#she did not turn into the god of fear and hunger | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drgnflyteabox · 4 months ago

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red ochre [2]

series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> orpiment

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken w.c: 3.9k tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)

You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.

Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.

When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.

Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.

It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-

"Did she just-"

"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.

He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.

You scream.

It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.

Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.

Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.

"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."

Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.

"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."

A wink.

"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."

There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.

"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"

Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.

You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.

You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.

"Eat slowly," is all he says.

It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.

Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.

Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.

"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."

"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."

You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!

He's too strong.

The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.

Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.

You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.

"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"

You shake your head.

"That's what I thought."

Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.

You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.

"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.

You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.

"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.

His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.

"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"

Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."

He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.

"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.

Simon doesn't let you panic for long.

"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."

There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.

"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.

"No," he says simply.

For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.

Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.

"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."

Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.

"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.

"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."

Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.

"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."

You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.

Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.

Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.

Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.

You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.

He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.

"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.

"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.

Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.

"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.

"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."

The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.

"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.

The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.

"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."

"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.

You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.

Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.

"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"

After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.

Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.

"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."

His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.

"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."

Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.

The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.

"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.

"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.

They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.

Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.

You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?

The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.

It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.

"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.

They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."

You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.

Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.

"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.

"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.

Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.

People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.

The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.

It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.

"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"

Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.

"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.

By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.

The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.

It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.

Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.

The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.

These are the fledglings?

You're in a wild, barbaric place.

When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.

No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.

Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.

"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.

"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.

Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.

"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."

Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.

Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.

Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.

Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.

Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.

"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"

Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.

"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."

A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.

Wife?

"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."

"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?

"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."

"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.

"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"

"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."

"When's that, then?" Price asks.

"Before next summer."

The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.

The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.

"Too tired?" Johnny asks.

You run.

Or try to, as fast as you can.

It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.

Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.

It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.

"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.

"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.

"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.

"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."

The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.

"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.

The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.

"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."

"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."

"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."

Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.

"Get in bed."

Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.

"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"

"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."

God help you, you're so tired you do.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish #soap cod #goap x reader #soap x ghost #drgnfly writes #cw dubcon #tw dubcon #honestly feels filler-y but #feels good to get it out #2am posting #hopefully not everyone is asleep ahaaaahaa #red ochre

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spencerrsmopbucket · 1 month ago

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Tides of Venom | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Summary: During the Tribute Parade of the 3rd Quarter Quell, Finnick meets an infamous female tribute from District Seven. She's just as interesting as everyone says.

The people of Panem knew your name as well as, or maybe better than, they knew their own. You were Y/n L/n, or better yet, The Snake of Seven. The victor who had turned the 67th Hunger Games into a masterclass of strategy and survival. At sixteen, you were reaped from the sawdust-strewn streets of District Seven—a girl who looked too small, too quiet, too fragile and too beautiful to survive the bloodbath. But you had fooled them all.

You didn't survive by brute force, God no. You didn't have the size for it. You survived by being smarter, colder, and crueler when it mattered. You waited, watching from the shadows, letting the other tributes tear each other apart. When you struck, it was precise, calculated, and lethal. You weren’t just a fighter; you were a predator. You turned the arena into your hunting ground, weaving snares from vines and luring enemies into deadly traps. When you got them captured, like a rabbit in a trap on the snow covered ground, you quickly and efficiently did away with them.

By the time you’d reached the finish line of success, the area was soaked in blood — close to none of it yours. You had outlasted them all, and not just through skill, but by ensuring that every single thing you did was deliberate. Every alliance you made was temporary manipulation, every smile a well-placed mask. When the final cannon fired, it wasn’t just because you had survived. You had conquered.

The Capitol adored you, of course. They polished your image until you gleamed like the blade that had won you the crown. They said your name with awe and fear: The Snake of Seven. To them, you were the perfect mix of beauty and terror, a creature that captivated even as it threatened. Of course, your biggest fan was President Snow. But for all the Capitol’s praises, you knew the truth. The arena hadn’t just taken your innocence; it had carved out pieces of your soul and left them to rot in the jungle where you’d won. The nightmares came often, visions of the traps you’d set, the image of you slitting a throat, the screams that followed, and the sickening silence afterward.

Even still, you played the role you’d been given. It was that or die. It was that or lose your family (an ultimatum given by Snow.) The Capitol needed you to smile in your interviews, to look stunning in gowns designed to look like snake skin, to sip champagne with Snow’s favorites. You did it without flinching. You’d learned through the experiences of others before you that defiance came with a life ruining price. And so, with snake-like venom aimed inward at yourself, you were poisoned until only steel remained.

The 3rd Quarter Quell was nothing like any previous Hunger Games. It was a reminder of the Capitol's absolute power, and this year, they chose to mark it with a brutal twist: the victors, those who had already been crowned, would now be thrown back into the arena. Every single one of them—a brutal celebration of their own suffering. And you, The Snake of Seven, were no exception. When you'd been Reaped, you stepped forward, ever confident, your e/c eyes the sole vision of determination, focus, and bloodthirst. But you were always so good at keeping people at arm's length, never letting them see how you truly felt.

You were devastated. You felt doomed — but the worst part? You'd always known you were from the start. This was just the confirmation.

Today was the Victor Parade.

The streets of the Capitol buzzed with an unsettling energy. The crowd, with its eager eyes and gleaming teeth, watched as the tribute chariots rolled down the grand avenue, a parade of former winners paraded as if they were just another form of entertainment. The Capitol was reveling in their cruelty, and you knew, deep down, that it was more than just the games this time. The Capitol wanted to break the victors, to make sure they knew they were never free, never truly safe. You had survived the Games once, but this time, survival would come at a greater cost. You were by far the most thrilling tribute to watch, solely because they knew you'd do anything to win.

Your district partner, a tall, athletic and somewhat shy Victor named Reid, stood beside you. He was a few years younger than you, but his respect for you was evident in every glance. He had a crush on you. It was easy to see in the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his voice caught when he spoke your name. But, much like everyone else in the Capitol, you weren’t here for love or affection. You were here to survive—and if you had to, you’d use Reid’s infatuation to your advantage. But, you’d never admit it aloud.

Reid was a good fighter, but he wasn’t built for the Games like you. His focus was too soft, too sentimental, which made him vulnerable. He wanted you to recognize him as a friend rather than just a district partner. Rather than just an ally that you'd eventually have to turn on. But you? You knew. Reid would have to be the first to go. You'd put him out of his suffering before any other Victor could get their hands on him. In a cruel sense, it was you being kind. If anyone else got him, his death would hurt much more.

Your outfit, designed by Capitol stylists, was as extravagant as it was deadly. You weren’t just a symbol of beauty; you were a living weapon, and your outfit reflected that. The stylists had draped you in a shimmering black gown that hugged your form, slithering down your body like the skin of a serpent. Silver, delicate scales shimmered along the bodice, almost seeming to ripple as you moved. A thin, sharp line of emerald green ran across your eyes, reflecting the coldness that had taken root deep inside you. Your hair was twisted into a sleek, tight braid that framed your sharp features, the tendrils of the braid curling at the ends like snake’s fangs. The design was meant to evoke fear. To show that beneath your beauty was a creature that could and would strike. The Capitol admired you, but they feared you too.

As the chariot lurched forward, your eyes scanned the crowd—thousands of faces staring back at you, each person either adoring or shocked. The screams, cheers, and jeers mixed into a cacophony that only heightened the tension in the air. It was a celebration of blood, and your life was the prize. But you didn’t need their approval. You didn’t need their affection. You were here to survive—nothing more, nothing less. You forced your cold eyes forward, staring at the person that continued to ruin your life, over and over again.

Snow.

He gazed down at you with a lukewarm smile, one to say, 'welcome back, Snake.' You simply glared back, fighting the snarl that threatened to develop on your lip.

As the chariot rolled forward, you could feel Reid’s nervous energy beside you. His hands gripped the edge of the chariot so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his broad shoulders stiff as though he were bracing for an attack. His unease was palpable, and while you could sympathize with it, you didn’t have time to coddle him. This wasn’t his first Games; he should know better than to show fear in front of the Capitol. Weakness was blood in the water, and the Capitol’s sharks would circle the moment they saw it. It would draw attention to the two of you, something you didn't need more than you already had.

“Relax,” you muttered, your voice low enough that only he could hear. Your eyes remained fixed on the glittering horizon, refusing to meet his. “You look like you’re about to jump out of the chariot.”

Reid’s head snapped toward you, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “I’m fine,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed him.

“Sure you are,” you replied dryly. “Just remember, they’re not cheering for you. They’re cheering for the show. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re the opening act.”

Your words cut sharper than intended, but it was necessary. Reid needed to toughen up, and fast. This was no place for soft hearts or shaky hands.

The chariot came to a halt in front of President Snow’s viewing platform, and the crowd’s roar reached a deafening crescendo. Snow himself stood like a vulture on his perch, his thin smile radiating smug satisfaction. His presence was suffocating, a reminder that every move you made was under his watchful eye. You held your head high, refusing to let him see the disgust simmering beneath your carefully constructed mask. If he wanted a performance, you would give him one.

You stared at the other Victors. You knew who they were, of course, since you'd been paraded around with them before. The most notable ones were the ones from the Career districts -- and District 12. You saw Cashmere and Gloss looking disgustingly gleeful. They were District 1 Careers, always loving the attention they were getting and the idea of getting to put up a fight. Brutus and Enobaria, District 2, were the same way.

Your eyes lingered on the Careers for a moment longer, taking in their smugness, their overconfidence. Cashmere’s sharp laughter cut through the murmur of conversation, a high, shrill sound that grated on your nerves. She and Gloss stood close together, their matching golden armor glinting under the Capitol’s harsh lights. Their every move screamed superiority, a reminder that they had been bred for this, groomed for the arena like thoroughbred horses. You didn’t doubt their skill, but you also didn’t fear them. They were predictable, and predictability was a weakness.

Your gaze swept past them to Brutus and Enobaria, whose confidence bordered on feral excitement. Brutus’s bulk made him look more like a battering ram than a man, and Enobaria’s predatory grin, with her infamous sharpened teeth, was a haunting sight. They thrived in the chaos, their bloodlust an edge that couldn’t be underestimated.

But it wasn’t just the Careers you had to worry about. Your eyes flicked to Beetee and Wiress, District 3’s champions. The Capitol often overlooked them, mistaking their quiet demeanor for weakness, but you knew better. Their minds were their greatest weapons, and they could turn the arena itself into a deathtrap.

Then, blurring out the other Districts, there was District 12.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark stood together, the Capitol’s golden pair, their unity a sharp contrast to the division around them. Katniss’s stormy eyes locked with yours for a fleeting moment, and you could see the fire smoldering behind them. She didn’t trust you—good. Trust was a luxury none of you could afford. Peeta, on the other hand, exuded a calm that was almost disarming. Almost.

And then there was Finnick.

He sat casually in his chariot, his trident resting at his side, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes roamed the area, sharp and calculating. His sea-green outfit, designed to evoke the beauty of District 4’s oceans, only served to heighten his allure. Beside him, Mags sat with quiet dignity, her frail form a stark contrast to his vibrant presence. Yet, there was strength in her weathered gaze—a reminder of the resilience that had carried her through her own Games decades ago. The Capitol adored Finnick, just as they adored you, but his charm was a weapon, honed and deadly, and Mags was his anchor, her mere presence a testament to the bond between them and the wisdom she carried into the arena.

His gaze caught yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. His lips curved into a faint smile—not the easy, flirtatious grin he reserved for the Capitol’s audience, but something quieter, more genuine. It was unsettling, that smile, because it felt like he saw through you, saw the armor you’d worked so hard to construct.

You broke the connection first, turning your attention back to Reid, who was fidgeting nervously at your side.

“Stop moving,” you muttered under your breath. “You’re drawing attention.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and apologetic.

You sighed, the weight of his unexpected inexperience pressing down on you. If he didn’t toughen up soon, he would make you look foolish too. He didn't act like a Victor. And the rest did.

Snow’s voice crackled over the speakers, his tone smooth and syrupy as he addressed the gathered victors. “What a spectacular display,” he said, his words dripping with false sincerity. “You are all reminders of the strength and resilience of Panem. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The room fell silent as the announcement ended, the weight of his words settling over you like a shroud.

Reid leaned closer, his voice barely audible. “What now?”

You glanced at him, your expression hardening. “Now?” you said, your voice cold. “Now we wait. And when the time comes, we fight.”

Finnick’s laughter rang out suddenly, drawing your attention. He was talking to another Victor, his posture relaxed, but his eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment. There was something in his gaze—challenge, curiosity, maybe even understanding.

You turned away, refusing to engage. Whatever Finnick Odair was playing at, you had no intention of getting caught in his game.

As the outro anthem of Panem played, you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Your gaze flickered to the chariot beside yours, where Finnick Odair stood, resplendent in a sea-green ensemble that glittered like sunlight on the ocean. His golden hair caught the Capitol lights, making him look every bit the god they believed him to be. But his expression wasn’t one of triumph—it was of quiet defiance, a subtle rebellion that only those who knew the arena could recognize.

When the anthem ended, the victors were led to the holding area behind the parade route. The Capitol’s cheers faded into a low hum as you stepped off the chariot, your gown shimmering with each calculated movement. Reid stayed close to you, his presence a reminder of the responsibility you didn’t ask for but couldn’t ignore. Capitol stylists swarmed you both, fussing over stray folds and imagined imperfections. You barely acknowledged them, your focus already narrowing on the other tributes gathering nearby.

"Reid," you muttered under your breath, your tone sharp but quiet enough to keep Capitol ears from catching it. "Stand tall, and stop looking like you're about to bolt."

He straightened, though his hands still twitched at his sides. You suppressed a sigh.

Before you could step further into the mingling chaos of tributes and Capitol elites, a voice laced with sugar-coated steel sliced through the noise.

“Well, if it isn’t the darling of District 7. You’re just as intimidating as they say.”

You turned to see Cashmere gliding toward you, her golden locks framing her face like a halo, though the icy gleam in her eyes was anything but angelic. Her gown shimmered like molten gold, every inch of her radiating Capitol-perfect elegance. But there was no mistaking the predator behind the polished façade.

“Cashmere,” you greeted, keeping your tone neutral, even bored. “You flatter me.”

“Oh, it’s not flattery,” she replied, her smile sharp enough to cut. “It’s admiration. You play your part so well. Cold, dangerous, untouchable—it’s a wonder the Capitol isn’t already throwing parades in your honor.”

Reid shifted uncomfortably beside you, his unease a palpable presence. Cashmere’s gaze flicked to him briefly, her smirk widening as if she found his nervousness amusing.

“Who’s your little shadow?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. “Does he speak, or is he just here to look pretty?”

Reid’s jaw clenched, but before he could stammer a response, you stepped in.

“He’s my district partner,” you said coolly. “Focus on yours.”

Cashmere arched an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the tension. “Protective, are we? How sweet. Though I can’t imagine there’s much point. If he’s anything like my dear Gloss’s partners, he won’t last long.”

You took a deliberate step closer, your gaze locking with hers, sharp and unyielding. “And yet, here you are, wasting your time on him—and me. Be careful.”

Her smile faltered for the briefest moment, the crack in her composure almost imperceptible. But then she laughed, a light, airy sound that somehow felt more menacing than genuine.

“Always the sharp tongue,” she said, tilting her head. “I suppose it’s what keeps you alive. Just remember, darling—words can only cut so deep. Out there, it’s the blade that matters.”

“Thanks for the advice,” you replied, your tone as biting as hers. “I’ll be sure to remember it when the time comes.”

Cashmere’s eyes narrowed slightly, the playful mask slipping just enough to reveal the steely determination beneath. “Do that,” she said, her voice a whisper of warning. “I’ll be watching.”

With that, she turned and strode away, her golden gown catching the light with every step.

Reid let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, his voice low. “What was that about?”

“Don't worry about it,” you muttered, watching her retreating form. “Everyone’s playing their own game. Hers just happens to be gilded in gold.”

The energy in the Capitol’s holding area was electric, each victor carefully eyeing the others, feeling the tension rise with every passing second. The air was thick with power and the weight of what was to come—the 3rd Quarter Quell was unlike any other, a twisted reminder of the Capitol’s dominance, and each victor knew they were not only fighting for their lives but for their dignity as well.

Reid stood close, his nerves still apparent, his eyes darting from one tribute to the next. You could feel his discomfort radiating from him, and though you didn’t have time to indulge him, you found yourself slightly irritated by it. This was supposed to be a place for cold calculation, not weakness.

“Take a breath,” you muttered again, your eyes scanning the crowd of tributes. “You’re making us stand out.”

“I—sorry, I can’t help it,” Reid replied, the sincerity in his voice mixed with frustration. “This place... It’s too much. I never imagined I’d be back here, much less be facing them again.”

You took a deep breath, letting the noise of the Capitol’s elites wash over you. It was a dull hum compared to the chaos of the arena, but the stakes here were just as high. You weren’t just a Victor anymore; you were the prey.

“I get it,” you said, your voice colder than before, but not unkind. “But you need to act like one of them. We’re not here for anything other than survival. And in case you haven’t realized, that means playing their game better than they do. Don't let them think you're weak, even if you think you are.”

Reid nodded, his jaw set in determination, though the unease still flickered in his eyes. You didn’t think he’d ever truly understand. His idealism would be his downfall, you could already see it. The Capitol’s games had broken you, stripped away your humanity, and in the end, it had made you stronger. You knew better than anyone that to survive in this world, you had to be willing to kill what remained of your soul.

As the seconds ticked by, the other tributes continued to mingle—some more comfortable than others. A few whispered amongst themselves, their eyes darting in calculated glances, while others stood proudly, basking in their newly cemented fame. You didn’t join them. You had no need to.

A moment later, a voice rang out in the distance, one that cut through the tension in the air like a blade—soft, melodic, but with an undeniable edge.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Snake of Seven.”

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. His voice was unmistakable, like the sea itself, deep and quiet but filled with a hidden strength. Finnick Odair.

You met his gaze, not surprised to see him standing at the edge of the crowd, his trident at his side, the shimmering blue of his outfit contrasting with his golden hair. His green eyes gleamed, mischievous yet sharp. His dimpled smirk only deepened when he noticed the way you studied him—cold, calculating, as always.

“Finnick,” you replied coolly, your voice betraying no emotion, even as your insides clenched. “I didn’t realize the Capitol was still fascinated by my name. I thought they’d moved on to the next little toy.”

His smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving yours. “Oh, they’ll never tire of you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, almost like a whispered secret meant only for you. “Not with your reputation. It’s not every day that the Snake of Seven steps into the arena, is it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sound almost impressed.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?” Finnick’s tone was casual, but there was an edge to it that made the words feel like a challenge. “The odds of you making it this far... I’m curious how you’ve done it.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the curiosity in them. There was something in his gaze that felt like he wasn’t just talking about the Games anymore. His eyes raked over you, not in the way the Capitol admired his victors, but like he was trying to peel away the layers and understand the person standing in front of him.

“Survival,” you answered simply. “It’s not as hard as people make it out to be. If you’ve got the right instincts, the right drive, you can make it through anything.”

“And you’ve got both,” he said, his voice quiet but unmistakably admiring. “I can see it. But I think there’s more to you than that. More than just the survivor everyone sees.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, just holding his gaze as the crowd around you continued to buzz with their typical Capitol energy. There was something about the way he looked at you, though. Like he wasn’t just sizing you up as a potential ally or foe, but like he was seeing through to something deeper. And it unsettled you.

“You’re not one to mince words, are you?” you asked, your voice sharp, trying to redirect the conversation, but you could feel the pull of it all the same.

“Why bother?” Finnick’s expression softened just the slightest bit, his eyes glinting in a way that made you wonder if there was something he wasn’t saying. “This game’s already full of lies. We don’t need to add to it.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “And what would you suggest, Finnick? That we just lay it all bare? Is that what you think is needed to win this?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Maybe. Or maybe the truth is the only thing we’ve got left.”

The words hung between you, a quiet tension settling in. His gaze didn’t waver, but something in his stance softened, almost imperceptibly. For a moment, you saw past the Capitol’s golden boy, the victor who had charmed his way into the hearts of millions. You saw the man who had fought in the arena, who had survived the same twisted game that you were now part of. And for a fleeting second, there was a vulnerability in his eyes, something raw and unspoken.

“You know the game better than anyone,” you said quietly, your tone softer now, the challenge gone. “But we’re not all playing by the same rules, Finnick. I don’t think you understand that.”

His smile faded slightly, and he tilted his head. “Oh, I understand more than you think. But you’re right. Not everyone is playing by the same rules. And that’s why I’m curious about you.”

You didn’t respond immediately, the weight of his words sinking in. There was something in the way he said it that made you feel like a puzzle he was dying to solve. But you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

“Curious about me?” you repeated, stepping closer to him, your voice low but firm. “Why? Because I’m a challenge? Or because I’m something you can’t control?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. If anything, he took a small step forward, closing the gap between you. “I don’t want to control you,” he said, his voice steady. “I want to understand you.”

The words were simple, but they carried an undertone of something that felt more intimate than anything you’d heard in a long time. His eyes searched yours, the playful mischief replaced with something darker, something more serious.

You almost faltered. Almost.

"Then understand this," You lean in, boring your eyes into his. "When you lean into the face of a snake, it sinks it's teeth in."

Finnick’s eyes gleamed, a flicker of admiration dancing in the depths of his gaze. His smirk only deepened as you leaned in, the challenge clear in your words and your posture. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down—if anything, the tension between you only seemed to grow.

He paused, taking a slow breath before responding, his voice low and even, carrying a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

“Well, I’ve always been a fan of a good bite,” Finnick said, his tone smooth, but there was an edge to it now, like the words themselves were an invitation, a dare. He stepped just a fraction closer, narrowing the distance between you with a kind of quiet, deliberate confidence. “But don’t mistake my curiosity for weakness. If you sink your teeth in, be sure you’re ready for what comes after.”

His eyes never left yours as he said it, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air, and for a moment, you could almost feel the pulse of something dangerous, something thrilling, between the two of you. Finnick Odair wasn’t afraid of a fight. But neither were you.

Finnick’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer, his lips curving into a more playful smirk as he took another slow step back. But the mischievous glint in his eyes told you that he wasn’t done with you yet.

“I have to admit,” he said, his tone lighter now, but no less charged. “You’ve got grit that I wasn’t expecting. Most people would’ve backed down by now, but not you. No, you’re… interesting.”

He took another step, the air around you thick with an undeniable pull. “You know, I like a good challenge. But you,” Finnick continued, his voice dropping an octave, “you’re something different. Something… unpredictable.”

He leaned in just slightly, his breath a faint whisper against your ear. “I’ll admit, I’m curious to see what else you’re capable of.”

You glare at him as he leans away.

"Curiosity killed the cat, now didn't it?"

Finnick’s grin only widened at your sharp retort, the gleam in his eyes turning into something almost predatory. He didn’t seem offended—if anything, your challenge made him more interested.

"Maybe," he mused, his voice soft, playful, but still with that underlying edge. "But I’ve never been one to shy away from danger. And I’m not the type to get caught in a trap either." He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the game between you two.

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment, his green eyes flickering with amusement. “You’re quick with your words, but I have a feeling you’re not just all talk.”

His gaze traveled from your eyes to your lips, lingering just long enough for it to be obvious, before returning to your gaze, the tension between you thick enough to slice. “Tell me, what else do you have up your sleeve, hmm? Because I’m starting to think you’re not just some venomous snake. There’s something else there… something more.”

He stepped closer again, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, but not quite enough to touch. The space between you seemed to shrink with each word, with each look, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Finnick wasn’t just teasing anymore. He was genuinely intrigued.

"You’re right," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Curiosity might’ve killed the cat, but satisfaction, well, that’s what makes it all worth it, don’t you think?" He let the words hang in the air between you, daring you to respond, to challenge him once more.

Finnick was getting closer to you now, but there was no rush in his movement—he was taking his time, savoring the moment. The air between you felt charged, a magnetism that was impossible to ignore.

“Just remember,” he added softly, his lips yet again dangerously close to your ear, “you started this game. And I’m not the type to lose."

With that, Finnick Odair strode away, looking over his shoulder to give you one last dimpled smile.

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strangersteddierthings · 28 days ago

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Platonic Stobin bodyswap AU idea I'll never write. This has been in my drafts for over a year (since July 2023 per the timestamp)

Post season 3; During the season 3 bathroom confession scene Robin came out to Steve, and Steve came out to her. She knows he's bi, and she's the only one who knows. Swap starts off slowly for Steve and Robin. Little moments of vertigo where the world doesn't look right for a few seconds, that progresses to black out periods of time spanning 5-15 minutes. It's them switching bodies but it's so traumatizing (they are FREAKING out) that they don't remember it. So, it's like they're just losing moments in time, which still freaks them out.

Then one day they wake up and they're... each other. And they just don't go back.

And Steve can't really pass as Robin to her parents but thankfully they just blame it on 'moody teenage angst' and "you can talk to us about anything babygirl we love you so much and we're here when you need us." Which. Yeah, Steve cries about. But it also comes with the side of GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I HAVE TO FINISH HIGH SCHOOL AGAIN??? I CAN'T PLAY THE TRUMPET ROBIN YOU HAVE TO DROP OUT OF BAND

And Robin also cannot pass as Steve at first, but she gets to see how that matters exactly 0% because the Harrington's don't even notice. They also aren't around near as much as Steve makes them out to be. But she does get to enjoy the freedom of a legal drivers license and no job currently. HOWEVER she has walked Steve's pretty face into several doors/poles/walls because cute girls keep looking at her with hunger in their eyes and she doesn't know how to handle this.

(It makes more girls interested in a suddenly shy, stumbling, nervous Steve because those girls think they're the reason Confident Sex God Steve turns into a mess but really it's just Robin not knowing how to exist in a world where woman want her and fish fear her (sorry bad joke))

Anyway, queue shenanigannary for a bit. Steve encourages Robin to go on dates because why not get some practice in while they wait to swap back again? (he's holding out hope)

Do they have the awkward discussion of 'what are the limits to what I'm allowed to do in your body????? I dunno yet.

Anyway, Robin goes on dates. ((Does she end up going on a date with Vickie? Canonically Vickie's got no problem dating older boys? How to solve this plot line for when(if?) they switch back bodies? IDK dudes, that's Future Jess's issue.))

At some point, the gang finds out. Probably Dustin realizing Steve isn't as Steve-like as usual. He'd sniff out something was wrong with his brother for sure.

But then season 4 starts. Robin taught Steve how to play the trumpet back in August/Sept and it's then they realize that they kind of share their knowledge? Like... Steve picks up how to play the trumpet EASY. At first they think it's just Robin's body using muscle memory but then Robin realizes she knows things only Steve should.

Anyway, Steve is in band with Vickie the night of the Championshipgame, chatting easily while also trying to hint that 'Hey, I think Steve Harrington is checking you out???" while trying to tell Robin with telepathy (that they don't have... yet? Decide if they end up with telepathy later) to try and subtly check out Vickie. But neither girl is subtle so they both just whip around to stare at each other and Steve is facepalming.

NO WAIT. DO I MAKE CHANGES TO THE NARRATIVE BECAUSE IF STEVE IS IN HIGH SCHOOL AGAIN, THERE IS NO WAY HE'D LET DUSTIN AND MIKE SKIP OUT ON THE CHAMPIONSHIP GAME. Maybe??? Will decide on this point later. Until then, above points stay.

Anyway, Chrissy still dies (sorry) and Eddie's still on the run, but like this time in the boathouse, Robin invites Eddie to stay at 'his' big empty house 'cause the parents are gone and Robin has no hangups about Eddie like Steve did in canon (he is the first person we hear call Eddie The Freak).

The end point here is that Robin, Steve, and Eddie spend A LOT of time together at Steve's house and then the angst falls in because Steve starts to fall in love with Eddie.

So, he has a breakdown in a bathroom with Robin about it, all sad and crying like "I really fuckin' like him Robs, but I can't- there- we can't-"

"I need you to take a breath and tell me what the issue is," Robin says.

"I like him Robs, but this is your body. I can't take things from you. Like your first kiss. And I certainly can't- I won't put your body through... you know. I can't do that to you."

And it takes Robin a moment to process what he means. Romantic entanglements that Steve might want to have would have to happen with her body. And maybe Robin isn't sure what to say/do because the thought of a guy and his dick anywhere near her body immediately freaks her out but... she's not in her body. She's in Steves, and has been doing things with girls in it. It never occurred to her that Steve might want to get hot and heavy with a guy in her body and maybe she's got something to unpack there???

Anyway, no time to worry about that. Vecna's gonna kill Max so they gotta go. Also, Eddie does NOT know about the body swap.

She does tell Steve to kiss Eddie, though, in the end. When they're not sure they'll live. So, Eddie calls out to Steve. "Make him pay." So, to Eddie, it looks like Steve gives him a nod and it's Robin who marches up, grabs his face, and plants one on him. Robin(Steve) doesn't stick around long enough for Eddie to kiss back (Steve wants him to because he wants a proper kiss from Eddie, but he also doesn't want him to because Eddie thinks he's kissing Robin and if he kisses back it means he likes Robin, not Steve, so Steve doesn't lock lips long enough find out).

Something something they all survive and then Eddie, hopped up on pain meds in the hospital, demands to speak to Robin. So, Steve slinks in, afraid of what's going to happen, and Eddie's like 'Robin. I appreciate that you like me but you are unfortunately a girl and I am not into that.' And Steve is like!!! my time!! It's come!!! I HAVE to get back to my body.

And then at some point they switch back. Maybe El doing some mind fuckery? Idk.

And for fun, here's the beginning of the fic that idea written out:

"Whoa," Steve blinks rapidly as the world tilts and shifts. It's very sudden, and over just as quickly as it started, but it still leaves Steve unanchored for a moment. It was probably brought on by the concussion he's been nursing these last two days, since the whole Starcourt shit. He leans sideways to try and use the wall as an anchor until everything feel right again.

He should, probably, be more concerned about this because this has been like, the fourth time this has happened and when he told Robin about it, she confessed it was happening to her, too. That Owens guy had told them there could be unknown side effects to whatever the fuck they'd been injected with and this might just be part of that. It'll fade, Steve's sure, as the days go on. Never mind that it has been happening more lately. It's going to fade. It has to.

Except, it doesn't. The sensation of be unanchored gets worse, and now it comes accompanied with loss of time. Steve will feel the tilt and shift while standing in the doorway to his room and the next thing he knows he's got a hand on his front door, keys in his hand, and doesn't know where he was trying to go.

Ring Ring

Steve shakes his head, shakes away the feeling of wrongness and goes to answer the phone. "Harrington residence, Steve speaking."

"Steve! Steve, it's getting worse!" Robin's voice sobs at him from the other end of the phone. "I-I was in the kitchen and then I was, like, huddled in the bathroom and I don't remember going there."

"Fuck, me too. I just came to standing at my front door, about to leave but I don't remember getting there, or where I was planning to go," Steve confesses back. It's strange, how easily Robin has become a part of his life. He was expecting her to not want to be withing five miles of him ever again, after what he got her dragged into, but it seems Robin isn't scared away. Perhaps it's just that he's the only other person she knows who went through Russian torture. Even if that is the case, Steve'll take it. He likes Robin a lot.

"Should we... call Dr. Owens?" Robin sounds so small when she asks.

"I don't want to," Steve confesses but doesn't elaborate. Calling Dr. Owens means admitting that something is wrong wrong. Steve doesn't want anything to be that wrong. He wants to get back to his life. He's got to get back to job searching, too, and Dr. Owens might deny him that.

#platonic Stobin #steddie #fic idea I might never finish #if anyone wants to write the fic please tag me. I'd love to read it #my fic #<tag just so i can find it on my blog again later

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kifkay · 6 months ago

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I love when magic has an effect on the body & soul of its caster. like!! you don’t get to be a reality-bending demi-god and walk away with no strings attached. there’s always a price.

Bloom’s dragon fire consumes her from the inside, leaving lightning-like tissues of scars along her limbs - be careful, rumbles the Great Dragon from within, don’t let your emotions consume you. Bloom wails from the pain and clutches whoever is in the vicinity - but cannot fully stop it. just prevent it or treat the aftermath.

Musa gets migraines. Stella becomes ill when she doesn’t get her daily dose of sunshine. Aisha’s senses get muddy sometimes, almost as if she’s submerged underwater. Nabu experiences uncontrollable tremors in his arms, when he creates too many of his phantoms. all of those are - yes, horrible to experience but manageable enough for the school (and the Magic community at large) to tell them to just suck it up and weather through.

once you get your enchantix though, you start developing… unique abilities. almost like, in achieving the final fairy form, you became one with your brand of magic.

Bloom starts producing smoke. Like - she snorts at something funny Riven or Sky say, and literal puffs of smoke emerge from her nose. It’s jarring at first (“Bloom Peters, when did you start smoking? do you know that it kills??”) but quickly becomes endearing once they realise it’s not life-threatening in any way (after speed-running through like fifteen Magix apothecaries). Among her other ‘oddities’: too hot to cuddle with (only Stella can stand the high temperature, since she has a resistance to heat), becomes strangely overprotective and a little possessive, her eyes sometimes become a startling orange hue as if she’s embodied by the great dragon himself (it’s just a party trick).

Stella becomes more ethereal. In certain lights, her skin looks translucent - like a mirage weaved with moonlight. Her hair glints in the sun, almost too bright to like at; her touch feels phantom-like. She becomes even more beautiful, but less - human, earth-bound, Stella-esque. A curse and a blessing, that one.

Musa’s hearing gets really fucking good. She has a steadily growing dossier of blackmail on every student in Alfea - simply because shut doors or longer distances are no longer obstacles for her. It’s annoying too, because she can’t exactly turn it off - and now she gets to hear all the things people say about her, behind her. but here’s a consolation - she can influence other creature’s emotions through the melodies she hums! like how in canon, she pacified the bird Roc and brought mirth to the arguing fairies.

Flora gets much sturdier. Her skin harder than bark; her body able to withstand thirst and hunger for much longer than the rest. It’s honestly so intimidating. Here’s this sweet young woman — known to cry for trampled flowers and cut weeds!! — absolutely bodying a sharp ass ice shard that Icy attacked her with. It just — crumbles upon colliding with Flora’s body. insane and frankly so so hot for others to see.

As per the negatives… I like the idea of Flora being able to connect to the memories of nature around her and literally absorb the pain/fear/anguish of whatever she witnessed.

Aisha and Bloom are similar, in a sense that both of them are vessels to primordial divinities of their universe — Bloom is the holder of the Dragon Flame, and Aisha is the child of the Infinite Ocean. therefore, both experience a more extreme transformation than their girl friends. like, Aisha’s dreams are infiltrated by visions of past and future; memories of those who were lost to the Ocean. she dreams of Politea, of Tritanus, of her mer cousins and ancestors, and even those who were not yet born. if Aisha was not so mentally wilful, she might’ve folded under the weight of those prophesies.

Aisha can also breathe under water and her body gets the musculature it needs to be on par with her mer cousins while swimming, because why the fuck not?

Tecna - I frankly have no ideas for and would love to hear suggestions!

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achaoticeternal · 6 months ago

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a presentation

word count: 750 summary: finding aemond admiring the throne once more, you tell him of your wish to simply be his wife again a/n: just a quick drabble to get some writing going again. not proofread. this is based off the song the greatest by billie eilish

All my love and patience Unappreciated You said your heart was jaded You couldn't even break it

The mass of swords welded together to form the Iron Throne loomed over the Throne Room. Its' magnificence was equally spectacular yet terrifying. An item that represented unity and obedience melded together by fire and death.

It was a seat many had craved over time. Yet she saw the jagged edges that had nicked King Viserys, then Aegon... and soon Aemond would be subjected to it. She had dreamed of it only nights prior.

Her husband ascends the Throne before a mass of nobles and common folk alike. A wolfish smile invades the faces of those surrounding them. Yet when he took his seat with the Conqueror's crown high on his silken hair, an undulled sword from the arm of the chair would slice his palm open. The princess had felt it an omen, an even darker one after Meleys had been carted through the street. The dream was the only thing to replay in her mind as she approached where Aemond now stood. His eyes flickered our the steel of swords stuck together permanently. She always sensed his hunger for power and prayed that his thirst did not come at the cost of blood or their marriage. But the gods paid little favor to them. "It is late," She called out to him, "We should be sleeping." Aemond hummed, acknowledging her comment. He cocked his head to the side, not quite looking at her as his eye remained fixated on the Throne, "We shall be standing up there tomorrow."

The princess swallowed, only to take another step forward as she responded, "You. You will be up there tomorrow. I will be perched next to your mother or Helaena. Either hearing prayers for Aegon's ailments or your ascension." A small, playful smirk painted his lips, "I'm sure I could order a seat to be placed near my feet. So that I may present to the court all my prizes: the Throne, the Crown, the perfect Wife."

Her lips tugged downward, disgust lining her stomach, "Will you dress me and braid my hair too? Paint my face to make my skill look porcelain?"

The Prince Regent finally turned to face her, "Do not use such a tone with me, wife. You have nothing to complain about as I have built you a perfect life." The air between them went stagnant as her eyes remained fixed on them. You face betrayed nothing of what you felt which shocked your husband. He had always been able to read you so plainly, it was something he even enjoyed in your relationship.

"A perfect life?" The princess repeated her words, "Will you put me in a glass display and title it 'A Perfect Life?'?

Aemond's jaw tightened and he took a great step toward her, "I have proven myself to be the greatest Targaryen since Maegor himself and yet you look at me like a villain. This will make people see. This will make people fear me and regret their spineless actions. Now they have no choice but to love and respect their new King."

"And yet I did all of that when you were just Aemond," She barked back at him, her own hurt and anger slipping through, "I respected you, I listened to you, I loved you... for just being a prince- no, just being a boy." "Wife, I-" He attempted to interject.

"I am not finished," The princess stopped him, "I have played the part of your wife, perfectly. I provided you with love, comfort, hospitality, my spirit, my body. I never asked for you to give more of yourself than you could because I knew what a fragile heart you keep locked away. But I am not some pet or doll to be displayed as another prize of your ambition. I am your wife, and you could at least let me enjoy that duty. I only ever wanted to show you love."

At her speech, Aemond had fallen silent. His hands rested behind hs back, silently fidgeting with his leather cuffs. All was still.

"It is late," Aemond finally spoke, "You should get some rest. I will join you in our chambers when I have wrapped up my duties for the evening."

"Very well," The princess swallowed back her pain, once more feeling powerless. She turned on her heels and exited.

I shouldn't have to say it You could've been the greatest

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #prince aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #prince aegon targaryen #prince regent aemond #hotd season 2 #aemond targaryen angst #angst #aegon ii targaryen #drabble

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sugoi-writes · 9 months ago

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Can I be 🦇 anon? For some reason I’ve always been obsessed with the flexing part of an arm? I don’t know the technical term but I can’t see Demon Al doing this as much as his human counterpart would sooooooooo human Alastor with his sweetheart who has never EVER soon for him like woman usually do I mean he has ladies fainting LMAOA HOWEVER one day when he’s cutting idk wood or something she sees his arm flex she’s like a puddle I mean full fangirling giggling and screaming and he’s like huh??? Until he realizes and then boom from then on he’s flexing any time he can to pull a scream from her

🦇Anon? Love it! I'm a big fan of bats! This ask was too adorable. I just KNEW I could cook something up!

It does get a liiiiittle suggestive in parts, but otherwise stays perfectly appropriate! FEAST, my dearies!!!

"Love? The fire is going out! We'll need more firewood!" You call from inside. You make your way to the door, your top half hovering just outside as you searched for your darling beau. You've always enjoyed your time with him at his family's cabin, a piece of his inheritance that was used quite often. And, of course, it was highly appreciated by the both of you.

Your eyes dart about until you heard a distinct CHOP, eyes finding Alastor with his axe buried into an old tree stump. His smile widens when he sees you, wiping the sweat from his brow. You feel your pulse race, surprised to see his bare chest gleaming in the sunlight. The humid, thick air that permeated in the South could not be helped, and so, Alastor worked without a shirt on. Even with this simple and understandable notion, you found yourself fond of (and shocked by) the rare sight. You try to make your face pleasantly neutral and wave, trying to save face.

"No worries, dear. 'Already mending that problem!"

You chuckle, leaning fully into the door frame as Alastor positions a new log to cleave through. The Summer was good for one thing, you reasoned; seeing Alastor's chest, bared for only you to see, heaving steadily as he worked. Better yet, you could practically feel the gaze he gave back to you, his knowing smile making you beam every time you saw it. While you weren't like most others, not being overly doting or frivolous about his appearance, you still appreciated and treasured it deeply.

When Alastor returned to his work, your eyes fixated on his hands, then his arms. Indeed, you were very familiar with how powerful they were. They did wonders for and to you. But then: you see a flex. A jut and shift of his bicep has your mouth watering lecherously. As his grip relaxed on the axe, his body bending down to grab another log, you watched the muscles in his arm relax and re-fire. This set of motions repeated for a time, much to your enjoyment. As an extra treat, sometimes a vein in his neck would pop out at the same time his forearms and triceps strained, making your pupils bloom and shrink with hunger.

It was, without a doubt, an extremely alluring sight. Each time the axe raised over his head, your eyes followed, forcing you to stiffle a nervous chuckle. God, he was too beautiful for his own good. He was too strong for you to handle, and far too beautiful to be a called simple, minimalist man. His body was the work of a master craftsman, thank God.

As another piece of firewood was cut, you covered you mouth, stifling a squeal as he brought a towel to his forehead, huffing from his efforts. When he heard your little noises, he turned to you, his smile drooping slightly," Anything the matter, dear?" You were quick to shrink back, waving his concern off with a nervous laugh.

"Ha-ha, NO! No, I'm fine! Don't worry about me! I-I'll start working on dinner, okay?" Alastor doesn't seem convinced, squinting in your direction. His glasses were cast aside earlier, in fear they may fall off and become a victim of his labor," If you say so, dear. I'll be inside in a moment to help with the potatoes, mon cherie." You nod and turn to go inside, your face still boiling hot as you try to distract yourself. Your body starts to go through the motions, chopping veggies that were freshly harvested to use in your stew. You try to focus on the task at hand, your mind lingering on images of Alastor's physique. You had failed at your task stupendously. You felt no remorse!

You couldn't help but squirm at the mental images: veins and muscles shifting from physical effort. That devilishly handsome smile and toned body... it made your heart race! You wondered what his arms must've looked like when he was hovering above you... Your grip was tightening as you chopped the veggies faster, your safety disregarded. You giggle to yourself, eyes closing momentarily to focus on the pleasant thought of Alastor caging you with his muscular arms until--

"FUCK-- shit!"

No sooner did you wail was Alastor at the door, slamming it open," What happened??? What did--"

Alastor's eyes were wide, pupils shrunken to mere pinpricks as he took in your form. You held your bleeding finger, huffing.

"I-It's fine, it's fine! I'm fine!" You reassure, grabbing a handtowel to press to your wound. Alastor strode over to you, tongue clicking at your carelessness. As he went to put his axe down, your eyes caught his arms again, yelping as you turn away hastily. Your sudden movement left your partner clueless.

Alastor pauses again, a brow raising," My love, what's gotten into you? You've never been this careless before..."

You shuddered as Alastor came behind you, hands resting on the counter on either side of your hips," Are you sure you're quite alright?"

He leaned in to kiss your cheek, coaxing you into looking his way. You began yelping again, your mouth slamming shut as you tear your eyes away from his body. Alastor grumbles, slightly annoyed with your silence," Sweetheart, I can't help you if you don't use your words--"

One hand snatches you by the hip, spinning you quickly around while the other takes your wounded hand.

You eyes are blown wide, unable to make eye contact as they stare down at Alastor's arms," I-Im fine, really just-- just got lost in my thoughts! I promise!"

Between Al's proximity, his partial nudity, and those arms trapping you, you felt like your face blazed hotter than the fucking Sun. Alastor seemed to catch on, watching as your legs squeezed, shifting your weight uncomfortably. He leans closer to you, the muscles in his torso expanding and contracting with his movements. You sigh shakily, stifling a blissful squeak. Ahh. So it was him that was causing you to fret...

Alastor began to chuckle slowly at first, before laughing heartily. You stammered as a large hand came to your shoulder to steady himself, your lips blubbering pathetically. He was laughing fairly hard, causing his abdominals to flex and seize (a sight too delicious to behold). You were whining, on the verge of squealing as you weakly pushed against him again.

"A-Alastor, if you don't back up, I just might NOT be okay!!!" Alastor couldn't help himself, working himself into short bursts of stitches as he calms down, eyes watering.

"Ohhh, dearest... honestly, was I really that distracting to you?" His voice was low and flirtatious as you felt yourself being pressed into the counter, his hips holding you in place. You nearly shrieked as Alastor's hands gripped the counter harshly, knuckles white. Your mouth fell agape with a silent moan as the muscles in his upper arms and pecs stirred once more. You push against him once more, feeling as though you would pop like a balloon.

"A-Al, this isn't cute!!! Stop it, please!" You practically whine as Alastor just leaned, kissing your bright, heated cheeks.

"Well, I suppose I could go chop more wood, if the space could offer you some reprieve..."

You gasp as your chin is pulled forward, forcing you to make eye contact with him. If you weren't in your prime, you'd fear having a stroke at the sight of his almond colored eyes staring back into yours with a tumultuous energy.

"But, I think we both know you'd prefer that I stay rii~iiight here, don't you?" He teased, his lips dangerously close to your own. Your own lips quivered at the relentless pestering, your eyes struggling to make contact again," W-Well, I-- you know I-- uugghhh, if you keep teasing me, dinner is going to be late!!!"

"That's fiiiine by me!" Alastor says in a sing-song tone, and to your horror, you are lifted and placed onto the counter with minimal effort. Your eyes become transfixed on him, unable to clench your legs closed. Alastor knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn't going to let you off the hook so easily. Your partner moved to be between your thighs, his voice a husky gravel; his tone was JUST loud enough for you to process.

"How about we start with dessert first, hmm~?"

#alastor x reader #human!alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor fanfic #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #heeeheeehee sorry if its a little TOO suggestibe #we all thirst over this man violently sooooo i figured it would be okay #let me know if youd rather a fluffier one and i can make that happen!#this was so fun to do #gdhdhsjshsja

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kaisers-house-of-desires · 9 months ago

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I just wanna say I have notifications on for this blog, AND DID NOT GET THEM. Ahem, anyway, may I ask for a part two of the Muzan x reader fluff where he turns the reader into a demon? 👀 — H

Of course~ Some fluff coming right up~

Title: Meant to Be (Continuation of In Sickness and in Health)

Characters: Muzan x m!Reader

Contains: fluff, pet names (love, dear), blood, death (Demons are...well, demons. While there is fluff, there will be blood and death of extrememly minor characters. Be warned when reading.)

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI (This may not be smut, but I still want the above to be followed)

Reblogs > likes

A nearby village was no match for your carnivorous rage.

Homes were destroyed, and bodies were scattered about the roads. Faint words rang in your mind as your carnage continued.

Eat to your heart's content.

And eat you did, leaving the village with nearly nothing left. It was a small village, one with not too many people. Anyone who ran by you or attempted to kill you would be your primary target, costing them their lives. Though the ones in hiding wouldn't be spared either, as you would hunt them down like prey, blood dripping from your mouth as you would scout out your next meal.

Within the hour, the village was no more. Families were wiped and structures demolished. You stood at the center of the land, panting heavily as your claws and mouth were soaked with the blood of various villagers. You couldn't tell if you were satisfied, but the nagging feeling in your gut tempted you to hunt for more.

The presence behind you felt appetizing.

Though upon turning around you were met with a tall man with dark wavy hair, his white hat surprisingly clean despite being in a land of viscera and death. You immediately changed your tune, your predatory nature giving way to something softer.

"Muzan, darling!"

He was the only thing you could remember when you woke up. Your memories were nearly erased with the transformation, only leaving the relationship you two shared.

Upon seeing his beloved, Muzan gave you a smile. You didn't realize it before, but now that you had a moment to process, you notice he held a terrified villager in one arm. She was held firmly, Muzan's hand pressing against it so she wouldn't scream. She was afraid, eyes wide as they darted between the two of you.

"I caught this one attempting to run from the village," Muzan explained, gazing down at the woman. "What do you think we should do with her?"

Hunger shot to your mind again, and you stepped toward the trembling woman. Her still wide eyes were now fixated on you rather than flicking back and forth. Her life was quite literally in someone else's hands.

You thought about her fate for a moment, a teasing response following. "Love, have I ever told you I wanted a pet~?"

That answer didn't sit well with the woman, and she began to squirm. Her screams were muffled by Muzan's hand with no way of calling out. Her feet futilely kicked in the air, as if she was already trying to run.

Muzan wasn't happy about her response, and with this position, he forced her head back, exposing her neck. "Are you sure about this one? She's quite loud."

You were so glad he played along.

"Hmm...you're right. I have another idea instead." Staring at the woman, who was frozen in fear from her new position, you simply uttered, "Let her go."

Without question, Muzan dropped the woman to the ground. She was unable to meet either of your gazes.

"Well?" You knelt down to her, your voice teasing. "Run~"

As if thinking she was blessed by the gods, she took you at your order, bolting the moment she heard the word. She screamed into the air, calling for anyone to help her, to help her village.

"Are you really about to let her get away?" Muzan asked, a brow quirked.

Your answer was a simple one.

With your newfound speed, the woman would never reach the end of the village. Your teeth would sink deep into her neck, silencing her for good as you indulged in your final meal of the night.

---

Having returned home, you were covered in the dry blood of your feast. Muzan offered to help clean you, to which you didn't refuse. He simply asked you to wait in the bathroom as he set everything up, from gathering your lounging clothes to setting up the tub with heated water. Once the tub was set and you were free of your dirtied clothes, you settled yourself in the tub, some of the water splashing out in the process.

Undeterred by this, Muzan went to work. Despite his title of King of Demons, he treated you as if you were the very thing he was, along with extra care. The way he'd hold your arm was that of a porcelain doll. The sponge carefully swiped along your skin, soap suds cleansing away the dirt and blood that speckled it. As you soaked, and as Muzan carried his actions, the water would tinge color, becoming a translucent red.

As Muzan finished his self assigned duties, he would take note of this sight, and a rush of admiration would wash over him. Thoughts of you bathing in the blood of your adversaries set his body a flame.

For once in his millennia of life, he was the one that did not feel worthy to be in someone's presence.

This feeling would remain as he would assist you out of the tub, a spot with a towel all prepared for you to sit upon as he dried off your freshly cleaned skin. You were the only creature that would ever see him like this, kneeling before a lesser demon, assiting them in such a menial task.

You'd tease him, but in reality you adored how gentle he was with you, and why would you tease that? Sure he was a king, but even a king can be gentle.

With your body dry, he clothed you with a luxurious silk robe that complimented your new reddened eye color. You weren't sure when he had gotten this, but you weren't complaining. It felt lovely on your skin, and you were grateful for his assitance.

Muzan would stand, carefully taking your hand to urge you to stand as well. In doing so, he would carefully kiss the ridge of your knuckles, gazing at you with such soft eyes. You wanted to return the gesture, so you then in turn pulled his hand holding yours close, turning your hand to expose his and return the kiss.

You would never remember who you were, but one thing was for certain: this is where you were meant to be and who you were meant to be with.

#kaisers house of desires #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #demon slayer #muzan kibutsuji #kibutsuji muzan #demon slayer muzan #kny muzan #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #muzan x reader #muzan x male reader #muzan x y/n #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x male reader

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senditcolton · 1 month ago

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youthfully felt

I need to be youthfully felt 'cause god I've never felt young

summary: Sidney Crosby is simply… tired. Of everything. That's how he found himself at a seedy dive bar, drinking his misery away. Then enters Jade Watkins. She offers an escape from the scrutiny, the pressure, the fear, and soon Sidney finds himself falling for the girl who saved him just in time. But does he truly love her? Or does he just love the way she makes him feel? a/n: This fic was originally written as a reader insert for the Winter Fic Exchange two years ago. But I thought the story would work as an OC fic. The original is still on my blog so you can pick your own adventure so to speak. Not much has changed plot-wise but I think I might love this one more. Feel free to read this one and the original and see how you feel! song inspo: Jackie and Wilson by Hozier word count: 11.2k warnings: hinted intimacy (non-explicit), language, resolved angst, and pregnancy at the very end

When people ask which places Sidney Crosby frequents in the large city of Pittsburgh, the answer is not a seedy little downtown bar. That was not the kind of place anyone would expect to find the Penguins captain. It was not a place for someone like him.

But there he was, sitting in a cracked leather booth on a warm May night. What was he doing here? Well… it was the perfect place to disappear. And that’s what Sidney wanted to do, at least for a little while.

Last season had been rough, on everyone. The injuries, the conflicts, the losses, and the constant scrutiny. Despite all of that, the team managed to fight their way up the standings, the race to the playoffs the closest it had been in years. Sid thought that maybe that turn-around, that fight, would be enough for the hungry fans that wanted nothing more than to see success. But he should have known that unless the season ended with a silver trophy, it would never be enough. And unfortunately, the Penguins lost their playoff spot by the barest of margins. And the fans were left with a bitter taste in their mouths instead of a satisfying ending.

Usually, Sidney would’ve shared their hunger and wouldn’t have felt satiated until his arms felt the weight of that 30-pound chalice. But now… he just felt tired.

Tired of living up to that impossible expectation that others held him to. Tired of the eyes that constantly turned to him and analyzed him whenever something went wrong. Tired of the whispers, the criticism that he never seemed to be able to escape.

Was Sidney Crosby losing his touch? Will one too many injuries end this once great hockey player’s career? Should he hang up his skates and let the club move onto to brighter futures? How much time does Sidney Crosby have left?

Those statements and worse had been floating around him for the past few years but he never let them break in. Instead, he used them as fuel to prove the nay-sayers wrong. But this year, the scrutiny felt worse than it ever had before and instead of the words motivating him, they crumbled the walls that he had built. They broke him down and that made him angry.

He gave everything to hockey. He gave up so much of his childhood, his adolescence, his youth, his life, to this sport, this city, to those fans. How much more did he need to prove himself? How much more would people demand of him? How much more would he be forced to give?

Doubtful, resentful, tired Sidney Crosby. The once great player of the National Hockey League.

That was how he felt and part of him didn’t want to pretend to be anything else tonight. And he assumes that’s how he found himself here.

He couldn’t remember the name of the bar where he currently sat. All he knew was this was the last place people would come looking for him. This was not a place to sight a celebrity. This was a place for drifters, rejects, people who had given up on their lives or didn’t care enough to try. It felt like a place that was stuck in the past; the smell of old beer and cigarette smoke, the dim lighting courtesy of dust accumulated through years of indifference.

Sidney sits in a booth in the back corner, the cracked leather digging into the back of his thighs. His hand casually wraps around the beer bottle in front of him, gently spinning it, feeling it resist as the glass clings to the stickiness of spilled alcohol lingering on the wood.

This place is not bright, it’s not shiny. It’s a place where this beaten, broken down version of himself could simply exist, baseball cap pulled low because even though this was the exact opposite of where he should be, that didn’t stop some patron’s eyes from lingering on him a little too long. But no one approached him. Maybe they could read it, feel his energy, understand that he did not want to be bothered. And for that, he was thankful. He couldn’t pretend to be the person everyone expected him to be, even from people who may have expected nothing.

He brings the bottle up to his lips, letting the lukewarm amber liquid fall into his mouth, trickling down his throat. He doesn’t let it drop until the last of the beer vanishes and he places the empty glass back with a resounding thud, pushing it so it clinks against the two other bottles abandoned on the table. He flags the bartender down, silently requesting another. He knows he shouldn’t but the fact that he shouldn’t is the very reason why he does. He’s making a choice that feels good for him, in this very moment. Damn the consequences.

A few moments and another clink echoes around him as the bartender delivers the next bottle and Sid hands them another bill, elegantly folded between his outstretched fingers, a token of discretion for both him and the worker, if they think of running their mouth. The bartender takes the money from him and moves back to their spot behind the bar-top and the seemingly pointless job of wiping down the counter.

Sid quickly peeks at his watch, checking the time. 11:52. Almost midnight. He resigns himself to this, his last drink, and he slowly sips from the bottle’s lips. The walk back to his car still parked outside PPG will give him time to sober up. The night is still warm and this way, he won’t have to worry about hustling an Uber, another potential leak that might gab about a Crosby that seemingly sunk so low. He’s about to take the last swig and leave until the creak of the front door alerts him to someone else entering the bar.

He doesn’t really intend to look. But there is some inexplicable force that calls him to. And that’s when he sees her.

She walks in, the breeze following her from outside, ruffling her long black hair and lightly fluttering the edge of the red plaid shirt adorning her body. Sidney watches as her eyes scan over the dimly lit bar and he subconsciously feels himself lift up, as if he wanted to catch her attention. He quickly deflates when those eyes simply pass over him, as if he was just another patron.

He watches as she waltzes to the bar, leaning forward and places her elbows on the wood. He hears a few muttered words to the bartender and based on her hushed conversation and body language, he realizes that this bar was a place she frequented. She was not a girl who got lost after a night out with her friends, who just happened to wander into the closest bar. No, she was familiar with this place. It perplexed him. One look at her and Sid knew that she didn’t belong here.

But not in the same way as him.

Sidney Crosby in a bar like this the equivalent of a shiny new penny that catches your eye when you see it at the bottom of a dingy fountain and wonder how it even came to be there. But her…

He couldn’t quite describe it. There was something about her; her energy, the way she carried herself. It was as if she was a creature who willingly walked into the darkest part of the forest and yet showed no fear. As if she knew she didn’t belong here, but didn’t care. Because it wasn’t that her that needed to figure out how to exist in this place. It was this place that needed to learn how to handle her.

Sidney was captivated.

And yet, when she spins on the bar stool, an Old Fashioned in hand, those eyes moving to once again gaze over the patrons of the bar, Sidney finds himself looking away, his own eyes jumping back to memorize the ridges on the mouth of his beer bottle. He didn’t know what made him look away, what made him shrink down, especially when he was vying for her attention when she first walked in. But whatever the reason, he was content to stay that way until he knew she was gone.

The last thing he expected was the crackle of dried leather shifting underneath someone else’s weight, sitting down across from him. And her green eyes staring back at him when he looked up.

“Never expected to run into a celebrity here,” she muses out loud, those eyes shamelessly looking him up and down. Sidney’s eyes tear away, ducking back down, hoping his baseball cap hid the way his cheeks turned pink.

The laughter that escapes her lips is intoxicating and Sidney feels his cheeks warm even more when he realizes she was laughing at him.

“Don’t worry, superstar,” she says, eyes moving to peruse the nearly empty bar once more. “I won’t tell anyone that you were here. I know the look of someone who wants to hide.”

Sidney’s eyes jump back up to her at her words and he can tell that she was willfully ignoring his puzzling gaze.

“You don’t look like someone who hides anything,” Sidney says, the words falling from his mouth before he can think them through and he feels himself blush again as she laughs.

“Is that your go-to line? If so, it needs some work.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that… I mean, you – “Sidney stumbles over his words and she giggles again at his attempts to rectify his words.

“You know,” she says, gently interrupting him, “I expected you to be more articulate, y’know, being an NHL captain and all. But then again,” she continues as she notices his jaw clench at her words, “you’re here. So maybe there’s more to you than what everyone thinks.”

Sidney’s mouth drops open, shocked at how easily she was able to read him. How she managed to see him, truly see him. He watches as she turns back towards him and suppresses the shudder that wants to run through him as her knees knock against his underneath the table.

“So, tell me superstar,” she says, the teasing lilt in her voice clear, “why are you here?”

“You’re really beautiful,” Sidney says, the words once again being spoken before he thinks them over and her laughter falls over him in a gentle wave. He feels heat threatening to rise to his cheeks once more but he also feels his lips pull into a smile, a gentle chuckle rumbling through him as well.

“That was a much better pick-up line than before. Glad to see improvement.”

“And who says I was trying to pick you up?” Sidney replies and her eyebrows shoot up as she glances at him. He shoots a gentle smile back and it takes a moment before she realizes he is teasing her as much as she was him. She smirks back at him, slightly shrugging her shoulders.

“Fair enough.”

Sidney watches as she lifts her glass to her lips, eyes dancing away from him. As her gaze falls from him, Sidney is struck with the thought that he would do anything to get her eyes on him again. And as if she can hear his thoughts, she looks back to him.

“Let’s make a deal then,” she says, a bright glint in her eyes. “No more assumptions. At least, for the rest of the night. Deal?” She reaches out to him and he can’t help but look at the offered hand, decked out in rings and chipped nail polish.

“Deal,” he says and he reaches out his own hand to gently clasp hers, the callouses on his palms and fingers built up after years and years, sliding against her smooth skin. He shakes her hand before pulling away. What he didn’t expect was the feeling of disappointment that ran through him when his hand fell from hers.

“Well, now that we got that out of the way,” she starts, breaking the silence that lay heavily between the two, “you still didn’t answer my original question. What are you doing here, superstar?”

“I’m not sure,” Sidney answers, shrugging his shoulders.

“Bullshit.”

“I thought we agreed no assumptions?” he shoots back and she can’t stop the smile that appears.

“I don’t think that’s an assumption. There must be some reason, something that brought you here. I mean, this isn’t really a place for anyone, let alone someone like you.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Not happening, superstar. I’m not showing you mine until you show me yours.”

“Well, that seems a little like extortion,” Sidney replies, laughing at her smirk and the way she rolls her eyes at him.

“That would be coercion, not extortion. I would have to demand money from you for it to be extortion. So, unless you’re willing to pay money to learn my life story, then you’ll just have to keep wondering.”

“Oh, so now you are extorting me.” She laughs, gently shaking her head and Sidney watches and wishes there was a way he could hear that laughter forever.

“I suppose I am,” she sighs, twiddling the rings on your fingers. The silence falls as she takes another sip of her drink before she speaks again. “I’m here because I used to know the owner.”

“Used to know?”

“Yeah. Used to. He’s not around anymore. Left me with only this bar to remember him by,” she explains. Her explanation was vague enough to not reveal the entire story was but the way her voice quieted, the way that her eyes went unfocused, makes Sidney realize that was all there was to say. She sighs, blinking a couple of times before focusing back onto him.

“Alright superstar. There’s my reason. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to be in a place where no one would recognize me,” he says and he slightly chuckles when he sees the smile appear on her face. “I guess I didn’t do very well.”

“No, you really didn’t. But I suppose there isn’t a lot of places where the great Sidney Crosby can hide.”

“You have no idea,” he sighs, tearing his eyes away. It is a moment before he looks back at her and he is shocked to see a glimmer of understanding sadness in her expression.

Suppose they both were trying and failing to get away from the things that haunted them. And so, they sit, simply existing in this place where neither of them should be.

“Well,” she speaks, breaking the silence once more, “I suppose I’m not really helping you disappear. Guess I’ll see you around superstar.”

She kicks her legs out from underneath the table, scooting across the cracked leather, hand wrapped around the glass as she starts to leave. But before she can lift herself up from the booth, Sidney reaches out to her, his strong calloused hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Um,” is the first syllable out of Sidney’s mouth and his cheeks heat again as he sees the smile that pulls at her lips. “You don’t have to leave. I mean, it’s kind of nice talking to you. And besides,” he says, a crooked smirk appearing, “you haven’t successfully extorted me yet.”

“It’s not really extortion if you agree to it, you know.”

“Then just call it a date,” Sidney replies and he can see that she is slightly taken aback at his casual words.

“What exactly are you offering me, superstar? Are you gonna pick me up in a nice tux and take me to a fancy romantic restaurant, with roses and wine and then drive me home and leave me with a polite kiss on the cheek?”

“I thought we agreed no assumptions?” he says but he knows that she can see the light pink tinge on his cheeks and can easily guess that that was exactly what he was thinking.

“It wasn’t an assumption. It was a… prediction,” she shoots back, settling back down in the booth, fingers dancing over the glass of her Old Fashioned. “But hey, if I’m wrong, tell me now.”

Sidney sits there in silence, his hand wrapping around his bottle as he takes another swig of beer. He couldn’t respond to her challenge because it was true. And he hated that she could see right through him so easily. Or maybe he loved that within a few short moments of meeting him, she managed to laugh her way to the truth of him, break through all the people that he pretended to be.

He wasn’t quite sure which feeling was real. All he knew for certain is that he wanted more.

“Well,” he clears his throat, his eyes jumping back to hers. “What were you thinking of?”

Her fingers continue to circle the rim of her glass, her head tilting and gaze drifting away from him as she thinks. Then her eyes reattach to his and – with what Sidney could only describe as one of the most wicked smiles that he had seen – she plucks the cherry garnish from her drink. Sidney can’t take his eyes off of her as she drops the entire fruit into her mouth. He watches as she sits there for a moment, the red juice lingering on her lips and he would give anything to kiss the sour-sweet off. Her lips part and she plucks the cherry stem from in between her teeth, tossing it over the table. Sidney glances down and notices the perfect knot in the center. His eyes jump back up to her, that fucking grin still on her face.

“What do you say we just get out of here?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The soft morning sunlight filters through the windows, dancing across Sidney’s face. And when his eyelids finally fluttered open, the first sight he was met with was a cluttered nightstand. His gaze dances over the candles, plants, and rings that littered the wood – the opposite of the clean and sleek table that sits beside his own bed. But then again, he wasn’t in his bed.

Sidney glances down and sees Jade curled up in his arms, her back against his chest, breaths falling softly. She had whispered her name to him last night, on the way to her apartment where he currently resided.

Last night was… he didn’t think he could describe it.

When she made her bold offer, there was a part of Sidney that wasn’t sure if he should agree. But there was something about her, something so unfathomable that Sidney couldn’t stop the pull of her gravity. And in that moment, he silenced the critical voice in his head and said yes.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. He was supposed to chalk it up as a little too much to drink, a lapse in judgement. But then she kissed him.

And Sidney realized that he never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again.

Last night, he felt alive. Jade had kissed him without pretense, without presumption. Her lips danced across his skin, counting every scar, leaving no inch untouched. She breathed life into the hollows of his neck, the ridges of his ribs and he was caught in the thrill of someone who willingly brought him to his knees. She surprised him, challenged him. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

But then again, he never met someone like her before.

A heavy sigh sounds from her and Sidney is startled out of his daydream, back to the present moment. Jade nestles deeper into the rumpled sheets, another sigh escaping her. Sidney’s arms impulsively tighten around her frame, pulling her closer, loving the way her skin felt against his. What he wouldn’t give to stay in this bed, forgetting about the world waiting for him outside.

But one glance at the alarm clock perched on the nightstand told him that he couldn’t.

The great Sidney Crosby had things to do.

With a defeated breath, Sidney presses a small kiss into her ruffled hair before carefully untangling himself from her grasp. He crawls out of the bed, picking up his clothes scattered on the floor where they fell the night before. As he gets redressed, Sidney lets his eyes jump around the room, as he tried to discern Jade’s story from the pictures on the walls, the books on the shelves, the knick-knacks decorating every free space. He wasn’t prying; that would be considered rude. But he wanted to know more about the woman that he shared a bed with. Wanted to see if he could understand the power she held over him.

He's leaning in close to a picture hung on the wall at the foot of the bed, his hand clasped behind him when he hears a small laugh echo around the room. He quickly spins around, a blush instantly rising to his cheeks. His eyes land on Jade, propped up on her elbows, the sheets clinging to her body.

“Are you spying on me superstar?” she asks and Sidney is relieved to hear the teasing lilt in the question. He can’t help but respond with a small smile of his own.

“Wasn’t my intention,” he replies, walking back towards her.

“Oh really? And what exactly was your intention?” she laughs as Sidney settles himself on the edge of the bed, the mattress slightly sinking underneath his weight.

“Just trying to figure out a mystery.”

“What mystery is that?”

“You,” he says softly, his gentle eyes dancing over her face, smiling as he watches her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Jade lifts herself off the mattress, sitting up completely and leaning in closer to him. Her chin comes to find a perch on his shoulder and she leans her cheek against him, breathing in the lingering cologne from his t-shirt. Sidney lets her rest there for a moment, choosing not to move away and instead watch as the rising sun paints the apartment golden.

“Keep wondering,” she whispers into the morning air. She turns her head to look up at him, a smirk painted onto her face as his eyes connect to hers. The sunlight catches her irises, setting the green alight. He watches as her gaze jumps from his eyes to his lips and back again but he doesn’t call her out on it because he knows his eyes are doing the exact same thing.

Sidney is the one to break first, leaning in to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. He can hear her breath catch in her throat and part of him hopes she can understand the emotion behind his actions. How he is worshipping her without words. Her hands find their way up into his hair, fingers tangling into the peppered grey at his temples. Jade falls back down against the sheets, dragging Sidney down with her. He groans into the kiss, his arms caging her to the bed. But she didn’t seem to mind.

He breaks apart, leaving her to chase after his lips as his body retreats. A small chuckle rumbles from Sidney’s chest and Jade playfully glares up at him.

“I have to go,” he says, breaking the silence, a part of him aching as he watches her expression falter. He steels himself as he rises off the bed, moving towards the door, his hand wrapping around the door handle. But before he turns it, he looks back towards Jade, feeling her eyes still attached his frame.

“Am I going to see you again?”

“Only if you want to,” she teases and Sidney can’t stop the crooked smile from appearing on his face, eyes ducking down at her gentle prodding.

“I do,” he says, biting his lip and glancing back up at you. “Could I get your number? Or do you want mine?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jade laughs, Sidney’s expression shifting to one of confusion. She smiles back at him before continuing. “I’m sure it’ll be easy to find you in this city.”

Sidney laughs, happily falling back into the verbal tennis match that made him so drawn to her. He turns back towards the door, opening it gently and stepping over the threshold.

“Well then, I guess I’ll see you around,” he says, not hiding the hopeful rise in his voice.

“Catch you later, superstar.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Days passed and Sidney still hadn’t heard from Jade. Or even seen her.

Every time he walked down the Pittsburgh streets, he hoped that he’d run into her; maybe coming out of the bustling farmers market or even on the street outside of PPG Arena. He had even entertained the thought of going back to the bar where they met in the hopes that she’d be there. But he never did.

She said that she would find him but every day that went by without a trace of her, Sidney’s hopes dimmed. And as time ticked by, an insidious thought entered Sidney’s mind; maybe she did this on purpose.

Maybe this was the way she operated, part of how she moved through life. Blew in out of nowhere, entered his world and turned it upside down, and then disappeared as quickly as she came.

Sidney didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe that he would never see her again. There was something about her; he felt it from the moment she walked into that bar. Something that he wanted to continue to explore. Jade was fascinating and wild and free. She made Sidney feel young again, even in that one night. And that wasn’t something he had felt in a very long time.

Sidney has had eyes on him since he was a child. He was taught how to behave, how to act, how to be that good guy, on the ice but especially off the ice because his image was so closely tied with his success. People can hate you as much as they want for how you play, but if their only complaint is your skills and not your character, there is nothing they can take away from you.

It wasn’t that he hated it. He was thankful for everything that hockey brought him; family, friendship, and more prosperity than he knew what to do with. But part of him never felt like he got to be a kid.

He knew he could never go back and re-live that part of his life. But Jade… she made him feel youthful. And God, what he wouldn’t give to feel like that again.

These were the thoughts that were rattling around in his head as he walks down the Pittsburgh streets, the sun warming his back. He wasn’t sure of his destination or if he even had a destination. All he knew was that he needed the space, needed to take a moment to breathe. He keeps his head down, eyes focused on the concrete sidewalk, letting the cars speed past him. He doesn’t take note of anything around him which means he doesn’t notice the car that pulls up behind him.

“Hey there, stranger!” a voice calls out to him. He turns and there she is – Jade, sitting behind the wheel of a beautiful vintage convertible.

Her sunglasses are perched on the end of her nose, those green eyes playfully looking over the edge at him and he can’t help the smile that appears on his lips at the sight of her.

“Hey,” he says casually, turning towards her and walking over. He reaches the passenger door and leans against the side. “I thought you disappeared.”

“Oh, so you’ve been thinking about me?”

“Only every day,” Sidney coolly replies and she laughs at his words. And the way her laughter rings through the late noon has Sidney’s heart ringing with it.

“You know, your pick-up lines are improving every time we talk.”

“You’re a good influence on me, I suppose.”

“Ugh, there you go again Sidney Crosby,” she says, dramatically throwing her hand on her chest. “You know the way right to a girl’s heart!”

A warm chuckle rumbles through Sidney, his head slightly shaking at her antics. Her smile never leaves her face and he returns the grin as she takes him in; his warm skin, the bright sun lighting up his hair, his body calm and relaxed against her car.

“So,” Sidney starts, “what have you been up to?”

“Not much. Just looking for you,” Jade replies, shooting him that dazzling smile before kicking off the parking brake, shifting the car to drive. “Hop in.”

Sidney takes a step back, a little shocked by her sudden request. She shoots a glance back towards him and he knows that she has seen the shift in his demeanor. The smooth and relaxed guy that was there a second ago had disappeared. In his place was the closed-off Sidney Crosby that people were used to.

“Um” Sidney hesitates, his uncertainty the only thing he could speak.

“Come on, you know I’m not some crazy stalker,” she laughs. Her words don’t work as Sidney stays in his place. Jade sighs, shifting the car and placing the parking brake back on.

“What’s up?”

“I’m just not sure this is the best idea.”

“Was it a good idea for you to get drunk in a downtown bar a week ago?” she shoots back at him. Sidney knows she has him with those words because it wasn’t. But that’s exactly where she found him.

“C’mon superstar,” Jade says, her voice softening but still holding that teasing energy that drew him to her in the first place. “Don’t think about what anyone else would think. Do what your heart tells you to do. And if that’s walking away right now, then I’ll respect that. But I have a feeling that’s not the case.”

Sidney looks back at her, leaning back in the driver’s seat, that smile on her lips. How she was able to see through him so easily, after spending a single night with him, he’ll never know. But he knew for certain that he didn’t want to lose it. He didn’t want to how he felt when he was with her.

And before he could talk himself out of it, before he could let those voices in his head decide for him, he was tugging on the door handle and sliding himself onto the warm leather of the passenger’s seat.

Jade’s only reply to his actions is a bright smirk shot in his direction before she once again shifts the car to drive and pulls away from the curb and onto the Pittsburgh streets.

Sidney looks out, watching as the buildings and other cars pass by. Sometimes, when stopped at a traffic light, he thinks he notices people on the sidewalks or in the neighboring cars do a double take in his direction. He instinctively ducks or turns his head away, never wanting to draw attention to himself. But it doesn’t fully work.

A car speeds pass, horn honking and Jade and Sidney look up as a few boys lean out of the window.

“Hell yeah Sidney!!!” their shouts echo as they drive away and Sidney gives them a polite wave. Jade’s head turns towards him and an involuntary giggle falling from her lips at his chagrined expression.

“That’s got to be annoying,” she says, turning her attention back towards the road.

“I don’t mind it,” Sidney replies, his somewhat practiced words falling from his lips.

“Bullshit.”

Sidney’s eyes jump to Jade, her serious yet relaxed face turned towards the road. She releases a sigh as she senses his eyes on her. Without looking at him, she continues.

“C’mon superstar. Part of you must want to live your life without all the eyes of Pittsburgh on you.”

Sidney doesn’t reply, instead choosing to turn his head back to look at the passing scenery. He didn’t want to admit it but she was right. There were moments in his life that he wondered what it would be like if he was not Pittsburgh Penguin Captain #87, the great Sidney Crosby, one of the best NHL players and he was simply… Sidney.

There she was, once again reading him like the well-worn pages of old book.

The silence weighs heavily, a stark contrast to the spring breeze that rustled through the air. Jade shoots a quick glance in Sidney’s direction and find him still turned away.

“Look, I’m sorry. That was presumptuous on my part,” she says, eyes returning to the road stretched out ahead. Sidney’s face turns back to look at her, watches as her hands tighten around the steering wheel, reading the anxiety that coiled in her body.

“I thought we agreed no assumptions?” he jokes, echoing the words from the first night they met. Jade laughs, the noise immediately lifting the fog from between them.

“Yes. Yes, we did.”

She continues to turn down the busy streets and Sidney lets himself relax back into the present moment. He watches as Jade glances up at the traffic signs before a smirk appears on her face. It stays on her lips as she turns to connect her eyes with Sidney.

“Do you want to get out of this town?”

Even though her eyes are obscured by her tinted sunglasses, Sidney knows that bright mischievous energy is sure to be sparkling in those green eyes, the look that pulled him to her that very first night. Without thinking, he nods in agreement. Her grin widens as she turns onto the highway that leads out of the heart of Pittsburgh.

They zip down the interstate, the wind ruffling Jade’s hair as they drive further out of the city. She glances back at Sidney and smiles as she sees him relaxed against the passenger seat, his energy seemingly calmer, his chest rising and falling, breathing in the fresh air, the smile never leaving his face.

Eventually, Sidney turns his eyes back to Jade and watches her in the same way.

Part of him felt like he was running away; running from his problems and his worries. However, he knew that if he ever did decide to run away from his troubles, that also meant running away from the things that meant the most; friends, his career, his success. But right now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Because deep down he knew he would run from anything if it meant running with her.

He watches as Jade reaches down to turn on the radio, scanning until she lands on a station playing some old classic rock and leans back, letting the music dance through the light breeze. Her lips start to move, quietly mouthing along to the lyrics as the world races by. Over the noise of the breeze, traffic, and music, it takes her a minute to register a different voice accompanying the radio. Jade peeks over to see Sidney singing along to the music, his hands tapping a rhythm onto the passenger side door. With a smile, she reaches again and turns the music up, looking back at Sidney with a grin.

“Oh, the movie never ends, it goes on and on and on and on,” she joins in, the grin never leaving her as her eyes goad Sidney on. Sidney reads her challenge and continues singing, his volume increasing.

“Strangers waitin’ up and down the boulevard their shadows searchin’ in the night.”

“Streetlights, people. Livin’ just to find emotion.”

“Hidin’ somewhere in the night!” Sidney leans his head back, hitting that high note, causing another bought of laughter to fall from Jade’s lips. He looks back to her, the smile dancing across his lips as he watches; her head throw back, her child-like laughter cascading through the air. And that feeling hit him again; that feeling of youth and freedom.

Sidney didn’t have to pretend to be anyone with her. He could simply be.

They continue down the road, singing and laughing as the world passes by. After what seems like hours, Jade turns off the highway, taking an exit that Sidney didn’t recognize.

“Where are we going?” he questions, looking back as the crowded turnpike disappears behind him.

“No place special.”

Sidney doesn’t feel like prying so he remains silent and lets Jade move along the small desolate roads. Throughout the drive, he constantly looks back at her, watching as she confidently turns down side streets, as if she had followed this path a hundred times. Another part of the mystery of her.

Jade drives onto a dirt road, passing a worn wooden sign that Sidney can barely read and follows the path up a small hill until she parks at the edge of a lookout. He watches as she hops out and walks to the front of the car, leaning against the hood. It takes a few seconds until Sidney is following, finding his place in the empty space next to her. He looks out onto the scenery and it taken aback.

Jade had brought him to a lake, the trees crowding the edges, the water gently sloshing against the shore. The sun shined down on the scene, making the water below sparkle. His eyes couldn’t stay still as he took in everything around him: the sugar-spun clouds, the towering oak trees, the groups of dandelions that line the edge of the hill. He stays silent as he sits next to Jade, letting the only noise be the rustling of the leaves around him and the quiet birdsong.

A few moments pass before Sidney looks back at her and feels his heart leap. She is staring out over the scenery, the wind ruffling the edges of her shirt, the pale blue sky reflected in her eyes. There is nothing special about how she looked and he loved that. She wasn’t performing for him or for anyone. She simply existed.

Sidney watches as she lifts herself up off the car and wanders to the edge of the lookout, the sunlight tracing her frame. Crouching down, she plucks some of the dandelions from the grass, lifting them up and letting the bright yellow flowers wiggle in her grasp.

“Do you like dandelions?” she asks, her eyes never departing from the task at hand.

“I never thought about it,” Sidney answers truthfully.

“I think they’re lovely,” she softly says, her fingertips tracing the golden petals.

“But they’re just weeds, right?”

A breathy laugh falls from her lips as she straightens herself up, the flowers still held in her grasp. She wanders over to Sidney, slotting herself between his parted thighs. Sidney can feel his breath catch in his throat as she leans towards him, pulling a dandelion from the small bouquet.

“And who says weeds aren’t lovely?” she whispers to him, gently placing the flower behind his ear and he can’t suppress the shiver that runs through him at the feeling of the petals against his skin and her fingers tracing down the back of his neck.

“So beautiful and so stubbornly alive.”

Her gentle words are enough for Sidney to lean in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. She sighs against his lips, her arms absentmindedly wrapping around his shoulders as his hands find their place on her hips, pulling her closer. The kiss deepens as Sidney is pulls her down, her body draped over him as his back rests against the warm metal of the hood. Jade finally breaks away, departing breathless above Sidney. Sidney looks up at her, his hazel eyes warm as he lifts his hand, coming to cradle her cheek, his thumb gently tracing over the smooth skin.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he murmurs.

Jade pauses and Sidney swears the world stops as his confession lingers in the late May air. Sidney keeps his breathing strong and steady underneath Jade as he waits for her response. The glimmering hope in his eyes falter as a laugh from her lips instead of the words he hopes to hear.

“So rational, Sidney. Falling for a woman you just met,” she says, voice light and dismissive. Sidney’s eyebrows furrow at the shift in her energy, watching as she lifts herself up, pushing her body away from him and off the car. She returns to her spot next to him on the edge of the hood, eyes returning to overlook the scenery in front of her.

“You barely know me.”

Sidney knows that she can feel his eyes on her but she doesn’t turn around. He reaches his arm out towards her and can feel the shiver that runs through her as his fingers graze over her hips.

“I want to.”

Those gentle words are what causes her to finally turn back to him, her eyes connecting to his. The look on his face is so truthful, so earnest. A small smile appears on her lips and Sidney lets out a breath of relief that he didn’t know he was holding.

“Is that your best pick-up line?” she quips.

“As long as it works,” Sidney teases back, wanting to keep the light-hearted energy between the two of them flowing. She laughs that brilliant beautiful laugh that captured him that first night and lifts herself up off the car. She extends a hand out to him which he gladly takes, lifting himself up before moving closer to her, his arms wrapping around her waist once more.

This time it is Jade who makes the first move, lifting herself up to connect her lips to his. They stand there, entangled in each other’s arms, the sunlight warming their bodies. And Sidney feels instantly lighter when she finally breaks away.

“Come on, superstar,” she says, peeling away from him. “Let’s get you home.”

She hops back in the car, Sidney following close behind, before retracing the path back to the bright lights of the now dark Pittsburgh streets. And when Jade pulls her car up outside Sidney’s house in his affluent neighborhood, it takes everything in him not to invite her inside.

But Sidney still has a smile on his face as he opens the front door and turns to watch her car disappear around the corner. Because in his pocket is a dandelion along with an old receipt, with her phone number hastily scrawled on the back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The months that Sidney shares with Jade pass in a blur. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t rushed. It was just how it felt; a swift stumble into a romance that felt as soft as summer and as gentle as the setting sun. It felt like something out of a movie: a romance filled with honey and lemons – bright and sweet and wild.

Sidney was in constant awe of Jade; how she moved through the world, how fearless and unapologetic she was. He had never met anyone like her.

He had been everywhere, all over the country, all over the world. He had played in front of thousands of people, each one of them cheering his name. And he would trade it all, every experience, if he could be promised that he’d never have to live without hearing her soft voice whispering secrets in the golden-filled hours under white covers, eyelids heavy and the scent of magnolias drifting through the open windows.

There were moments when Sidney didn’t think she was real. That she was an apparition that he conjured up from one of his wildest dreams. But she was real and every moment he spent with her, he became more certain that she was made for him.

These were the thoughts where dancing through his head as he watches her move throughout his living room, her body lightly dancing to the tune she was humming underneath her breath. He sits on the couch, just watching her, his t-shirt hanging from her frame, the early afternoon sun dancing on her skin. She turns, a smile on her lips that Sidney shares. That bright laugh falls from Jade as she waltzes over him, her body coming to a stop between his outstretched thighs. Her hand reaches out, gently running through his hair, following a path down to his cheek, her touch bouncing between every freckle. She giggles as his lips kisses her fingertips each time they get too close to his lips.

Jade turns away from him and starts to exit the living room. But she stops in her tracks at the sound of Sidney’s voice.

“I love you.”

The world seems to stop when those words fall from his lips. He said it before, that day in May overlooking the lake. But it was a question back then, a hesitation. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said that day. And that one word, that uncertainty, held him back from the truth he knew. But now…

Jade turns around to see Sidney sitting there on the couch and when her eyes dance over his face, Sidney knows that she can see the honesty painted there. He was sure of his words and wanted her to believe him when he said it. He was in love with her; that much was certain. So, there he sat, still looking at her, silently praying that she would say the words in return.

Instead, it is a laugh that echoes around the room.

“That’s sweet superstar. Do you tell that to every wide-eyed girl you know?” she quips. Sidney’s eyebrows furrow as the confused replaces the certainty that used to be on his face.

“What are you saying?” he asked, his bewildered tone clear.

“What are you saying, Sidney? You love me?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“What do you mean ‘I don’t’?” Sidney questions as he lifts himself off the couch cushions, taking a small step towards her. He hears the light-hearted sigh she lets out as she turns away before his voice stops her again.

“Please, look at me.”

Jade turns back towards him, looking him in the eye.

“You don’t love me, Sidney. You don’t.”

“What does that mean?”

She scoffs, and the lack of explanation frustrates him, causing him to continue.

“No, tell me why you don’t think I love you. What have we been doing for the past few months? Just having fun?”

“Yes,” she snaps, “yes, Sidney that is exactly what we’ve been doing. That’s what this is; you looking for a distraction and me being the one to give you that.”

“Is that how you see us? Is that how you see me? That I’m just using you for… my own gain? How could you think that?”

“Because that’s what you’re doing Sidney,” she says with a venom in her voice that Sidney was entirely unaware existed. “Maybe you don’t realize it but that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. I don’t understand why you would think that. When I met you that night in that bar, there was something. Something pulled me to you, I don’t know what it was, but there was something, you can’t deny that. And you found me. I don’t care if that sounds stupid or cliché but you found me at the right time and… and you saved me. I was drowning and you saved me.”

She scoffs again at his words and Sidney still can’t understand her reaction.

“You did,” he continues, his voice raising, taking on a pleading edge that he should’ve been ashamed of but he didn’t care. He wanted Jade to talk to him. “I felt like shit, I was angry and spiteful and tired. God, I was so fucking tired. And then you came along and you changed that. With everything you do; the way you laugh, your smile, your attitude. It was refreshing and freeing. You made me feel young and in love and I never felt like that before. And I do love you because of it.”

“My God, Sidney,” she yells, the damn finally breaking. “Do you even hear yourself? This – that – that’s exactly what I’m talking about.�� She starts to pace around the room, the frustrated energy radiating off her in waves. “I’m not here to complete you or make you feel young or save you. That’s not my fucking job.”

As soon as those words escape her, Sidney realizes how he fucked up. He starts to open his mouth in an attempt to back-track, to tell her that he didn’t mean it that way. But before he can utter a single syllable, Jade cuts him off again.

“And that’s what I mean when I say that you are using me. I’m this girl who showed up at the right time and everything about me is fun and unique and wild and carefree. That’s who you want me to be, so I can fit into that pretty little narrative you created in your head. You don’t love me, Sidney. You love that woman, that idealized version that you made. But I’m not her. I’m not that girl.”

She sighs, energy spent as she collapse onto the armchair in the corner, eyes downcast.

“You look at me Sidney. But you don’t see me.”

Sidney shifts in place before moving over towards her. However, even though she could clearly hear his approach, Jade doesn’t lift her head as he kneels down, his warm palms coming to rest on her thighs.

“I do see you. I promise I do. There’s so many things about you that I love and –”

“Name one,” she says, those piercing green eyes locking with his. Sidney flinches when he sees the distance shining within her irises. “Name one thing you love about me that doesn’t benefit you.”

Her challenge hangs heavy in the air as Sidney open his mouth, leaving it gaping for a moment before closing it once more. And he can’t stop the small wince that pangs through him at the humorless laugh falls from her lips.

“That’s what I thought,” she sighs. “I’ve been there before. I’ve been with people like that before. I know you think you love me but you don’t. As soon as I show any vulnerability, anything that you can’t slap a pretty little filter over, anything that doesn’t fit into your daydream, you’ll wake up… and then you’ll leave. You’re going to tell me that you won’t, that you’re not like all the rest but…”

Her words trail off and Sidney wants to know why. He wants to know what he could say to her to prove that he was different. That he did love her, that he did want to be with her. That he would stay forever by her side.

He wanted to know why her heart was battered, beaten. How it had become like a scared animal backed into a corner, timid and mistrustful.

“I promised myself that I would never go through that again. I can’t,” she finishes, pushing his hands off of her as she lifts herself off the armchair. Sidney watches as she grabs her keys, walking to his front door, placing her hand on the handle, ready to walk out of Sidney’s life. But before she does, she looks back towards him, still kneeling on the ground, his hazel eyes locked on her frame.

“I’m sorry,” she says and Sidney isn’t quite sure what she is apologizing for. But those words feel as definitive as a goodbye. And those are the words she leaves him with as she walks out of his house.

Sidney stays there, watching as the door closes, the resounding click of the latch falling into place echoing through his home and only one thought similarly reverberating through his mind:

Where did he go wrong?

He thought she felt the same. No, he was certain that she felt the same way about him. Sidney was and could be many things but reckless with his emotions was never one of them. His head spun with the moments that he had shared with her throughout the months.

At first, he couldn’t think of any instance that he could confidently say that was the sign, the indication that she didn’t feel the same. But as he continued to think, as he pushed away that love-struck haze that covered those memories, he realized that there had been some moments; moments where she pulled away from him. She hid it well, with her laughter and jokes concealing a deeper meaning, a hurt that he never bothered to investigate more of.

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he got too caught up in how she made him feel that he didn’t put in the effort to uncover who she really was.

But the more he thought about it, he realizes that he didn’t just sweep those moments under the rug, didn’t ignore them. He pushed as much as he thought he could, never wanting to overstep the boundaries that she had set. Sometimes he felt as if he got close but every time he felt that way, a wall he didn’t even notice separated him from her. It wasn’t easy. But Sidney knew that he would wait forever for Jade to tell him those stories that she kept under lock and key.

Yes, there were moments where things weren’t perfect, where he made mistakes, where communication fell flat. But part of him knew that those beautiful moments he shared with her, where he did truly see her, were enough to chase after her. Because there was no way that the past few months weren’t real.

The speed that Sidney grabs his coat and car keys is hectic to say the least but he knows that he can’t waste anymore seconds. There is a very real possibility that Jade would be lost to him forever, gone as fast as a midnight cigarette. He jumps into his car, making his way down the winding Pittsburgh streets to her apartment building. He is ready to scramble out and hit the buzzer of her apartment until she responds. That is, until he takes a quick look around the small parking lot and doesn’t see Jade’s vintage convertible anywhere.

A frustrated sigh escapes his chest as he takes out his phone, dialing Jade’s number but only getting her voicemail. His body slumps against the driver’s seat, a wave of defeat washing over him, a feeling that he didn’t want to accept. He closes his eyes as his brain desperately flips through his memories, trying to find something that could tell him where she might be.

Suddenly, a crystal-clear image pops into his mind; sunglasses perched on her nose, the wind whipping around her convertible, that wicked smile dancing on her lips, her voice light;

“Do you want to get out of this town?”

His eyes fly open as he kicks his car into reverse, driving back onto the streets. After a few minutes, Sidney is on the highway leaving downtown and bringing him closer to rural Pennsylvania and hopefully, closer to her.

Part of him worries that he’ll make a wrong turn somewhere, delaying him and potentially costing him his last opportunity to reach Jade. He didn’t have the exact map in his mind. She had only brought him there once, that day in May and he hadn’t taken the time to memorize the specific route. All he had to go on was the bare bones of his memory and the landscape and signs around him.

But it seemed the universe was on his side; the setting sun is guiding his path. He recognizes enough small landmarks, telling him that he was headed the right way and it wasn’t long until he found himself pulling up to that old wooden sign.

He turns onto the dirt road, following the path up that small hill, that outlook where Jade took him those months ago. There is a whisper of fear within him, scared that he would make it to the top and it would be empty. That she would be gone completely from his life and he would never be able to find her again. But then he turns that final corner.

And there her vintage convertible sits, parked on the top of the hill.

And there she sits, leaning against the hood, looking out at the sunset.

Sidney parks his car behind hers, letting the engine die and plunging the lakeside back into the almost silence of nature; the wind in the trees being the only sound.

Hopping out of the car, Sidney moves towards Jade, partially expecting her to turn back or acknowledge him in any way. She must have heard him, must have heard the car door and his feet crunching the gravel beneath him. But she doesn’t react; her eyes stay locked on the horizon. Even when Sidney reaches her, leaning the hood next to her. The silence hangs heavy until Sidney finally speaks.

“You hate the ends of garlic bread,” he says, his voice soft. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Jade’s head whip towards him, his words clearly not the ones that she was expecting. He doesn’t look in her direction though, instead choosing to stare into the same sunset that she was moments ago.

“You hum any song when you’re cooking or doing chores,” he continues, his voice sure and steady. “You will use anything as a bookmark. You always catch the spiders your apartment and release them instead of killing them. You put cinnamon sticks in your coffee. You always point out cows when you drive. You move around in your apartment just to make sure you’re always sitting in sunlight. You love gardening and want to have a yard so you can grow flowers and fruits and vegetables and herbs.”

He continues to list these things about her. And it’s not just the beautiful things; it’s the ugly, scared, vulnerable things he’s noticed too. He’s describing these moments, these little things that he doesn’t even know the meaning behind. But he notices them nevertheless. And finally, finally, he turns to look into Jade’s eyes. And he notices the way her breath catches when she sees the look of pure love shining in his.

“You were right. I did love the idea of you. I loved the way you made me feel. And I should’ve known – I should’ve known not to do that. Because that’s all everyone has ever done with me.”

He lets his confession hang in the air, letting his words sink in for a moment before he speaks again.

“Almost all my life, people had their ideas about who I should be. And I got so used to it, that I started believing that’s who I was. I made these masks that I could wear and change in order to always be the exact person that people expected. Then you came along. You didn’t expect me to be anyone but myself. You saw through all those feeble facades that I wore and you loved me for exactly who I was. And,” he pauses, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, as if to gather himself one final time, “I don’t want to go back to pretending for whoever comes next. Because I don’t want there to be anyone else. I only want you. The beautiful part and the ugly parts. Because that’s who I love. You.”

Sidney finishes his speech and lets the silence fall, lets his words drift away into the late summer breeze. His eyes stay locked onto hers, looking into those beautiful green eyes, watching the changing emotions flicker behind them as she takes in his confession. She finally breaks the connection, turning to look back at the sunset.

“I can’t be the one to make sure you stay that way, Sidney,” she says, reiterating that fear that kept him at arms-length throughout those months that they shared.

“You were never the one that made me become myself. You gave me permission to make that choice in a moment when I thought I didn’t have that option anymore.”

It’s another moment of stillness, another moment of simply existing in the same space. Until Jade finally moves, her hand reaching over the hood of the car towards Sidney. There is a second of hesitancy where her hand rests in the empty in the space between them.

Until finally, Sidney extends his own hand. And when his hand meets hers, fingers intertwining, the sigh falling from her lips, he knows that she can feel the warmth of his love. And along with it, the certainty that she was safe to fall.

Because he would always be there to catch her.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Three Years Later

The click of the lock is a welcome sound, Sidney pushing the front door open to his new home. Or more accurately, their new home. The one he and Jade chose a year ago, shortly after their wedding. A place that would be uniquely theirs, a place where they could set down roots and build a home and a life after his retirement from hockey.

Sidney had announced his retirement at the beginning of this season, stating that it would be his last. There was a large amount of fanfare and an expectedly large amount of media attention throughout the regular season. When the Penguins hadn’t made it to the playoffs, he was upset. The narrative of his club winning one last Stanley Cup for him was a compelling one. But he didn’t let the loss sting him too much. He had three already, along with so many other awards and achievements and memories. Those were the things that he could hold onto.

He was confident that he would be able to let the game of hockey go. Because he had Jade.

Sidney walks deeper into the house, calling her name, his voice echoing off the walls. A silence greets him until he finally makes his way into the kitchen. And sees the open screen door leading to the backyard, the mellow sounds of R&B music floating into the house. After putting his things down on the kitchen island, he steps out onto the porch, his hazel eyes scanning over the yard.

The first thing Sidney notices is their dog Wilson laying in the middle of the yard, his chest rising and falling as he soaks in the April sunlight. Sidney’s eyes finally find Jade, sitting on her knees, crouched over one of the many flowerbeds he made for her. He watches as her hands pull out the creeping weeds, preparing for the coming spring. A few plastic pots of black irises sit next to her, their stalks gently swaying in the breeze as they patiently wait for her to nestle them in the dark soil.

Sidney makes his way across the yard, stopping to greet Wilson who is so content that he barely lifts his head in acknowledgement. He eventually reaches Jade, his body lowering to join her on the earth. The approach would’ve been silent, if it weren’t for the groan that rumbles from his chest as his knees protested.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he laughs, finally relaxing into kneeling position. Jade’s laugh dances on the breeze, her attention turning to him, the Pittsburgh Penguins baseball cap perched on her head, protecting her face from the sun.

“What’s the matter superstar? Retirement taking the wind from your sails?” she teases, sitting back on her heels as she wipes the dirt off her hands onto her worn out t-shirt. Sidney can’t help but smile when he notices the rings hanging from her necklace, the ones that he had chosen for her almost two years prior.

“I’ve only technically been retired for a week now,” he playfully shoots back, the false offense painting his words. Jade just laughs again, her attention still focused on him. “I suppose my body just needs to learn how to slow down.”

“Well, hopefully it’s not too broken down to pass me that bucket of fresh soil.”

Her teasing request is one that he gladly obliges, reaching for the green bucket sitting a few inches away from him. He pulls it close to his body, ready to pass it over to her when a flash of white catches his eyes. Sidney’s eyes refocus, staring into the bucket as his brain registers the item perched on top of the loose soil.

A pregnancy test.

He tentatively reaches it, grasping the test and lifting it out of the pail. He has to use his hand to block the sunlight to be able to fully read the screen. And his jaw drops when he finally makes out the word ‘pregnant’ staring back at him. Sidney’s eyes flash up to Jade whose gaze is still locked on his body, a soft smile on her face.

“Are you serious?” he asks, the disbelief clear in his tone.

Jade doesn’t give a verbal response, just a small nod as her smile grows wider. Sidney doesn’t hesitate to reach out to her, pulling her into a crushing hug. Her bright cheerful laugh rings out through the air as he holds her close, muttering words of joy and thanks to her and to the universe for bringing these blessings to his life. Sidney can’t stop pressing kisses into her sun-warmed skin as she continues to giggle before she grabs his face and draws him into a passionate kiss.

They finally break away from each other, smiles still splitting their faces and Sidney’s hands fall to rest on her still flat stomach.

“What should we name her?” he asks, his thumbs lifting Jade’s shirt to brush against her bare skin.

“Easy there, superstar. We don’t even know if it’s a girl yet.”

“Trust me, it’s a girl.”

“Oh, and why are you so certain about that? Did the sudden knowledge that you’re going to be a father give you some sort of parental superpower?”

“I just know it,” he replies, that crooked smile tugging at his lips. Jade just returns his smile, his quiet certainty making her softly chuckle.

“I’ve always liked the name Jacqueline. Jackie for short,” she says, the suggestion floating on the breeze.

“Then Jackie it is.”

The two of them stay there, staring at each other as the sunlight beats down on them. This was it for him. It was him and Jade and Wilson and their unborn child. A contented sigh falls from his lips; this was all he ever wanted in his life, all he had ever hoped for. And just like she always did, Jade seemed to know exactly what he was feeling, that beautiful soft smile painting her features.

It isn’t clear who moved first, but at the same time it didn’t matter. Because when Sidney’s lips met Jade’s, he felt the certainty of their love thrumming through him. They break apart, his forehead resting against Jade’s, their breaths mingling in the warm summer light.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

taglist: @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @ sorlos-world @svexhenthusiast and adding @wyattjohnston cause as mentioned, this is started as a Winter Fic Exchange fic.

join my taglist here!

#nicole writes #sidney crosby fic #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosbby x oc #pittsburgh penguins fic #pittsburgh penguins imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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kiame-sama · 9 months ago

Text

Results on the poll are in and the majority wanted Romantic Yandere Zestial with a rival. (I was honestly surprised, but seeing as romantic and platonic were so close, I'll make it platonic to slow burn romantic)

Warnings; Yandere temper, Yandere behavior, Yandere relationship, yandere v yandere, Sin Eater reader, Gender Neutral Reader, slow burn platonic to romantic yandere, rival yandere, surprise rival yandere, violence, blasphemy, reader gets one hell of a backbone (only for a bit), God, yelling in the presence of God, brief surprise guest appearances, lucifer and others call reader young/kid (mostly affectionately),

~~~~~~~~

Zestial felt a small playful grin tug at the corners of his mouth as he watched his wayward charge curiously poke around his home. The halls of his manor had been rather quiet and the change to having company was certainly a welcome one. Despite his long life and the many lovers he had entertained in the past, he felt a true connection to the Sin Eater whose very soul he held claim over. They were not only a novelty in their soul's unfortunate proclivity to violence towards sinners but they did not immediately fear or despise him upon meeting.

"(Y/n), thy curiosity is truly an endearing quality."

His grin only widened as he noticed the way you startled at his sudden presence. Though he didn't wish harm or misfortune upon you, he was still a sadistic overlord who adored the fearful looks others gave him. You looked up at the tall arachnid that loomed over you, relaxing when you realized it was just Zestial poking fun.

"Hi, Zestial. I was just-"

"Being the curious nymph thou oft remind me of."

"I guess? Anyway, Carmilla wanted me to come over and talk to her about the exterminations. Apparently during the last one, the angels were looking for a Sin Eater down here."

This made a deep frown pull at Zestial's lips, feeling a kind of anger take over his being at the idea of an exorcist getting their hands on you. His change in temper was easy for you to notice as Zestial often seemed pleasantly aloof excepting for when he was angry. Zestial was certainly unhappy at that moment.

"I see... And, did Carmilla share with thou the intent of this angel?"

"No. I think that's what she wants to talk with me about."

"I shall accompany thou in thy to visit Carmilla. I, too, would like to know how oft these angels seek thy presence. The attentions of Exorcists are oft a negative omen."

"Okay. I'm sure Carmilla would like to see you too. She always seems more comfortable when you are there with me."

Zestial hummed at this, well aware that his presence often put Carmilla at ease whenever she interacted with you. She still didn't trust you because of the many unfortunate interactions she has had with Sin Eaters, so having Zestial nearby calmed her. So long as you are still on Zestial's leash, she trusted you wouldn't act out of turn. She figured she could always call upon him should your hunger get out of hand while nearby. The deal you had with Zestial also kept you safe from Carmilla as she would not dare try to slay a soul he had claimed.

~~~~~~~~

"Wait, so I was supposed to die when they threw me into Hell, but now they want me back? How does that fit in with Heaven's logic?"

"I'm not an angel. I wouldn't know."

You frowned and pondered what you had been told. It was confusing, but it did make it easier knowing that though Carmilla may dislike you, she didn't like the angels talking about you. According to Carmilla, the angels expected you to be slain shortly after throwing you into Hell. The fact you were still alive upset and irritated them.

"If Carmilla's informant is correct, it twould seem they shall be searching for (y/n) specifically. I refuse to be one to allow these feathered nuisances to harm a hair atop thy head. They shan't have you."

You noticed the way Carmilla slightly frowned, glancing to the side as Zestial swore to protect you. Her clear respect and somewhat attraction to Zestial had been weighing on you as you didn't want to drive a wedge between the two seeing as they obviously had gone through quite a lot together. The most you could do was hope that Carmilla didn't dislike you for befriending Zestial even though she clearly disliked that you were a Sin Eater.

"Ms. Carmine? Though I know you likely told me this for Zestial's benefit, I still appreciate you letting me know about all of this. Thank you."

Carmilla seemed surprised at first before her eyes somewhat softened from her typical hard glare to a gentle expression. You had only seen her use that expression when talking to her two daughters.

"Don't be so quick to trust anyone in Hell, Sin Eater. If you weren't Zestial's soul, I would have killed you myself."

"I know. That doesn't mean I can't be thankful to you for your help."

The smallest of smiles pulled at Carmilla's lips for just a moment before she returned to the hardened expression she usually wore.

"Take care, (Y/n). I can see why you were sent to Heaven first before they betrayed you and sent you here. Heaven may want you dead, but I won't let them have their way."

~~~~~~~~

Extermination day was a brutal yearly event in Hell that always seemed to be more violent than the year before it. Zestial insisted you remain inside his estate with the curtains drawn while he left to an overlord meeting, making it clear he wanted you nowhere near the angels. You weren't keen to argue seeing as the angels were likely going to be gunning for you the moment they noticed your presence.

What you hadn't expected was the frantic knocking at the manor doors. Desperate souls in hell trying to escape the extermination going on outside. They were willingly to do anything, even sell their souls to the ancient being Zestial just to have a chance at escaping the angels.

Though you wanted to open the doors to let the poor sinners in, Zestial had been more than clear that you were to leave the doors sealed. However, those on the other side of the door did not take kindly to you not offering them sanctuary as the door suddenly caved in, a large axe blade sticking out of the door.

The body of a sinner fell into the doorway and a frighteningly familiar figure entered in. His large horns and dark mask looked identical to when you saw him at the gates of Heaven. He sneered as he removed the axe from the poor sinner he hunted down.

"How d'ya like that, demon bitch? Try and fucking run from me and I still got you!"

It was while he was taking in his surroundings he realized you were standing there, your gaze filled with terror and confusion. He didn't seem to recognize you at first before his smile became manic and sadistic.

"Found you. Did you know, you are one tough unlucky fucker to find. But Sera heard you survived, so I gotta drag your ass back to Heaven. Just had to screw up your one job, right? Now the Big Man wants your ass in His office, so You're gonna be a good little bitch and don't fight."

The fear coursing through you set you on edge as you took a step back from the man. His mask covering his face made him seem like more of a monster and set actual fear into your heart. You did the only thing you could think of, hoping beyond hope that he would answer you even if he was in a meeting with other overlords.

"Zestial, please... Please help me!"

Your plea seemed to be unanswered for a moment as the man reached towards you with a grin of triumph. Right as it seemed his hand was about to grab you, you found yourself suddenly stumbling to the side and into a pair of arms.

"Woah there! You alright?"

You looked up at the sinner holding you only to pause in confusion. The person you saw looked far more human despite his pale white skin and bright red clownish cheeks. He watched you in confusion even as he steadied you on your feet and let you lean on him to find your footing.

The room you found yourself in was not where you had been only moments ago. It seemed like you were somewhere high up as you could look down at a fair portion of The Pentagram from the windows nearby. None of it looked familiar.

"Where's Ze-?"

You were cut off by a bright light that drew your attention to the windows on the far side of the room. Several overlords- Zestial included- and even a few rather intimidating looking sinners you didn't recognize were present in what seemed to be a meeting room. In the open space before the windows was a blinding light that faded only slightly as a being emerged from the light. The being was humanoid in shape, but you couldn't make out what their face looked like as light continued to shine brightly enough to obscure them.

"Come, Sin Eater. It is not ideal that I had to retrieve you myself, but I shall do what I must."

"Who-?"

"You may call me Father, Creator, or God. Whichever you feel has enough reverence."

"You're-?"

"The one creator of all things, Damned and Heavenly souls included. And you, young Sin Eater, have defied your odds to exist to this point. Now, come and we shall discuss your afterlife."

You watched in silence for a moment, feeling anxiety racing through you as you looked at this intimidating figure before you. There was a part of you that wanted to do whatever the intimidating man told you to, but another far stronger part wanted you to yell.

You wanted to yell for the injustice of it all. To yell for being thrown into Hell with no warning. To yell for the clear suffering so many other sinners endured. To yell at the cause of all this suffering and senseless slaughter.

You needed to yell.

"No."

"Excuse you?"

"I said 'no'. If you want me to go with you I need a few things first."

The Man scoffed slightly in an incredulous manner, folding His ethereal arms over His chest. Though you couldn't see His face, you could tell He was scowling to some degree.

"A bit big in your own shoes, eh? Fine. What is it you believe you can ask of God?"

"Save them."

"Who?"

"The sinners screaming outside, being slaughtered and cut down at your behest. Save them first, or you are nothing but talk."

"They made their choice. They are reaping the rewards for sinful life."

"Really? Then what was my time down here? What do you call it when you kick someone out of Heaven and send them straight to Hell? Is that not an injustice? Is that not an undeserved fate? I went to Heaven first, and this is what I got instead."

"And I am taking you back to Heaven, is that not forgiving of me?"

You frowned deeply, feeling anger bubble up in your chest as you slowly walked forward. Step by step you approached the Heavenly being that claimed to be God Himself.

"Forgiving for what? What did I do that needs to be forgiven?"

"..."

"You claim to be the Creator of All, yet you turn a deaf ear to those begging you for mercy. You claim to be loving and forgiving, yet my only crime was an affliction I did not put upon myself and I was still thrown into Hell. You claim to be all of these things yet you refuse to save those that need it most."

He slightly dipped His head, as if He were refusing to meet your gaze and your blood only burned hotter. This Man stood before you claiming to be divine and forgiving, yet He couldn't do anything you asked of Him. He may not see it, but as far as you were concerned, He owed you a bit of grace.

"No. I will not go with you. Until you can open your arms to the damned and forgotten, I will not go with you. Until you uphold the morals you claim to purvey, I will not go with you. Until Hell itself is empty and I am the last one standing, I will not go with you."

"You belong in Heaven."

"Not any more. Those here showed me more kindness than your supposed 'angels' ever did! These damned sinners showed me mercy when I didn't deserve any from them! I belong here. And until you can prove to me that you are more than just talk, I will go nowhere with you. I'll even spit in your face if I have to, to prove I belong here!"

The Man was silent for a long moment, your anxious nerves sparking wildly as you stood before your Creator and told Him to go fuck Himself. The words spilled from your mouth like water from the head of a river, flowing forward with no regard to the end destination. All you felt was rage.

"You may have me when you earn me. Until then, find someone else to preach to."

The silence was near deafening as He stood, letting your words soak in even as you glared into the blinding light that emanated from Him. No one spoke until the sudden crack of what could have been thunder, and with a pop He was gone from view.

It was then your nerves hit you, making your knees buckle and your body sink downwards as all you had said and done weighed in your mind. At the least, you forfeited your one ticket into Heaven and a peaceful afterlife. At most, you pissed off God Himself and made it clear that His words could never reach you despite His efforts. You were forsaken regardless.

"Well, holy fucking Hell. I sure as shit didn't expect that!"

The gruff voice of one of the strangers present drew you from your downward spiral. He had a heavy Aussie accent and seemed to be some kind of abomination cross between a jester and a Christmas tree. His greenish-yellow eyes were wide with surprise, as were the eyes of the rest that were present. Even Zestial seemed surprised.

A hand rest on your shoulder and you sharply looked up to see that same man from before watching you with a gentle gaze and warm smile. His red eyes seemed so full of understanding and compassion that you could scarcely believe he was likely a sinner.

"Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Honestly, I'm surprised He didn't strike you down for what you said, but I can definitely say that I am proud of you."

"Thank you... I think? I just- I couldn't stand how he was so happy to let others suffer yet he still thought he was the merciful one. I- I'm sorry, I don't even know who you are and I'm putting all of this on you. I'm (Y/n) (L/n). I'm a-"

"A Sin Eater. Yes, I could tell by your soul. Not many of your kind down here, but hey, Hell has plenty of room for all. Lucifer Morningstar, pleasure to meet you, (Y/n)."

"... Morningstar..? Oh. Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to be rude, or intrude, or not bow. I was just calling for Zestial's help because that one angel who sent me here broke in and- I- I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I-"

"Take a breath there," Lucifer chuckled in a good-natured way, "to think, you'll spit in the face of God with no trouble but you apologize to me for not bowing when you didn't even know who I was. You've got some moxy, kiddo. I'll give you that."

He stood up again, holding a hand out to you which you gratefully accepted. It still felt like you were in an emotional limbo state given all that happened, yet you still found a bit of comfort and happiness bloom in your chest. Who knew Lucifer was such a chill guy?

"Gotta love a sinner who can stand up for themselves. Mmm. Takes guts."

A beautiful and deep baritone voice grabbed your attention and drew it to the owner of such high-quality brass pipes. Sitting with their legs crossed appeared to be a humanoid that was some kind of cross between a rooster and a Lion with three faces. They wore a finely decorated suit that seemed to glow in the low light as if they held some kind of light within.

"Guts? Talk about bringing the fire baby! Where you been hiding, Cutie? No way you've been anywhere near the other sinners with a soul that unique."

A female figured humanoid spoke up with a feminine voice, her figure much like a bee mixed with a fennec fox. Her stomach reminded you of a lava-lamp as the pink and blue colors within moved in a fluid maner. The group she sat among being the many you did not recognize.

Your eyes scanned the rest of the room where you had seen the various overlords prior, quickly finding Zestial among the faces. The relief you felt was quickly taken over with a sudden and fierce hunger.

Something about the way you or your soul looked must have changed because the overlords and even Lucifer reacted to the difference. There was something wrong with this hunger that made it different from your typical drive to consume sin. It was a deeper, more primal craving that seemed to only get worse with every passing second as you doubled over in pain from the crippling hunger.

"Damn Him! Of course He wouldn't let something like that slide. They're gonna turn feral unless they feed."

"Allow me to bare this load, your Highness. (Y/n) is still one of the souls I consider to be mine. The duty to feed should fall to me."

Zestial now stood, coming over to your side with several contracts in hand with the intention of curbing your hunger before it got too far. Before he could summon forth the sinners to feed you, another sensation overcame you that soothed the hunger significantly. A faint glow seemed to increase for only a second from Lucifer before fading back down.

"No need, already took care of it. Knowing Him it wouldn't have been a simple thing to quell. If anything, I would guess He made their sin-consuming affliction worse for talking back to him. It's possible that only a Sin can help them now. No offense."

"... None taken."

"Well, guess that just means I'll be seeing more of you, (Y/n)! I can tell we're going to get along just fine."

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere Zestial #multiple yandere #yandere hazbin hotel

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