs. I cleaned the plate in minutes and chugged the orange juice. 

“I’m changing,” I try to bypass him to get to the stairs but he blocks my path with his body, folding his arms as to make himself even wider.

“No need. The only person that can judge you for looking like a slut is me, and personally, I like it,” he replies, biting his lower lip. I feel exposed as he eyefucks me in nothing but the slinky black dress. I feel a draft with every step, forcing me to tug it down over my backside and compromise the coverage of my breasts. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway. 

He takes us into town. Mr. Motor-Mouth tells me all about the lore he built lore for his own delusions but I barely pay it any mind. Beyond the periphery of my attention, he continues - prisonworld this, coven that - I’m sure, the only prisonworld that exists is in his own deranged head.

I welcome the growing familiarity of our surroundings as we approach downtown Portland. The strange thing is, it doesn’t look the way I left it last break. There’s almost a nostalgic feel to the way the cars parked along the street are all vintage models I haven’t seen since I was a kid. The gas prices made me do a double take. The way payphone booths stood at each street corner. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was just one of those traditional towns that didn’t change with the times, but I DO know better. I grew up here. I notice as we pass the old theater that used to play classic films for 90 cents on the weekends that it’s suspiciously lacquered with the freshest coat of paint I’ve ever seen on it, which is impossible considering the building was abandoned when it went out of business last year. 

“- and so my coven created this little hell dimension for me.. where I’ve been on my own ever since.”

I search for people. In what should be the business epicenter of the town, there’s no one. Not a single soul walking, driving, making any noise. In fact, everything looks undisturbed, like an interactive picture taken in the mid 90s. My attempts to conceal my rapid breathing create an involuntary squeak from the back of my throat. 

“See, Portland, 1994 - just the same as it’s always been..” his voice trails off bitterly before meeting me with a grin that reaches his eyes.

Either I go with his neurotic story and magic really created this prison dimension - Or he’s managed to go to considerable lengths to create his nostalgia wet dream.

“Where is everybody?”

His brow shoots up, “Have you not been paying attention?”

Kai parks the car just outside the market and grabs a newspaper off the stand on the way inside. I take it from him with trembling fingers just before scanning the headline: Family Massacred in Portland. May 9, 1994… the murders of 4 kids.. One missing.. Malachai parker.. Malachai - Kai. I lower the paper to my lap.

“You believe me now right? I can tell you’re putting the pieces together.”

“Your name is Malachai Parker.” I repeat for clarification.

“Kai-” he corrects me shortly. 

“And your dad is Joshua Parker?” 

He nods slowly. 

So the family mentioned in the article is them. I grew up close to the Parker family, often having play dates with the twins, Liv and Luke, when we were little - Liv was on my soccer team and Luke was my extremely awkward date to the Freshman spring formal. I never knew they had any older siblings, let alone a psychotic brother.

“Okay, so let’s just say I believe you about the magic stuff.. why was I sent here?”

“Well, clearly my dad has come to regret his decision and needs me back. I imagine you’re like the sacrificial lamb.. like a chunk of meat thrown to the lion so that he's full and happy before they let him out of the cage.” 

He really knows how to paint a horrific picture, but that still doesn’t explain why I was chosen out of all people. I subconsciously rub at the mark he left on my neck from his teeth, not deep enough to break the skin, but enough to still leave a sore ache when I touch it and to clearly convey his intentions. I’m a piece of meat.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. Who names their kid Malachai anyway? It’s like they expected me to be evil.” 

I stop just outside the door, giving one final glance back for someone - anyone else.

“Come on,” He takes my arm and pulls me along.

“If you’re a witch, why not use magic to free yourself?”

“What do you think, I can just bibbidi-bobbidi-boo my way out of here? It doesn’t work like that for a lot of reasons,” He starts chucking random junk food and snacks into the shopping cart as we go along, “One of them being, I’m a siphon, meaning I don’t make my own magic, but I can suck it out of other witches or objects with my touch,” he shoots me a dismissive glance, “and since there’s none of that here, we’ll have to wait until my coven makes a move.”

How convenient. He’s a witch without any magic. I feel stupid. I want to kick myself for even playing along with his lunacy. The only thing that article proves is that he's a sociopath, but what could explain the apparent time travel that’s happened here or the absence of civilians? I don’t know how he did it, but I haven’t ruled out the possibility that he’s either the most successful serial killer of all time or he’s not working alone. 

I put that thought on the back burner because prisonworld or not, I have to find a way to escape. There’s no such luck while we’re in the store as he makes me hold onto the shopping cart, not letting me out of his sight. I retreat back to the car as he loads the trunk with groceries, fully resigned to head back to the house with him, but he makes one last stop at a seedy windowless building. 

We enter a small sex shop. 

“Why are we here?”

“Thought we’d get some new stuff to try before things start to go stale between us.”

I scoff, but he ignores me, fully occupied by the fleshlight toy display. I take the chance to look around, heading deeper into the store, past the aisle of gags and bondage devices and to where they keep the X-rated videos and magazines in the back. 

“This could be fun..” I hear him murmuring to himself from the other side of the store. If I’m going to do something, it has to be now. I slip behind the counter and find a pistol tucked underneath the register. Bingo! Then I grab the set of car keys next to it, likely belonging to the pick up parked in the small lot. My plans to slip out the back are thwarted by the fact there’s only a storage closet behind the counter.

My heart drops to my knees when he calls out to me, “Hey! So, I just found the cutest little collar for you. Ooooh, and it comes with a matching leash. Come try it on!” 

I slip into the closet, clutching the pistol to my chest as I steady my breathing. 

It’s now or nothing.

I hear him approach. “Come on out, dollface. Unless.. we’re playing a game of hide and seek.” My heart pounds as fast as a hummingbird’s as he creeps closer. “I love this game, but I should let you know, I always win. Bet you can’t guess what my prize will be,” He’s on the other side of the door, hand slowly turning the loose knob.

“Gotcha!” he yanks the door open but stops in his tracks. I have the gun pointed at the middle of his chest.

His narrowed eyes stare past the barrel of the gun right into me. 

“Aww, are you gonna’ shoot me?” his jaw ticks, but the corners of his lips perk up like he’s slightly amused. I’m more afraid of the gun than he is.

“MOVE!” I hold firm and solid, my trigger finger twitching.

“Woah, woah, just put the gun down, hotcakes.” We’re frozen in this standoff until he gets annoyed and lurches at me for the gun. I pull the trigger, flinching in anticipation of the kickback but nothing. Is it even loaded? I don’t have enough time to try the trigger again before he wrenches the pistol from my grasp and decks me across the head with the barrel.

I’m lying on my back, stripped completely bare with my hands secured above my head.

His blurred image comes into focus, watching me from the foot of the bed.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” his grating voice pierces through the ringing in my ears as he moves up my body.

“Wanna see the cool new stuff I got for us?”

He drags the bag on the bed without waiting for my reply and shoves his hand inside, pulling out a vibrator, built like a blunt bullet.  

“You’re gonna like this.”

My jaw drops when he grabs a crystal plug and he takes notice, his sinister grin widening, “I don’t even remember putting that in there..” His mocking laughter sends a shiver down my spine. 

The next thing I see is a flogger, several leather prongs with shining enamel donning the tips.

“The way you’ve been acting, we’ll get plenty of use out of this one..”

He leans into me and his lips softly ghost along my own even as I sink back and tuck my chin, “So, what am I going to do with you first?”

It’s a rhetorical question, yet his eyes dart to mine eagerly awaiting a response. I don’t have anything, not one quip nor retort. I fucked up my only chance at escape and now I’m going to have to pay the price.

“Awww, nothing to say, babycakes? Where’s that bitchy attitude, hmm? Not one adorably pointless little struggle?”

“.. m’ sorry..” I all but whimper out, letting my emotions choke me up.

Something changes in him. I see through my teary eyes, a frown etched into his face as if he’s disappointed in my submission, like he expected more of a challenge before I completely crumbled.

He sighs and turns to his arsenal of toys, giving it a considerable once over before lifting up the flogger.

“Maybe start with this? How many do you think you can take?”

He holds it in his grasp like a gladiator ready to tame me, I notice how his veins ripple all the way up his scarved bicep.

“NO!” I belt out, kicking my legs with ferocity. He scoops them up and flips me over on my stomach. I hear rattling behind my back and he yanks one leg to the side, fastens a shackle around my ankle and secures it to the adjacent bedpost. The other follows suit despite my protests.

“Wrong answer.. guess we’ll just have to see -”

“Malachai..” I hissed out his name. My final recourse to get him to hear reason, but I can’t force any more words from between my lips before he captures the base of my hair in a tight fist, yanking me up into his chest.

“Let’s set some ground rules, shall we?” I whine as he callously tightens his grasp, tearing locks of hair from the follicle, “I don’t want to hear you call me that again, yeah? I will make mass murder look like child’s play compared to what I’ll do to you. I have nothing but time, baby. Understand?” His threatening words burn like venom along my neck.

“yEss” I croak, paralyzed with fear.

“Wonderful! I’m glad we agree on that. Now, back to the main event.” His tonal change is startling, something I couldn’t get used to. He picks up his weapon, the clang of the metal tips rattling against each other. 

I can barely lift my head before I feel those prongs lash across the bare flesh of my ass. The noise I let out is bone-chillingly inhumane, the way it tears up through my vocal cords, it barely registers as my own voice. His short grunts, gruff moans are perfectly timed with my sobs as he makes my thighs raw. I feel him cup my ass cheek with his hand, feeling it burn as blood rises up in my swollen capillaries, the surface welting up beneath his touch.

I think he’s had his fill by the time he places the flog down on the bed, then his hands are on me again, rubbing sloppy circles along my puffy pussy, lips prominent as he pushes them apart to dip into my drooling center. 

“Nearly two decades with nothing but pent up sexual frustration then they drop a cute little thing like you in my cage. Whoever sent you here, doesn’t give a fuck about you.” He releases an airy sigh as he slaps my clit with his rough palm.

I tense into an arched position, choking back a moan. 

“Poor baby doesn’t know if she wants to cry or come..”

He drives two fingers to the second knuckle, pumping in and out, scissoring me open as I whimper at the stretch.

“What’s all this, huh?” He withdraws and raises his digits to his face to analyze the viscosity of my slick, the way it creates clear strings between his thick fingers when he pulls them apart. “What are you trying to prove here? Think you’re too good to get off to me?”

I bite my tongue, but it’s alright because he speaks enough for the both of us.

“It’s not like you really have a choice. You’re gonna come real soon, aren’t you?” He reads my bodily responses expertly. I hear the buzzing of the vibrator before it finds my clit. My eyes roll back and I clench in place. 

“Bet you’re really having fun now, huh?” 

I feel the sheets grow damp below me. My cool slick soothing my sore flesh all the way down my thighs.

“You love it… you don’t gotta’ tell me.. jus’ keep making those pretty noises I like.. I feel like you’re just as deprived as I am.. all sheltered with no one to really touch you. Just your one shitty little vibrator you hide in your nightstand and keep on the lowest setting so no one overhears how the perfect princess isn’t so innocent.” 

He curls his fingers and I come so hard my brain misfires and my vision goes blurry. 

The next moments move in slow motion. I barely register him pulling off his shorts and freeing his cock before he’s back on me, yanking me closer by his firm grip on my hips. I gasp as he pushes into my pulsating heat, stretching my sex as my tight lips move along with the drag of his cock. 

He angles my body to his thrusts, tilting my pelvis up so he can drive me down onto his length. The rapid tempo knocks the air from my lungs. His pelvic bone digging into my sore backside. I make the mistake of looking back at him just as he stalls, his cock pulsating against my cervix as I can do nothing but milk him dry with my own orgasm. Becoming even more familiar with the way his brow tenses over his glassy hooded eyes, his powder pink lips fall open for small gasps and grunts as his load coats my inner walls.

He stutters forward, plunging his length deeper into my aching core. When he opens his eyes, I notice his lip twitch and curl in a smirk before he pulls away and I feel empty. 

He moves to release my ankles from their restraints and flips me over like a pig on a spit. He follows the length of my body with his eyes, feasting on my gooey center where his own cum starts to pool at my opening, dripping down my slit. He leans down and there’s a devious glint within his steely gaze that makes my breath hike.

He pulls my tender bud between his lips, alternating with wet open-mouthed kisses along my inner thigh, building me back up.

“S.. st… ss. Op… pl- EASE!” I gasp and sputter out my words between uncontainable moans. 

It feels so strange, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Maybe like my rose toy. But better? No, worse. It hurts. He sucks and pops my flesh, savoring me like sweet taffy, winding his tongue through my tender labia.

A feral noise rumbles in his chest as he scrapes his teeth along my engorged clit. I keen out loud as he alternates between suckling on me, turning me into a rapid ball of fire.

“D’ you see how much I spoil you? I cook for you, clean you up.. so ungrateful.” he slurps on the mixture of our juices leaking from my pulsating core. I try to swivel my hips and scoot away from him as he rolls my clit with his tongue, his face following my movements. 

“The more you try to squirm away from me, the more you open yourself up for me to taste you, babycakes..” His hold locks onto my trembling legs, pinning my thighs flat to my stomach. “Heyyy.. stop it.. stop running from me..”

I weep helplessly in his grasp.

@daisy-renae @quinsly

Part 3? (comment or reblog to join taglist)

[avengers--assembly]

Sleep deprived results

Summary: Peter basically calls Tony dad for the first time and Tony? He is too sleep deprived to actually realise. The end

Word count: 602

Warnings: none

●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇

Peter yawned hugely as the equations blurred together under his tired gaze. He and Mr. Stark had been working for what felt like forever. They’d started after dinner with Miss Potts, who had promptly chased them away to do their "science stuff." Neither had complained initially, but now that the clock was creeping past two in the morning, Peter knew they both desperately needed sleep. Maybe a snack too, he thought, just as his stomach let out a loud growl. Stifling one last yawn, Peter decided to address his own needs.

“Dad?”

No, no, no. Peter couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He couldn’t have called his mentor, Iron Man, "Dad." Peter's mind raced, conjuring up every mortifying scenario possible. Was Mr. Stark going to disown him or even cancel the adoption?

Before he could spiral further, Mr. Stark replied,“Yes, Petey?”

Was Peter breathing more heavily than usual? It certainly felt that way. Deep breaths. Mr. Stark remained fixated on him, offering no additional input, his half-lidded eyes glazed over. Maybe he didn’t hear me? Should I answer? Yes, yes, of course!

“I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to, uh, have a snack?” Peter finished lamely. If Mr. Stark noticed anything amiss, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Sure kiddo, let’s go. I didn’t even realize we’d been down here so long.” Mr. Stark ended with a sparing glance at the clock.

Peter nodded mutely, following the man and eventually plopping down on one of the island’s bar stools. Mr. Stark started making hot cocoa on the stove, and Peter adjusted his legs nervously. Pepper would definitely deem their current activity unsafe, considering their half-asleep states and the extremely warm milk and open flame.

Peter leveled his gaze with Mr. Stark’s and said the first random thing he could come up with. He had to double-check if Tony’s distant look meant he’d missed the whole "dad" slip.

“Can we make a real cutting-edge, neon pink lightsaber?”

Tony tried to concentrate on the boy’s words but didn’t catch them completely. Peter was staring at him with an analyzing and hopeful expression. Tony was almost certain he’d heard the word "can," so maybe the kid wanted something?

“Sure kid, whatever you want.”

Peter gasped dramatically, and Tony’s half-dead mind tried to grasp a good explanation but found none. Maybe the kid was just excited about whatever he’d agreed to? Tony shrugged and poured the warm, chocolaty drink into two cups before guiding Peter to the couch. Snagging a few cookies on the way, they started a movie that Tony really wasn’t paying attention to.

******

The next morning, Pepper found them both still fast asleep, snuggled up together. Feeling a streak of mischief, she left each of them a personal note. She had things to say after Friday had played some footage from the previous night, things she deemed cute and others not so much. If anybody asked, there were no early morning photos taken.

Peter's note, in neat handwriting, read: "Tony would be honored if you called him Dad, as he already refers to you as his kid."

Tony’s note read: "I swear Tony, if you build a functional lightsaber, no matter what weird color, I will harm you.

P.S. with love from Pepper."

[mapofyourstars]

What do you think Charles would gift Erik on his birthday?

Two gifts immediately come to mind for me.

The first being rare metals. Charles purchases some very rare, very dense metals and finds a way to hid them somewhere far enough from Erik's abilities that he won't sense them until his birthday. Once Charles gives them to him, Erik can do whatever he wants with the metals, and he opts to sculpt something with one of them, keep another one untouched because he loves the way it hums in his mind, and shape part of the last one into something wearable for Charles so Erik can feel his heartbeat pulsing through the metal.

The second being a week-long vacation away to the middle of nowhere. Charles rents a small log cabin in the woods away from all cellphone towers and electrical wires for miles in every direction. The only metal in the entire cabin is the wood-burning iron stove with matching iron tools and cooking equipment. Prior to taking Erik up there, Charles fits the cabin with various books, a chess set, and miscellaneous activities that don't involve metal (i.e., painting, drawing, etc.). For the whole week, Erik is able to decompress, his mind no longer buzzing from the constant electromagnetism around him from cities and technology; and they vow to come back at least one weekend every month.

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 3)

eren/reader

reincarnation & memory loss

rating: M (16+)

cw: hospitalization, attempted nonconsensual drugging

word count: 3135

**I've got music in this part again (because I love writing scenes to music), so make sure you've got Please, Please, Please by Sabrina Carpenter at the ready because the scene is much better if you're listening along.

<- CH 2 | CH 4 ->

“Hey Armin.”

“What’s up?

“You know how you told me that she-... that she’s not from our first life?”

Even though the phone pressed to his ear, Eren could still hear Armin take a quick breath. “Y-Yeah.” His friend stuttered. 

“Well um-... Well, I think we were wrong…”

Your eyes finish slowly moving around the unfamiliar bedroom and, once you feel like you’ve properly taken it all in, you get out of bed.

You slowly walk towards the partly open bedroom door and peek your head out, curious to see what your home looks like in the light of day.

From your spot in the doorway, you can see a large couch. There’s a pillow on it and a blanket, messily thrown over the back. A coffee table with scattered pieces of paper and a chipped tea cup. One side of the wall has a large window and a balcony, which is the source of most of the light.

From another room, just across from the couch, you can hear shuffling.

Sizzling. 

Feet against tile and music playing. There’s a voice, just barely audible as he hums along to the melody on the radio.

(at least you assume it’s a radio)

You can’t help slowly creeping towards the kitchen so you can watch. It’s Mr. Kruger. He’s standing in front of the stove and holding a spatula in one hand, with a small black cat in the other. He flips a pancake, bouncing to the beat of the music as he rocks the cat back and forth in his arms.

A smile spreads across your face as he starts to mumble the words to the unfamiliar song:

I know I have good judgment, I know I have good taste.

It's funny and it's ironic that only I feel that way,

I promise 'em that you're different and everyone makes mistakes

But just don't-

The kitten reaches up to boop his nose, so Mr. Kruger looks down at it.

I heard that you're an actor, so act like a stand-up guy

Whatever devil's inside you, don't let him out tonight

I tell them it's just your culture and everyone rolls their eyes

Yeah, I know

All I'm asking, baby~

Suddenly, he holds the spatula like a microphone:

Please Please Please

Don't prove I'm right!

You notice that the cat he’s holding is missing an eye.

And please, please, please

Don't bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice

He kisses its forehead.

Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another.

I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker

oh~

Mr. Kruger places the cat on the counter and taps its nose along to the beat:

Please Please Please!

Next to the first cat is a second. This one is orange and white and almost triples the other one in size. Mr. Kruger scratches it under its chin before he continues to sing, this time slightly louder with more confidence, as if he’s completely oblivious to his surroundings and the fact that he’s being watched.

And we could live so happily if no one knows that you're with me I'm just kidding, but really, really, really-

The spatula becomes his microphone again.

Please, Please, Please

Don't prove I'm right~

The cat that had woken you up stumbles into the kitchen and rubs against Mr. Kruger’s leg.

And please, Please, Please,

Don't bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice!

He crouches down to pet the cat’s head. 

Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another,

I beg you, don't embarrass me, Motherfucker, oh~

The cat lets out a happy ‘mrr’ as Mr. Kruger scoops it up into his arms and dramatically holds it up in the air. Its three limbs dangle uselessly at its side.

If you wanna go and be stupid Don't do it in front of me~

He lowers the cat to cuddle it to his chest.

If you don't wanna cry to my music Don't make me hate you prolifically~

“Mrr.” The cat says again before it looks across the room at you. 

Please, please, please,

Mr. Kruger sings.

Please, please, please,

He tilts his head to the side.

Please,

He follows the cat’s line of sight

Please,

He sees you.

please, pl-

“Ah!” Mr. Kruger jumps, dropping his spatula to the floor as his face suddenly burns bright red. The cat jumps from his arms and stumbles to land on account of its missing back leg.

It wobbles as it runs past you out of the kitchen while the last few notes of the song ring out. Mr. Kruger is left completely frozen.

You press your hand to your lips and hold back a laugh.

Then the fire alarm goes off and the kitchen fills with smoke.

“So it’s… a radio then?” You ask as you flip around the strange device that Mr. Kruger had been listening to his song. It’s smooth like glass but it isn’t heavy enough to be a solid piece. 

“That’s one thing you can use it for, yeah.” Mr. Kruger explains as he holds out his hand and you give him back the phone (which was a strange thing for him to call, considering it looked nothing like a phone). “It’s also a camera.” He explains as he clicks one of the buttons on the side and suddenly you’re looking right through the device to the floor.

“Woah!” You exclaim, excitedly grabbing it back from him as you flip it around in your hands again. “...this is such a strange dream…” You mumble to yourself.

“What?”

“Nothing!” You quickly say, worried that if you think too hard about the fact that this is a dream you’ll wake up.

You give him the device back, sure that he’ll have even more fascinating things to show you as the day goes on. 

On the coffee table in front of you are two empty plates from the breakfast Mr. Kruger had made for you. It was delicious, sweet pancakes with more syrup than you’d ever been allowed. You’d gotten so used to bland rations with no flavour whatsoever. Even your tea always had to be taken black because anything else would be a waste of the limited resources that you had. 

Sitting on the couch next to you is the brown cat that woke you up. He’s purring softly with his legs tucked under him. He occasionally nuzzles against your thigh to beg for attention, so you pat his head and give it to him.

Mr. Kruger has the black kitten on his lap. She’s completely asleep but her tail twitches every once and a while despite it.

Between the two of you is the big fat orange and white one. He’s grooming himself after he spent your whole meal begging for food (which Mr. Kruger said you weren’t allowed to give him because he was on a strict diet). 

You’d met a few cats before, street cats that were wary of humans and would only let you near them if you had the promise of food (which you never did). These cats are the exact opposite of that though and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of affection as you watch Mr. Kruger idly scratch the kitten behind the ear as he taps away at the glass phone in his hands.

“There are some people coming over later.” Mr. Kruger tells you as he puts the phone down on the table.

“Some people?” You ask.

“Yeah. Our friends they um- they wanna talk to you.”

“Which friends?”

Mr. Kruger sounds hesitant to answer. “You probably don’t remember them.”

You scowl. “Why not.”

“I uh- it’s- they’ll explain it.”

“Why can’t you explain it?”

“I don’t wanna confuse you.”

“Why would you confuse me?”

“Just-” Suddenly he seems irritated and he’s more reminiscent of the Mr. Kruger that you know. Of the real Mr. Kruger that exists outside of this place. “I’m sorry.” He says, which isn’t something the real Mr. Kruger often says. “I don’t want to make this harder for you.”

You study his face.

His beautiful face.

You study the way his eyebrows tense and scrunch together in frustration before, with a sigh, they flatten again and he looks over at you with so much care in his eyes that it makes your heart feel like it might beat right out of your chest.

“Mr. Kruger?” You ask, just above a whisper.

“Yeah?” He answers, just as softly.

But you don’t really have anything to ask him. You want to ask him, of course. You want to ask him where you are, but you can’t risk that. 

Because if you ask him then-... then you might wake up.

His hand moves to the couch between you and you feel his fingers gently brush against it. It sends an electric rush of heat up your arm that radiates through your entire body.

“It’ll make more sense eventually.” Mr. Kruger tells you.

“...okay.” You say.

But you don’t want it to make sense.

It’s so much more peaceful if it doesn’t.

Mr. Kruger is frustrated today.

You don’t know why he is, but one of the doctors sent you in to “deal with him”. Since, apparently, you’re the one he’s the most reasonable with. 

You’re not sure what you’ve done to earn Mr. Kruger’s favour over the last few weeks, but if his favour is what gets you praised by the higher-ups you aren’t going to complain.

Briefly, you think back to Myra’s comment. Her little: “He probably has a crush on you.” But you immediately brush that thought away. He was probably just the type to respond better to positive reinforcement. Lord knows enough of the hospital staff leaned towards using the opposite method with patients.

So that’s why you’re there, knocking lightly on Mr. Kruger’s door an hour after you normally head home for the day.

There’s no answer, so you push it open.

“Mr. Kruger?” You ask softly.

He’s sitting on his bed, staring out the window and completely lost in thought.

He must not even notice that you’re there, so you’re cautious as you approach him, all too familiar with how violent some patients can be if they’re surprised.

“Mr. Kruger?” You ask for the second time, hoping that he’ll respond now that you’re closer.

He doesn’t. 

You move towards the window, careful to put enough space between yourself and him that you could move away if he lunged for you. Once you’re at the far end of the room, you can finally see his face. 

He’s in a daze, just like you thought he would be, trapped between his world and another as he stares out at the horizon.

You know exactly how it feels to be that far away.

“Mr. Kruger.” You say for the third time. This time it’s softer, barely above a whisper as if you’re politely asking for his attention instead of demanding it.

He blinks.

And then he looks over at you for half a second before looking down at his lap.

“Oh.” He says. “It’s you.”

You smile softly. “Yeah, it’s me.” Now that he’s aware of his surroundings, you step closer to him. “Dr. Rall said you didn’t want to take your medication this evening.” You point out. The paper cup is sitting empty on his bedside table, but you know it isn’t because he’d taken them, but because he’d hidden the pills under his tongue. You had a replacement in your pocket, but you wouldn’t give it to him until you were sure he’d accept it.

You’d never taken the time to check if Mr. Kruger was taking his medications before, always trusting that he had (especially with how often he complained about wanting his painkillers), but this evening you’d been wrapped up with another patient so Dr. Rall had come in to give Mr. Kruger his medications instead.

Dr. Rall was the type to demand proof that they’d been swallowed.

And they hadn’t been.

You could see a deep purple bruise forming against Mr. Kruger’s cheek in the shape of a thumb. You didn’t need to ask to know that it was where Dr. Rall had grabbed him as he tried to force the pills down his throat. 

Mr. Kruger had bitten him in defiance, nearly chomping his thumb clean off. 

The blood splattered across the front of his shirt was proof enough of that. 

“He wouldn’t tell me what the green one was.” Mr. Kruger explained simply, with no emotion behind his tone to indicate anything about his mood.

“Oh.” You answer softly.

“So, what is it?” Mr. Kruger asks you, slowly meeting your eyes again after he’d spent the last few seconds avoiding your gaze.

Your chest suddenly felt tight as your palms became damp.

You normally avoided making eye contact with him. Making eye contact it-... it felt strange.

Confusing.

Because staring into his eyes sometimes felt like it brought you to a different plane of existence. Their deep blues and greens were so beautiful almost- almost out of place against the bags beneath them and his unshaven face.

It made you wonder what his eyes would look like on someone else or maybe on- on a different version of him. A happier version. A version that hadn’t been surrounded by war and pain and death. A version of him that existed somewhere-

…somewhere nice.

You wondered how his eyes would light up the rest of his face somewhere like that.

Mr. Kruger sighs at your lack of answer and pushes himself out of bed. He stumbles as he reaches for his crutch, but you’re immediately at his side, holding him up so he won't fall.

“Gotta change-” he mumbles as he tries to step towards the shelf on the other side of the room that housed a single change of clean clothes.

“I’ll help you.” You say.

“I don’t need your help.” He pushes you away.

“You can’t walk,” you tell him as you try to guide him back to the bed, “just sit down and I’ll-”

“I SAID I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!!”

You don’t want it to affect you. It shouldn’t affect you.

You’d been yelled at by plenty of patients. Doctors. Fellow nurses. Being screamed at was in your job description and it was something that happened to you every single day so it shouldn’t affect you, it shouldn’t but-

But you can feel heat form in the back of your eyes.

Your vision blurs.

His words rattle in your ear.

Mr. Kruger had always been so quiet. So wrapped up in his head that you couldn’t imagine him raising his voice. 

That’s why he was your favourite. Because he was. Mr. Kruger was your favourite and he had a habit of slipping away to spend time somewhere else, just like you did.

He was your favourite.

“Th- The green pills are a sedative.” You tell Mr. Kruger as you blink back your tears and hand him his crutch. You don’t pull away from him until you’re confident he’s stable enough to stand on his own. Then you take a step back. “We give them to the patients that become violent. I don’t know why Dr. Rall wants to start you on them.”

Mr. Kruger doesn’t say anything as he hobbles to the other side of the room. He grabs a shirt, a clean shirt, with no blood stains mucking up the front.

He leans his crutch against the wall as he pulls his old shirt off and tosses it to the floor.

He stumbles.

He catches himself on the wall.

He can’t lift his hand away to pull the shirt over his head without risking falling over again.

So, he grabs his crutch and staggers back to the bed where he sits down.

“I haven’t been violent.” He mutters.

“I know.”

“Then why are they drugging me?”

“I-... I don’t know.”

And you don’t. Truly you don’t. You were the nurse that tended to Mr. Kruger the most and you’d never indicated on your reports that he was anywhere close to even mildly uncooperative. He’d always taken his medications. Always changed when you asked him to, bathed when it was his day for that, asked softly to be escorted to the washroom, the courtyard, or just for a walk down the hall.

He was a model patient, really.

“...guess they’ve a got reason to now.” Mr. Kruger mumbles as he pulls his shirt over his head now that he’s seated and wouldn’t risk falling over.

“Yeah I-... I guess they do.” 

Mr. Kruger finishes getting changed. His arms fall to his sides once his new shirt is on. He’ll still need a bath though. There’s dried blood on his chest.

You brush that thought aside: “But I-... um…”

“What?”

“I could… I could not give them to you…”

Your eyes meet again and it’s the same as it always is- your heart hammers in your chest as his blue-green eyes, eyes that are so beautiful and don’t belong on such a depressed face, light up.

For an instant, it takes you somewhere else.

For an instant, everything is so warm.

“And why would you do that?” Mr. Kruger asks, still maintaining eye contact.

“Because I… I have no reason to believe that you need them.”

“Hm.” Mr. Kruger hums before he breaks away from your stare and looks back out the window, regaining the position he’d been in when you’d come to find him. “I’ll make sure to keep it that way.”

Then he’s gone again and you’re not sure where he’s drifted off to.

But, as he stares out at the horizon, you have a feeling it’s somewhere nice.

You have a feeling it’s somewhere warm.

You leave Mr. Kruger’s room and reach for the clipboard hanging in front of the door. 

It details his entire treatment plan. His daily vitals. When he gets his meals and when he’s given free time outside of his room.

And it lists his medications:

Morphine - checked off for body daily doses Penicillin - checked off for both daily doses Nutrilite  - checked off for both daily doses

And finally:

Zolpidem - newly added to Mr. Kruger’s chart and currently not checked off.

You pat your pocket and you can feel the cylindrical green pill against the fabric. You twirl it between your fingers and recall the way Mr. Kruger had stared out the window, blissfully unaware that you’d even entered the room.

He’d bitten Dr. Rall, but only because the doctor hadn’t answered his question.

Only because the doctor had become violent first.

You can’t blame him for it. You would have done the same. 

So, you pull your hand away from your pocket and grab the pencil tied to the clipboard in your hands.

Zolpidem - ✓

TAG LIST - [like this post to be added]

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[docholligay]

Hey, Doc. I was gifted an 8 inch cast iron skillet this (insert whatever holiday. I don't know. I hate this time of year too) and I was wondering if you had any advice on how to maintain it (cleaning, seasoning, etc.).

People make cast iron sound extremely hard to deal with, but I promise it very actually is not.

So, first things first, you'll have to figure out if it's preseasoned. A lot of them come preseasoned now, and while it isn't quite as good as a 50 year mirror finish or whatever, it's generally fine. This is an aspect where people absolutely let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

Lodge is, for my money, the cast iron most people in the US should be buying. It's easy to get, the price is very reasonable, and everything not enamel coated (and I hate enamel coating) is made in the US. If this is what you got, I know it to be preseasoned! I own a ton of it! I think fully 80% of my pans are cast iron, and Lodge.

So let's assume it's preseasoned. If it's not, come talk to me.

Cooking with it is actually the easiest way to maintain the seasoning. So every time you cook with butter or oil or spray margarine, or whatever, you're adding to the layer of seasoning. It's great!

To preserve it, all you need to do is be lazier.

DO NOT soak it, or leave water in it. This can make your cast iron rust. If something is sticking, put a little bit of water in it, put it back on the stove, and heat it up a little bit until it releases.

Don't use really strong abrasive cleaners or steel wool or anything like that.

After you clean it, dry it and, using a paper towel, rub the inside of it with a very very very light layer of canola or vegetable oil. Let dry overnight.

That is it. it's not hard. I would wait until you have a really good layer of seasoning to long-stew anything acidic like tomatoes, but honestly that why I have the non-cast iron pan I do.

ENJOY IN GOOD HEALTH. Cast iron takes forever to get hot, but it holds heat so well and is wonderful for so many applications.

[mediocreanomaly]

Vashwood X Reader Soulmate Au Pt. 2

Authors Note: Hello hello! I’m so glad everyone liked pt.1 so much! On my hands and knees thanking you guys fr. This part is focusing on reader and what your life has been like, because you yes you are the real star of the show 

 Other Parts Here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 3 (Alt. End)

•You were cursed.

•At least, that’s what every one always said and to be honest sometimes it was hard not to agree

•You aren’t sure you could put your finger on when exactly you had first learned about soulmates. It was one of those things people just knew about. In fact by the time people could first speak it seemed like their words were already filled with fantasies of meeting their “destined other half”, the one person who could understand your pain in both a metaphorical and literal sense

•Not that you weren’t guilty of the same daydreams once upon a time. In fact if you thought real hard about it you could remember on first day of school you had joined in on a popular children's game where you’d sit in a circle while taking turns poking and pinching each other to see if anyone else in the room felt it.

•Almost 98% of the time nothing happened but when you’re that young you don’t really stop to consider how vast the world is, and you certainly don’t stop to think about the fact that your cosmically destined other is most likely not at the same preschool as you

•Your parents were one of the lucky ones, they had grown up in the same town and found out they were soulmates when, on your dads seventh birthday, he burned his lips blowing out the candles. When your mother had realized he had burnt both of them she had scolded him only interrupted when he ask her to marry him (when they were older of course) and the rest was history

•So it was ironic then, that your seventh birthday party was the day your soulmate had begun to drag your life down hill

•You could remember it as vividly as the day it happened. Your class had been invited to a small party at your house and your mother had spent a good portion of the day slaving over the stove to make your favorite cake. When the adults had called the kids in for gifts and cake you had eagerly come to sit down while your father lit the candles

•The birthday song had just come to and end and your mother has happily whispered “Make a wish y/n!” when you felt a sharp pain pierce through your abdomen 

•You were shot. Despite being young you were sure of it. Someone had shot you in the side and your small hands had desperately clung to your side as you sobbed scared that you were dying

•The party had ended early as your parents tried to console you after giving you a once over to make sure it wasn’t a medical condition they realized it must be your soulmate. There was nothing they could do but hold you until you cried yourself to sleep. In fact...you never did get to make that wish

•After that you were sure your soulmate was trying to kill you. It never seemed to go away. Day in and day out, cuts, gashes, and burns phantom pained their way through your body. Your parents had to pull you out of school since you disrupted class too much due to your random yelps, whimpers and sobs as your weakly cradled whatever part of your body your soulmate had managed to injure for the day

•It was around then the gossip on who your soulmate could possibly be began to spread. Rumors ranging from “a kid bounty hunter” all the way down to unmentionable ideas were whispered as you walked through town.

•There were days you didn’t leave the house, laying curled up as you tried to breath through whatever pain was currently wracking through your body. It was then you started to hate your soulmate

•How could they be so careless? The most you had ever done to hurt them was when you stubbed your toe when you were six. Why you? Why did you get the soulmate who seemed hell bent on destroying themselves?

•Then a couple years later the rest of the pain began. Blinding, gut wrecking, agonizing pain. 

•You couldn’t even get out of your bed most the time, half delirious with the feelings of being ripped apart piece by piece and then put back together again. Your parents had to take care of you most the time, trying to get you to eat in between screaming fits, and helping you out of bed when your body was too weak to walk

•Your parents hated your soulmate, whoever they were. They hated them for taking away their child, for dragging you into their pain. It began to be the cause of tension in the family, they didn’t know what to do, seeing your body writhe in pain every day, having to listen to you scream yourself horse every night, it became to much for your father. So he left.

•No one knows where he went, all he left was a note apologizing, but he couldn’t keep facing you in this state. So your care fell onto your mother. Your mother who had began praying that your soulmate would die. Begging god to let you have relief and to strike your soulmate out of the world so long as you would have peace

 •When that didn’t work...she began to pray that you would die so that’d you’d finally be put out of your misery.

•Surprisingly the pain eventually lessens...after awhile it goes back to the occasional feeling of being stabbed or shot, but at this point you’ll take anything that isn’t your entire body feeling like it’s on fire.  

•After going through that your perspective actually changes a little bit. Now don’t get it twisted you aren’t thrilled about the continued pain your life is littered with but you’d be surprised how much time you have to think when your immobilized in bed. There's no way your soulmate wants to be shot, just as much as you don’t want to feel being shot

•Whatever's happening, whatever awful life they have that causes them this pain...the two of you are in it together, like it or not. So you have a new philosophy. Your soulmate is experiencing enough pain for the two of you, why add more? 

•It’s with this mindset you actually begin to train as a medical professional. You take care of yourself, not wanting your soulmate to be in anymore pain than they already are and you want to help others do the same. Maybe you can’t stop your soul mate from hurting but you can stop others from hurting, and for every one person helped there’s a thankful soulmate somewhere out there too right?

•You’re a pretty well respected person around the town. Not many people would do what you do after what you’ve been through, you’re some what of a local legend. Although you are known for giving people a good scolding when they end up in front of you due to negligence 

“Are you stupid? You broke your leg because you were dared to jump off the roof? Was your soulmate dared to jump off the roof? No? Didn’t think so, and yet they payed for your idiocy too-” “Can I please leave now?” “no I’m not done yet, and another thing-”

•You’ve made a good life for yourself despite everything and you honestly don’t expect to ever meet your soulmate, it’s actually pretty rare to ever find them anyways. Pain isn’t the best way to track people and you aren’t sure how’d you even react to finding the person who’s made your life a living nightmare so you’re content with running a small clinic out of your house. In fact you aren’t even curious about them any more...and then you feel a pinch on your arm

•and then another...and another and another and- you get the picture. you’re honestly a bit baffled. Were they trying to get your attention? If so why now? Also this pinching was really getting on your nerves. So exasperated you reach up and pinch your shoulder back, hoping that will get them to quit whatever their doing and luckily it does

•...For five minutes. The pinching comes back but in a more concentrated area now and at this point you’re almost sure they must be doing it to get on your nerves. They drag you through the gutter for your entire life then have the audacity to get a kick out of annoying you? You reach up and harshly pinch your shoulder and to your relief...everything stops

•It’s a bit weird. After that day your life is fairly painless. It’s almost like they hadn’t realized someone else was feeling their pain until you pinched them back but for whatever reason they seem to be a lot more carful with your shared feelings. In fact you were finally able to pretty much forget you even had a soulmate! 

•Or you almost did until...

You sigh as you clean up for the night. It’s been a long day, one of the towns children had gotten a toy stuck up their nose and two of the local boys had ridden makeshift sleds down the largest sand hill in town which had resulted in a couple broken bones and bruised egos. You shake your head, laughing a bit to yourself as you remember their guilty bowed heads as you scolded them for doing something stupid. You softly hum as you sweep, ready to finish and turn in for the night when you hear the door open. 

You mentally curse yourself for forgetting to lock the door and look up to see the two oddest men you’ve ever seen in your life. The first one is tall, his spiked blonde hair reminding you vaguely of the hay you’d seen farmers feed Thomas’s. He was staring at you all wide eyed behind a pair of tinted yellow glasses and you commended him for his interesting choice of fashion, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen anyone wear such a brightly colored red coat in the heat of Gunsmoke. You begrudging shift your eyes to the man standing next to him, he’s a bit shorter than his friend but much less expressive, resting bitchface that's only amplified by big dark shades that hide his eyes. His dark clothing would make you say he blended in better than the blonde if it weren’t for the large gaudy cross he was currently carrying on his back. Great. They were freaks.  

“Uh...I’m sorry we’re actually closed unless it’s a medical emergency, and also you can’t smoke in here” You try, grimacing as you look at the dark haired man who lets smoke curl into the air of your precious clinic.

 “Are you y/n?” the blondie ask quickly ignoring your statement all together, “Yes? I’m sorry do I know you?” he shakes his head but continues “The bartender told us all about you, how you used to get choric pains because of your soulmate and-” You mentally groan listening to the man, who vaguely reminded you of a golden retriever, babble on about you. You weren’t 100% sure where he was going with this but you did have the occasional person interested in your story, although usually not to this extent. You make a note to chew out Gary for running his mouth to strangers about you again.

 “-now we’ve been to a lot of towns and never heard of anything like that so when we heard about you we thought-” “Look, it’s been a pleasure meeting you but I’m unfortunately very busy but I’m sure Gary can tell you all the stories you want to know!” you interrupt pushing the two lightly towards to door while the blonde protest “H-hey wait! I’m trying to tell you-” “I’m really not interested! thank you anyways though!” you say still trying to shoo them out and you’re almost successful when the man who’s yet to say anything drops the large cross onto his partners toe. 

Both of you yelp and then you freeze, head snapping up to look at the man currently clutching his foot, the same foot that you can feel pulsing with pain. There’s no way in hell. Your worries are only amplified when the dark haired man holds up his hands like his about to do a magic trick, then he reaches in his pocket for a lighter and holds it up to his finger only for you to hiss and pull your own hand to your chest when you feel it burn. There’s no way in hell.

 “Nick you could’ve done it nicer!” the blonde pouts still rubbing his foot, Nick shrugs and finally stubs out his cigarette against the door frame. “They weren’t listening to you” he turns his head to peer at you over his sunglasses, dark eyes finally on display, “but you’re listening now aren’t you sweetheart? So-” he says as he claps his hands together “Let’s try this again.”

[xbruised-peachx]

could i get some soft gromsko hcs 🥺 sorry i keep seeing ones where hes a misogynist (untagged so it triggers me from a past relationship) and i much prefer your interpretation where he's caring but still confident

Aww 🫂🫂🫂 I'm sorry Anon, I'm actually in the same boat as you, my bad relationship ended exactly a year ago so yeah.

Everyone's allowed to have their own interpretation and all that fun stuff but I absolutely agree, I can't see him like that. Talking to my Polish friends about it, it's just not his generation and it's a very tired trope of "misogynistic, loud slavic man" they are not too happy seeing. For me, it's almost a bit of an American trope that is "loud and boisterous=asshole", which I dislike as he has multiple lines IN GAME that shows him as caring and you know... nice (ex. Czasami trzeba się poświęcić dla innych (sometimes you must sacrifice yourself for others), You're not dying yet!, Trzymać się (hold on) the surgeon is coming, I was proud to fight with you!, I am your wingman, etc). Not to mention you know... HE'S A MEDIC or at the very least "extensive medical training" as stated in his bio.

So yeah, I'll happily give you some nice, loud and proudly in love Gromsko headcanons, Anon💚

Tags: fem!reader, pure tooth rotting fluff, alcohol mention for the last point

Gromsko always has his arm around you in public. He wants the world to know how lucky he is to have you. He still has some slight guilt in his head about showing PDA from getting glares from various babcias back home, but he can't help it when he sees you, beautiful eyes looking back at him with such adoration. He has to show it back somehow.

Often, he'll just settle for hand holding (before marriage? Scandalous) as you guys walk around. He'll watch you as you interact with employees, you asking for help as his thumb runs over your knuckles, running along the back of your hand. Even if you get nervous talking to employees, his touch reminds you he's right there if you need him, and that he's more than willing to help if needed.

You getting disrespected sets him off in a whole new way. Instantly, he'll step in front, asserting his height advantage he often has, looking down at them with contempt that they would even dare speak to you like that. "Want to repeat that?" His voice coming out as low and threatening, booming around the room. When they inevitably leave you both alone, his attention goes right back to you, gently cupping your face as you look up to him as he asks if you're okay. You smile and nod, telling him a soft thank you. You can practically see his heart melt as he looks back, eyes softening and a gentle smile on his face, taking your hand and continuing like nothing happened.

Though he learned some cooking from his grandma, he has fond memories of watching Robert Makłowicz with his mom during weekends, making the recipes for dinner. When he found out Makłowicz has a YouTube channel, the two of you went on a deep dive for hours, cuddling on the couch and him translating for you when he started laughing or just said something nice, and thought it'd be nice to share. He also showed a few older clips, particularly this one of him and a dog and now the two of you have the little inside joke going "EHEHEHEHE" at small, cute things.

He often cooks for you, even wanting to take care of you like that as well. He doesn't mind the help but he takes quite a bit of pride in his cooking. He loves when you come up behind and just hug him while he's at the stove. For him, that plus you smiling as you eat a meal from him is the greatest reward.

Every injury is an emergency to him, often taking huge precautions even for little things. The house is never out of band-aids or antibiotic ointment. Even stubbing your toe will have him running out of whatever room he's in, stopping what he's doing to make sure you're okay.

He is the best to have around during the time of the month. He'll make some good iron rich foods, but still get you whatever snacks you want. He may want to take care of you physically but he knows part of health is mental too, and that he can't force something on you when you are craving something else. He makes sure heating pads are ready along with a nice comfortable spot in bed. He isn't overbearing though, as he knows sometimes you just need space. He knows that when you need him, you'll let him know. Often you have fallen asleep, head in his lap with a heated stuffed animal hugged to your chest. He'll carry you to the much more comfortable bed with ease, watching you at peace with a smile on his own face as he'd go back, cleaning up any snack wrappers in the living room, turning off any electric heating pads that might have been left on. He may join you for a nap eventually, but he'll leave you at peace for now.

Being used to waking up for the military, he wakes up before you, and he really doesn't mind. The warm glow of the sun rising as your lips are parted, gently breathing. His arm around you, he can feel the gentle rise and fall, your heart beat calm against him. He could look at you like this for hours, going back in forth in his head questioning how he got so lucky but also not wanting to question it, instead to just enjoy this quiet morning. Birds chirping, he wants to get up and make some coffee for you but he doesn't want to leave you in this moment... not now or ever.

He loves animals... all of them. Often, if he sees a random animal in the street, he'll call out to it instinctively in Polish, often leaving a poor hedgehog stunned in the streets, unsure what to do about this giant heading towards them. He loves going to the shelter with you, seeing big dogs go from barking to wagging their tail, wanting to get out to play, and going to cat rooms to sit for a while, playing with all the cats, young and old. Old cats flock to him like no other and he always imitates their crispy meows. Seeing him hold a kitten that easy fits in his hands, curling up into a ball as he holds it against his broad chest, gently petting its head with two of his fingers... it warms your soul.

He is a very affectionate drunk. He'll be stumbling down the streets, goofy grin on his face as he hugged on you for balance. If any even breathes in your direction, positive or negative, he'll be calling out to them, "HEJ! To moja dziewczyna... GO!" (Hey, that's my girlfriend) You often end up apologizing to whoever it is, his slurred speech being the answer for why. When you get home he'll often just keep repeating how beautiful you are while snuggled in your chest for once. Looking up at you, you see that look of disbelief in his eyes, but quickly returning to just bliss as he remembers you belong to each other. Snoring like a bear buried deep, he knows absolute comfort knowing you'll be there for each other for the inevitable hangover the next morning.

[keeping-writing-frosty]

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

Chapter One

Chapter Two - Once Upon A Cat

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

Startled Cara out of her dozing daze, she existed in that state between full-on slumber and being aware of everything around her. A sound much like deflating bellows, a huff and a sigh, escaped the girl as she got up and padded over to the window for a quick peek behind the curtain. There stood in his corduroy slacks and a white undershirt, stained with only what Cara could guess at, Mr. Jakub Kaczmarek. He peered at her with his bright blue eyes, which forced her to give a small wave.

She opened the door and cocked a hand on her hip. “Hey, Mr. Kaczmarek. How are you doing?”

“Ah, little Cora. Hello to you,” he uttered in his thick Polish accent. “Are ya busy, little one? I just need to borrow ya for a few moments. Well, more precisely your balancing ability.”

“It’s Cara.” Cara scrunched her nose, regarding the man for a moment. “For what?”

“I need ya help to get my little Mruczek down from the rafters,”

“Um, what’s Mruczek?” Cara questioned the man, head tilted to the side.

“Ah, Mruczek is my star kotek,” as he spoke, his broad chest puffed up with pride. “He will be the star of the show. Has that je ne sais quoi, unlike his brothers and sisters.”

“Oh, that’s right! You are training your cats for a show or an act, right?” Cara’s face lit up with such a brightness its radiance could challenge the sun at its zenith.

Yet today the sun wouldn’t show its face as rain pelted the wooden awning above both of them in a somewhat melodic rhythm. That it had been raining the past few days, mother had lessened the restrictions on Cara going outside. Even if she wasn’t allowed past the porch. Since Mr. Kaczmarek lived upstairs, she figured it would be okay to go with him.

“I’ll never say no to a kitty in need,” Cara expressed, rocking back on her heels.

The porch was wrapped around the house halfway, and its construction was quite newer, as it led to an opened metal gate that led up some black-painted metal stairs, of which the rain had slicked just to make each step upwards a tiny, concerning adventure. Through unwavering confidence, Cara climbed up the stairs where Mr. Kaczmarek used some strength to push open the wooden door which scraped along the floor.

Before Cara could even step inside, her nose picked up on one of the more tantalizing aromas she had ever smelled. It seemed to permeate the entire room; an acrid, tangy scent of whatever boiled in the wide pot on the antique cast-iron stove top, which sat center in the spacious attic. Beside this pot sat a frying pan, still dirty from its recent usage, and a metal bowl filled with fried golden-brown crescent moon-shaped dumplings packed full of whatever was inside. Cara’s stomach growled, and she temporarily forgot why she was there.

“Pierogies, Cora,” he grunted with the entirety of his chest, which caused the girl to have a little start. “Have at ‘em! I always make far too many. Cheese, potatoes, onions, just like my babunia used to make. Homemade sauerkraut in the pot, as well. Once ya get my little Mruczek, I’ll give ya as much as you want!”

“It’s Cara.”

Despite those little pockets of dough that looked so good. From their crusty edges cooked to a perfect golden, delicious, to the plump filling that somehow didn’t ooze out, yet one could smell regardless of its doughy prison. Cara had a job to do first.

Where in the far corner, on a rafter stained a dark brown, sat a black-and-white tuxedo cat whose blue-green eyes stared daggers at Cara. Situated over a cracked and hastily mended clawfoot bathtub, with an old shower curtain frayed at the edges and threadbare, pushed all the way to the side. All the while seven other cats had gathered around the strange, new girl, of which Mr. Kaczmarek, with the politeness of a trained diplomat, introduced each one as: Puszek, Kociurwa, Philemon, Kicia, Hank, and Gruby, which was a fat gray-blue cat that didn’t seem to have a single care, or brain cell, in the world.

“Besides my pride and joy. You got Kicia who can put on a performance when needed. The rest are just backup acts, I say.” An almost haughty sneer crossed his face while he gazed at the felines. “They won’t hurt ya none. Maybe a brief hiss. Perhaps an arched back. Philemon is a bit of a wee coward, so don’t mind her. Now what I want you to do is climb up this here ladder and grab Mruczek. I can’t do much on the ladder anymore in my physical state,” Mr. Kaczmarek announced, clapping his hands together.

Just under the obstinate cat was a well-used and splinter-filled wooden ladder propped up against the wall. So, fortified with the thought of a delicious, gooey dumpling in her stomach, she climbed up a step on the ladder. Mruczek took a half step backwards and resettled herself. Then Cara took another step up and another, until she teetered-tottered on the second to the highest rung. Despite having short arms, legs, and just in general even for her age, Cora reached as far as she could. All the while the cat scooted as far back as possible. Which left her just out of reach.

Without a hiss, spit, or growl, Mruczek sat there and watched Cara, if it could be bemused it would, but instead it sat rather indifferently. Though it might be judgmental, no one could tell. That’s when Cara reached out again, a brief fear fluttered in the back of her mind. That’s when, as quick as a flash, an event flashed before her mind’s eye. Of her falling headfirst into the tub, cat latched onto her with all its claws in fear, and a fall that ended up with her crumbled up like a balled-up napkin. So when it didn’t happen, Cara thanked what gods were out there.

When she reached up with both hands, legs stiffened as Cara tried to keep her balance, took hold of Mruczek, who mewed in response. Her fur felt quite soft and more fluffier than expected. Nails like little needles, poked pinpricks onto her right arm, which forced her face to scrunch up. Yet before Cara lost her balance, the cat jumped off and bounced away as Mr. Kaczmarek broke down in tears and rapidly spoken Polish.

An indignant look crossed the cat’s face, who pried itself from the man’s affectionate embrace before she took off toward a tiny bed off across the attic in a darkened corner where it spent the next several minutes cleaning her fur.

“Cora!” He came up to Cara with a sweeping, grandiose movement of his arms.

“It’s Cara,” she groaned as Mr. Kaczmarek pulled her into a tight hug.

“Thank you very much, Cara! I know it seems like such a wee thing, but it is the small things that mean, and matter, the most.”

There was something about the man that made him grandiose and dramatic. That when he begged Cara to sit at the wooden table, barely big enough to fit a plate upon it. When he placed a bowl filled with dumplings on top of a small helping of sauerkraut. Cara found herself in doughy, delicious heaven.

As she ate her impromptu lunch, Mr. Kaczmarek regaled her with stories from the old country. Legends and myths, but what Cara enjoyed the most were the simple stories. From the farm his family used to have, how his father taught him to hunt, fish, tend to the crops, while his grandmother taught him the delicate art of flowers and shrubbery, as well as the proper cookery of his native land.

Cara finished, her belly full and nearly swollen, she thanked the man and gave a wave to the uncaring cats. The rain had picked up, not lessened as expected, and on the stairs gave her a clear view of the neighbors with Rowan on her porch, face buried into a book. Her orange hair pulled back into a curly ponytail. Until she heard mother’s voice, and Cara rushed down the stairs regardless of how sketchy they were.

With her chores done, Cara looked outside where the rain had finally stopped. The sun had peeked its rays through the darkened clouds and already headed toward the horizon. Still, it cast its rays across the land as it did so, creating long finger-like shadows across the wet landscape. A gentle breeze blew into the open window and carried with it the exquisite fragrance of flowers, grass, and trees that mingled in such a natural harmony with the salty tang of the ocean.

. Cara moved to her usual perch on the front porch railings, her legs dangled off swaying back and forth as she watched a group of kids playing on that narrow back road the edged the property. They seemed to be playing a game of tag, moving out of the way as the random car and pick-up truck rumbled down the way.

As if on some kind of cue, Rowan stepped out of her home with an old, worn soccer ball tucker under her arm. She ignored the world around her and propelled the ball into the crisp late afternoon air, setting off a symphony of rhythmic thuds and soft bounces. The tall girl lost in her own skillful routine as Cara watched in both awe and admiration as the ball bounced against her knees, feet, and chest, each and every touch a testament to her determination and unwavering focus.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Rowan spun and kicked the ball towards Cara. “You just going to watch, or do you want to join?” She questioned with a playful grin.

With only a few hours left in the day, Cara joined Rowan as the two played and giggled and talked. All the while Cara learned the basics of how to play soccer, dribbling and passing more than anything else. More important that that, she got to spend some more time with her new best friend, and that was how both girls felt. As they passed the ball back and forth, the talked about everything and all things, about life here on Mount Desert Island, and the weird stories and modern urban legends.

Cara ears perked up as Rowan’s words and stories weaved into her imagination. More precisely the brutal murder at an old antique store in Haven Bay intrigued her, even if it was more legend than fact. When Rowan, however, mentioned occult symbols painted in the victims’ blood that adorned every surface—the walls, ceiling, floors, all over the merchandise—something crawled up Cara’s spine and planted itself in her mind, there came a sense that this was closer to the truth than most would think.

“Goddamn,” Cara uttered as she passed the ball back to Rowan.

With a bit of natural flourish, Rowan kicked up the ball and caught it. “The killer was never found, ya know? The only thing known was it was a woman not from here. She could still be around. Which is just creepy.”

Mother called out from the porch time for Cara to come inside for dinner. Which before she left, Rowan pulled Cara into a tight hug and wished her friend a goodbye with a promise to message her later. Which Cara smiled in reply but said nothing else. Gave a little wave before she scampered off back home.

Even though the rain stopped, Cara peered through her bedroom window which showed the dark landscape through a sheen of water drops that clung to its surface. Through it, she watched the forest at the edge of the property that seemed to stretch on forever into an endless void of darkness. Unlike back home in Oregon, where so many lights would drown out true darkness. Now, for seemingly the first time, she could actually see the night.

A gentle rapping came from her bedroom door, followed by the creaking of the old hinges as it swung open. In the dim like, mother stood as a silhouette with the light behind her. Wrapped in a plush, dark blue bathrobe, it seemed so warm and invitingly soft. What danced across her face was a wide, toothy smile, with that small glimmer of warmth in her brown eyes. The closest Cara could ever recall getting a hug or a good word from her.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” Mother questioned with a wine class clutched between two fingers, half-filled with a rich, burgundy-colored wine.

“Yes, mom.”

Even when she tried, Mother still never sounded interested or cared. “Did you have a fun time playing soccer with your new friend? What’s her name?”

“Rowan.”

“Yeah, Rowan,” her tone seemed more disinterested than ever, “is she your age? She’s rather tall and athletic-looking. I don’t want you spending time with anyone too old.”

The young girl sighed and rolled her eyes before she turned to look at her mother. “She’s only a couple months older than I am. I did have lots of fun. She’s teaching me how to play soccer, and I just like spending time with her.”

“Well, good,” Mother’s half-smile seemed a bit more boozy than it did actually happy. “I’m happy you found a friend so quickly. Her mother’s kind of fucking weird, but Rowan, well, seems sweet. Since it is summer I’ll let you stay up an extra hour tonight, okay? Have a goodnight, love you.”

“Love you too, mom. Thank you.”

Once mother was gone, Cara stood up and closed the door. Turned off the overhead light with only the tiny My Little Pony lamp she has had since before she could remember lighting the room. Climbing under the cozy quilt that her great-grandmother made back when mother was born. Despite never meeting her, the quilt had a certain quality about it. From when Cara was a babe and inherited, nothing else had, or could have, brought more comfort to her. In her hands, The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley, a book Rowan was quick to offer her and one that Cara adored from the opening passage.

Whenever she found her nose buried deep in a book, time seemed to fly by at an accelerated rate. That, when her father came around to remind her of the set bedtime, Cara peered over the top of her book to notice that it had long since passed her bedtime. Yet she hopped out of bed to give the tall man a tight hug and wished him a goodnight. Where he closed the door behind, and she finally turned off the bedside lamp.

As the room was cloaked in a rather comforting darkness, only punctuated by the ethereal moonlight which cast its rays through the curtains. Its silvery glow danced upon her antique store dresser, that had travelled with the family as Cara could never give it up. Then flickered to and fro across her desk and laptop, rarely used. The ambiance had a soothing quality to it.

Despite Cara not being tired, it seemed her mind held some type of hatred for sleep and fought against it at every turn. At least tonight, it seemed as much. From her viewpoint on the bed, Cara could see the dark forest through the window, it stretched on and on. Yet amidst the darkness, and through the wet, rustling leaves, a soft blue light emitted through the trees. It cast a gentle glow, an aura that moved back and forth, up and down. Cara found herself mesmerized, even though she thought her eyes played tricks on her. No matter how many times she blinked and rubbed them, nothing changed. Then it vanished as quickly as it came.

Weird she pondered to herself.

Cara kept her wide eyes on the tree line for many moments longer, just hoping to catch another glimpse of the light again. But it never came back. That was until a shadow seemed to scurry across the floor in the form of a little mouse. It ran figure-eights on the wooden floor, almost in a playful manner as it zipped from here to there. Then it ran towards, and somehow through, her bedroom door.

Having to summon all her sneaky-sneak skills and quietly slipped out of bed. With cat-like grace and dexterity, Cara moved as silently as she could and tiptoed towards the door; her steps avoided squeaking floorboards. Knowing how loud her door was, she stilled herself as the door broke the silence with a loud creyeak! That seemed much louder than ever before.

Long shadows stretched across the hallway as the only source of light came from a dim nightlight in the bathroom whose door stood ajar. Which partially hid the shadowy shape just a few steps away at the top of the staircase, fully in defiance of any type of logic. Though it looked like a mouse, it sounded like one as well, Cara had never before seen through a mouse. Then it seemed to morph before her eyes, to a different form, almost a hideous one before it changed back to a mouse in the blink of an eye. Before it darted down the steps in a remarkable blur.

At once, she followed behind it, wincing when the floors would protest with a chorus of tiny squeaks and loud groans. Each step she took echoed through the old house, but she didn’t care right now. The living room was dimly-lit, and it seemed that shadows moved ever so slightly yet nothing moved at all. Other than that weird mouse shape.

She strained her ears, listening to hear any of the telltale signs that her parents were fast asleep. Father’s deep snoring, a thunderous symphony one could here from anywhere in the house, that acted as the background music that somehow comforted her. While her mother would mumble in her sleep, unknown conversations, emboldening Cara to finish her trek downwards.

Once at the bottom landing, the shadow-shape sat in front of that ancient wooden door, nestled beneath the stairs. It cleaned its snout in a pantomime of a mouse until it spotted Cara with eyes of uncommon intelligence. Then it disappeared through the hatch. Unlike moving day, this time the door slowly with a barely audible creaking hiss, opened just large enough for her to squeeze herself through.

Kneeling down on the cold floor, her hand quivered as she cautiously grasped the door handle. Breath caught in her throat, there came a faint melody from within the depths of the darkness. The kind of song from an antique music box, so much like the one her grandmother had on top of the mantle. Even the song sounded the same, but it was just a little different.

Then this mouse-shaped thing slowly transformed into that same grotesque, hideous shape which changed into a vague-outline of her grandmother’s face. Who watched Cara so many times as her parents were away working, it was still the same caring, loving face.

“Nana?” Cara choked back tears as she reached out. Then she stopped, something deep in the pit of her stomach yelled at her, Cara pulled back her hand just as quickly as she started.

“Cara Amelia Quin! What in the hell are you doing out of bed down here?” Her mother’s voice cut through the house which forced Cara back and the door shut heavily in front of her. “I don’t know how you opened that damn door.”

With a sharp slap to the back of Cara’s head, it caused her to rub the back of her head. Whining as she scampered back upstairs and into her room as mother cursed and spit. Cara clambered back under the quilt and sheets, where mother stomped back upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. Cara didn’t get a lot of sleep that night.

*****

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