#so i'm convinced it is 'as the sky cracks in mourning'

[a-s-levynn]

"Even if the sky cracks in mourning / And the heavens just won't open up for me" A Series of Small Offerings - II/12 - day20

[inkbybambi]

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

One thing you love about Simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. Strong, steadfast, there when you need him. Even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

Not that you’ll tell him that.

You hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. Whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

Except for Simon.

Which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. You don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

Losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. You've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

But losing Simon? You don't think you'd ever get over that.

It's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. Your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

Your call log is all Simon.

Some appointments here and there, but Simon everywhere else.

Fuck.

You hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

You don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

He answers before the third ring.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. You take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "Am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired. “No, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. You’re only half-convinced.

"I'm sorry," you begin again. Your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. You're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "I didn't know who else to call, and I lost my tram pass, and I don't have an umbrella, and — "

“Dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. You ache.

"I can just walk home, I-I'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone. “Darling,” he says, a little stern. Not angry, never angry. Trying to focus you. “What’s wrong?”

“U-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "I waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "Messaged him too, y'know. He just. Didn't show."

You think you hear Simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick. “Where are you?”

There's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. You manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking. “Twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “Sit there and be good and patient and I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"Okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

Thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. You make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

You can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

He says your name gently. You take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. He's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. Assessing you, worrying.

"I'm sorry," you croak out. You can't help it. It's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. He doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"Love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. His eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." Your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "You know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. He hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"This is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. You were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"Yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "You really think I'd let you stay home alone?"

His eyes are so fucking bright. It startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"I..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "I was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"As if I don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. You scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"Go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

You hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"Go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

His flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

Well.

You might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. It's a you're a bit clumsy thing. Simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

His bedroom is familiar as well. Which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

You take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. You’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

As you pad back out to the living room, Simon’s already on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. You’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

His balaclava is off. The last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“Knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“Am I that predictable?” you mumble, a small thank you as he hands you a bowl.

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

The silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“Were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

You blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. You can’t read his eyes. Something hot twists in your gut.

“I-I don’t know, Simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “Maybe?”

He doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “Depends how the date went, I suppose. Doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. His gaze hasn’t changed. “Why?”

His jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “You deserve better ‘n that.”

A confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “I know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

He seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. You feel sick.

Dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. You bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“Don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

Your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. Relationships aren’t easy. Being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

You never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. You don’t deserve that kind of attention. After a while, they’ll get tired. You’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

It’s easier to be by yourself. The only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“Love.” He tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. How hasn’t he gotten tired of you yet?

A hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. Your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“What’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

You swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “No one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

Frustration burns the back of your throat. Isn’t it obvious? You can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. How can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? How could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“You wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. You crumble back into the couch.

“Make me understand.”

Heat flashes at the nape of your neck. He takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. Your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“How aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. You look at him. Hesitant. Scared.

The silence is loud. His own frown deepens. It takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“You know I’d do anything for you, yeah?”

Your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“Because you do the same for me,” he continues. You doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

His touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. He slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips just above the waistband of his boxers.

You slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. Firm and broad and safe.

“You apologize so much. You worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. One hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“You’re allowed to ask for help.”

You shake your head, a no caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“Oh, love.” He cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “You have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

He lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. His cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. You’re so tired.

His lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. You’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

[arazialotis]

Ceilings

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: About 3700

Summary: The reader is finishing up a hunt and is hesitant to head back home. Inspired by the song Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine.

Warnings: Mild Smut, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Season 15 Spoilers

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

---

The brown spot in the corner of the ceiling held your attention. What had once been a pristine and ornate building had since fallen into a state of disrepair over the decades. The plaster moldings reminded you of art deco, and the crown cornices on the border showed a level of craftmanship barely found in today's practices. Yet, from years of neglect and lousy state budgets, necessary upkeep and repairs had long since been postponed. As a result, moldings had crumbled, cracks ran up the wall and into the ceiling like tree branches reaching for the sun, and that brown spot now grew wet with condensation as you watched it gather in the middle. The drop was near heavy enough that at any moment, it would fall. The sheriff would have to situate his trash can under it if this rain was to keep up or grow any heavier.

Dean cleared his throat and, from the matching red leather chair beside yours, nudged your knee with his, effectively breaking your concentration. A warm smile grew as he longing looked at you. His suit coordinated well with yours, navy blue and a green tie that failed to compete with his eyes. You felt a flush crawl into your cheeks, and you pinched your lips together, mixed emotions welling up.

"I still can't believe it," Sherrif Cadwell huffed, signing off on the last of his forms. "If I hadn't been there with you, seen it with my own eyes."

If you had to guess, he was younger than your typical run-ins with sheriffs, early to mid-thirties. But the optimism for growth and change for his township and the system at large clothed him in a juvenile naivety. Additionally, you couldn't deny the fact that he was attractive. His eyes shone like stars in the night sky, his nose was slightly crooked (you learned during your time on the case together) from a bar brawl he was the cause of during his college years, and his lips were full, the kind that would feel plush against your most sensitive spots. You couldn't help but squirm in your chair, but you could feel Dean take notice as his gaze traveled over you.

He continued. "Honestly, I still feel like I need to check myself into a psych ward."

Your chuckle drew his gaze from the papers. "Even after years in the business, I feel the same way. Someday I might grow used to it."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without you, Agent Steinhardt. Thank you again." He conveyed with the utmost sincerity.

Your smile filled the room full of sunshine on this rainy day. "I think we are past the pretense of FBI and aliases now."

His demeanor matched yours. "I'm not convinced. I know an X-files agent when I see one."

"If you ever do cross Mulder or Scully, put in a good word for me. But seriously though, if anything," You struggled to find the right words. "Out of the ordinary comes across your path again; the number on that business card will ring true."

"And is that number good for ordinary things as well? Say, uh, dinner or drinks before you head out of town?" He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

You looked down at your feet to conceal a blush. It wasn't the first time someone had made a pass at you on a job, but Sherrif Cadwell was the first to stir up this reaction. You took a deep breath and recomposed yourself. You could feel Dean's eyes burning against you, analyzing each move, every reaction. His finger sat against his lips, silencing himself, waiting for your response.

A pit formed in your stomach. "While I'm truly flattered, Zack," You paused, the words caught in your throat. "My heart belongs to someone else."

You looked to Dean, but he remained the same, piecing a puzzle together, trying to communicate something unspoken. Despite your interest in Sherrif Cadwell, nothing compared to the energy and the swell of your heart while looking at him.

"I understand. It wasn't my place anyways, but I knew I'd be kicking myself in the ass later if I didn't take a shot." His bashfulness and sensitivity tugged at the strings of your heart, making it even harder to turn him down. "Whoever he is better know how lucky he is."

"He knows." Dean's voice was a warm whisper that barely registered.

The sheriff stood, signifying the end of the meeting; you rose as well, the old chair groaning as you did. Zack extended his hand over his desk, and you accepted, shaking it.

"It was a pleasure." He ended.

Upon leaving his office, the single room spilled into a once grand hall with polished mosaic tiles and pillars that supported high arched ceilings. The sheriff's department was small, consisting of three other staff. Their open office was bordered by low wood paneling, separating them from the other departments this building housed; the drain commissioner, mayor, parks and recreation, to name a few.

You were at the gate that you could probably step over when Sherrif Cadwell called after you.

"Hey!" His steps were heavy as he rushed to catch you. "You forgot this."

Zack held up one of your many homemade EMF meters. It was still switched on, barely crackling static as it scanned the area. No pitches squealed, or lights flared. You took it from him, switched it off, then threw it back. He caught it with ease.

"Keep it." You instructed. "It could come in handy."

A few more thanks and pleasantries were exchanged, but eventually, you found your way to the main lobby. The rain pounded like crescendoing drums against the roof. An employee who entered the building through revolving wooden doors lowered their umbrella, shaking off the rain droplets before leaning it against a coat rack. You had lacked the foresight.

"We could just swipe that one," Dean remarked.

A faint smile accompanied the short huff of an uncomplete laugh. Not entertaining the thought further, you pushed through the revolving doors requiring more exertion than anticipated. Immediately out of the building, you were drenched. You didn't stand a chance. The marble steps lead down to the street and across to a park that might be a nice place for employees to lunch, given lighter weather. That Impala waited for you, parked just a few paces away at a meter. You looked up to the sky, blinking away the rain that fell into your eyes. You hoped for a break in the clouds, even a thin patch where the glow of the sun hinted that it still existed.

"Y/N," Dean feigned impatience, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. "Let's go."

You looked at him longingly. He was your sun and your storm.

"What?" He questioned. "What? Oh, don't get all romantic on me now. You wanna dance in the rain? This isn't a Gene Kelly movie."

Your lips pinched together, holding your breath as he stepped closer to you, his radiance not hindered in the slightest by the downpour. His begrudging attitude melted to tenderness as he took your hands in his. Goosebumps prickled up your skin as the space between you closed. And then he spun you around like a leaf dancing with the wind. Laughter finally consumed you as you ran to the Impala. The keys jingled in your hand, and the hastiness of escaping the rain caused you to fumble with the lock.

The door creaked open as you found refuge inside. Your shallow breaths quickly fogged up the windows.

"Fantastic," Dean said dryly. "This is great for the upholstery."

You shimmied out of your jacket, and Dean's sarcasm vanished at the sight of your soaked white blouse now clinging to the peaks of your breast. The sheer fabric revealed the outline of the bra underneath, yet even that barrier did not hide how the chill of the rain had affected you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him swallow a lump in his throat. You fished for your heels, throwing the shoes in the back seat along with the jacket.

"You could have said yes," Dean whispered. "To the sheriff."

You gripped the steering wheel tight, staring blankly ahead as a pit knotted in your stomach.

The words that left you were barely audible. "I didn't want to."

The car's bench squelched under your weight as you shifted, and he drew in from the passenger seat. "Why not?"

A sharpness caught in your throat. Your eyes drifted to his; every detail, from the gold hidden in the forest of his irises to the freckles that dusted his face to the faded scar just above the bow of his lips, was perfect.

Your voice caught, but it still came out in an echo. "You know why."

Dean inhaled sharply, his eyes lingered on your face, only once looking back down at your blouse. He searched for permission, and when he was met with no resistance, his hand snaked behind you and into your hair, guiding your lips to his. Although there was a hunger present, his kiss was soft like clouds. Not the clouds above currently carrying the storm, but pillowy white clouds scattered on a summer's day. A delicate moan escaped your lips and into his, craving more, to which he took every advantage of your parted mouth. The fog layered thicker onto the glass windows, and you'd have to turn on the defroster before driving away.

Your heart pounded against the cage of your chest as you parted, never wanting to end the moment. As you turned the key, the engine sputtered to life with a rumble of thunder. It sat idle, and the warm air began to erase the remnants of your breath away. But even as it became clear enough to drive, you sat unmoving. The rolling of the engine and the patter of the rain were the only sounds. Dean lounged against the passenger door; one arm outstretched on the top of the bench, the other brushing the stubble against his jaw. His boosted confidence apparent from what had been shared seconds before.

He grew impatient, waiting for your next move. "Are you heading home?"

Your sharp inhale was the only response.

He turned it over in his head. "It's late enough, and we could afford an extra night."

Your toes curled in anticipation, hoping for ulterior motives behind his statement.

By the time you arrived back at the motel, the room had been cleaned. It was a simple establishment, but the family who owned it poured their souls into keeping it welcoming and updated. The bedsheets were crisp from a recent laundering, and they smelled not like the fake cheap lilac fragrance most cleaners were filled with, but real, fresh lilacs just beginning to open on a bright spring day. The tulle curtains swayed in front of the open window. There was no fear of the world outside peering in; the motel was near vacant, and the storm would drown out any sounds from within.

From Dean's outbursts to his impulsivity, one would think that would translate to a fierce and forceful lover. Of course, he could be in the heat of the moment, but that was not his default. Instead, he was tender and giving and took his time, extending precious moments to last deep into the night.

Seeing you now, wringing your hair with a towel and the wet clothes hung to dry, he restrained himself. The only sign of hunger in his eyes, the way he drank you in, and the flick of his tongue over his lips. He closed the gap between you. Goosebumps prickled on your bare skin from the chill carried on his damp clothes. His hands hovered over your shoulders, electricity sparking in the space between.

Your hands trailed up his chest, your breath shaking as you did. Your hands reached his tie and loosened the knot before snaking it around the nape of his neck and letting it fall to the floor. Continuing their journey, your hands moved to his shoulders. A small chuckle flew from both of you as you clumsily attempted and failed to remove his jacket. He helped you along by shrugging out of it. Next were the buttons of his dress shirt that went more slowly. Dean stared down at you in admiration as you carefully undid each one.

When he was finally fully free, your breath caught gating your emotions, and you met his eyes again. Dean guided you down to the bed, and you landed gently on the down-feathered comforter. His lips showered your neck in kisses as intimate as the sweet hymns whispered from Orpheus to Eurydice. His eyelashes against your cheeks felt like wisps of the wind carrying with it the song of chickadees.

Bracing himself with one hand above your head and the other gliding against your waist to steady both of you, you granted him passage to paradise. The praises and moans were as delicate as the rest of the encounter. Attentive to every reaction and response, he composed his movements into a soothing melody. Dean took your hand in his; the other left your waist as he fisted the sheets in his palm. Your souls entwined together, locking for all eternity. The drop ceiling with beige vinyl tiles stared down at you. You squeezed your eyes shut, and your free hand drifted down to your apex to help reach release.

Long into the night, when it was over, Dean laid on his back, panting to settle both his breath and his heart. You laid on your side, intently studying the curves and angles of his body. With a final deep breath, he found balance. The sheets rustled as he turned to meet your gaze. His brow furrowed, unable to read you.

"Sweetheart. What is it?" He asked.

You couldn't muster the words and shook your head no. He drew you into him, cradling you. Safe in the cocoon of the sheets and his arms, you breathed in, trying to capture his faint scent competing with the lilac. Juniper and eucalyptus. Or was it cedar and sage? You couldn't recall and drew in deeper.

"Don't leave me." You whispered into his chest.

"Never." He promised.

---

Sunlight poured into the room. The brightness disrupted a pleasant dream. Birds chirped and splashed in the pools of puddles outside the window. Your eyes blinked open, no longer able to grasp the dream. Where Dean was supposed to be was cold and empty. The sheets crinkled as you reached over, searching for him.

Your hair was brushed aside as a peck greeted your temple from above. "Time to get up, sleepy." His voice much deeper than when he called out your name last night.

A whine was all you could conjure. You pulled the comforter over your head, hoping it would cave you into darkness and hide you from the day. You wished to stay in the relief of sleep forever. Dean's footsteps grew farther away.

"I'll head back without ya." Dean teasingly threatened.

So much for promises.

---

It was silent on the road home. There was no music, no words exchanged, only the constant rumble of the engine. The roads were eerily empty, and all that surrounded you were yellow fields of wheat and corn ready for harvest. The flatness of the plains stretched incessantly as if you were caught in an endless loop, never to arrive at your destination. The steering wheel was cold in your hands, and the Impala complained when you accelerated. Perhaps louder than normal, and it felt like you had to push harder, almost like tar had built up in the interior. She certainly needed a tune-up once you got back to the bunker. Dean stared out the passenger window, his knuckles brushing lazily over his lips, watching the rows and rows and rows of fields go by. Lost in a thought that he wasn't going to share and you wouldn't ask about.

A sign welcoming travelers to Kansas signaled the growing end to your journey. Your breath shuttered. Dean's eyes glanced at you, but you refused to acknowledge him. Like a toddler testing boundaries, he nudged your knee with his. A gesture that normally would cause a blush to rise, fondness to grow instead stirred up panic. Your knuckles grew white, gripping the steering wheel. Fifteen minutes out from Lebanon, a cry escaped your lips. Dean saw then tears had started to stream down your face. You pinched your mouth closed, ashamed of losing control. Dean shifted towards you, his arm resting over the bench. His hand drew up your neck to the base of your head, massaging small circles.

"Shhh." He cooed. "It's okay. It's going to be okay." He repeated the mantra to calm you.

You finally broke on your way through town—the whimpering and shaking breaths held back for no one. Dean held the nape of your neck in his hand but had ceased movement, staring ahead as you drove closer to the bunker, praying you could maintain control of the Impala despite your state. He could no longer provide you comfort.

Pulling into the garage, you parked the car but didn't have the strength to shut it off. So it sat there running idle. Your growing pain manifested into sobs and wails. Dean pulled you in, his arms wrapping around you. You clung to his shirt as if he would vanish at any moment.

"I can't do this without you." You sobbed into nothingness.

He pulled you back, his eyes raking over you almost to see if you had been injured. "What are you talking about? I'm right here, Y/N. I will always be right here."

He placed his hand over your heart as if taking pulse and then against your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning against his soft touch. His thumb brushed away a tear from your cheek, but more kept coming. His soft lips hovered over yours, but the taste of the bitter ocean was too distracting to claim the solace he offered.

The Impala sighed as she was granted permission to rest. The engine clattered as it began to cool. You curled into yourself, lying on the bench with your knees tucked into your chest. Her tin roof sheltered you, and the tan upholstery above yearned to blanket you, for she too, wept.

---

Miracle was under the table in the library, curled up around Sam's feet as he typed away on his laptop, consulting a few reference books now and then. Aside from the clicking of the computer keys, the bunker was silent. Sam's hair was tied back in a half-bun, a new style for him, but it concealed the unkemptness better. His tired eyes checked the cell phone, scrolling to your number but hesitating not to let worry get the best of him.

Miracle's ears perked up, and his collar jingled as he lifted his head, catching the sound of a door that opened as silently as possible, like an intruder not wanting to get caught. A whisper between a bark and a ruff huffed out as he alerted Sam of the sound of friend or foe; to Miracle, it was still to be determined.

Sam reached down and scratched behind Miracle's ear reassuringly. "Who is it, boy?" He exaggerated the enthusiasm of his voice. "Go get her."

Miracle barked louder this time as he stood, his tail half wagging. Sam continued to encourage him along. The clatter of claws echoed against the concrete as Miracle finally took the initiative to investigate for himself. Sam waited for you and Miracle to return to the library, and he waited some more, but soon he found himself wandering the halls, hoping to check up on you.

You stood on the threshold of your old room. Everything was in place just as Dean had left it. The bed was neatly made, the weaponry displayed on the mantel, and the few touches you added. You couldn't bear to remove your items from the room but couldn't bear to sleep there either. Miracle sat patiently at your side, his tail thumping against the ground. He pawed at your leg, and you half-heartedly ran your fingers over his soft fur. Miracle nudged you further, hoping for more effort, but was happy to receive any amount of attention. Your duffle fell at your side; unpacking would halve to wait until tomorrow. All that had happened in this room replayed in your memory.

"Hey," Sam called from down the hall. You had been near radio-silent; he was anxious for an update, but more importantly, how you were holding up. "How'd the hunt turn out?

When he reached you, his brow furrowed, and his features dropped. Your eyes were red, and your cheeks were puffy. Even without the sniffle topping it off, it was obvious you had been crying.

"What happened?" He asked. "Are you hurt?"

The levees you had forced up to walk back in here broke yet again. So many tears had been wept it was impossible to believe more would come, but they did. They poured out.

"Oh, Y/N," Sam's voice shuttered.

He grabbed you by the arm, forcing you against himself. His solid frame anchored you and held you so tightly it almost hurt. Sam was the only rock you had left to stand against the pounding waves. Your cries of anguish muffled into his flannel. Sam had thought he, too, had run out of tears to cry, yet holding you in your shared pain caused his eyes to well up. He tucked your head under his chin, hoping to provide you comfort, and protection, and peace like a hen gathering chicks under her wings. For what seemed like an eternity, you held each other there, sharing and spilling tears until you were too exhausted to shed any more.

Your voice was worn and hoarse, but you had to ask, desperate for a ray of hope. "Will it ever stop hurting?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know." He answered honestly.

And you didn't even know if you wanted it to. The pain, the loss, the grief, it made Dean real. It meant your time together on this earth had meant something. And the memories, the visions, imaging he was still with you, though they burned, they let him live on.

You buried yourself further into Sam. "I miss him so much."

"Me too, Y/N. Me too."

---

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Four

Jake x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: Mentions of Death / Grief, Drinking, Sad / Anxious Themes, Shitty Dates, Potential spoilers for a rom-com that came out in 2006, brief conversation involving sex (very tame if you read fanfic regularly) and a tiny little taste of what's about to happen next week.

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary : Charlotte has the most unfortunate day ahead of her, but remembering fondly on better times helps her make it through. As one would say; the world works in mysterious ways.

Author's Note: I'm going to be so for real with you, I know the premise of this chapter is a bit on the heavier side. BUT- with that said, I did my best to not make it too difficult to read. I hope you enjoy learning a little more about my favorite red-haired beauty. 🧡 (There's very few HEAVY chapters in The Caravel Tavern Series and sadly, Ms Charlotte has at least 2 of them)

Portland Maine - Donovan Woods "Leave your bags in the car, keep it running, I won't pretend, That I won't miss this."

I never knew what people meant when they said they felt numb until today. It feels like I hardly slept last night, but I did end up lying in bed for a while this morning. After I convinced myself to get up, I reluctantly made some coffee, took a shower, blew out my hair, and made it look presentable again. 

I’m sitting in front of my mirror with all my makeup splayed out in front of me. Carefully clipped my hair back so I didn’t mess up the loose waves I spent time working on. I look at myself, taking a deep breath; my under-eyes are dark from the lack of sleep. God, I don’t want to do this. 

I slowly work through my makeup routine, pausing every so often to fight back the tears that threaten to fall. With every step, I look more and more like a normal person. I set my mascara tube back into its place, taking a second to look at how everything looks. I hold a breath, closing my eyes gently as it leaves my body.   

And then there I stood in my closet, staring at all the options. Choosing an outfit is usually a highlight of my day, but today was certainly not one of those days. I still haven’t said it out loud; it makes it too real. I never thought I would be in a position where I had to mourn a friend, a best friend. My best friend. 

Unfortunately, accidents happen, and generally speaking, I handle those well. I am not doing well in this specific instance, but she would want me to go stun at her service. The thought makes me laugh, even in the midst of the saddest time. 

I can hear her in my head, yelling, “Lottie! If you don’t wear a bomb pantsuit, I’ll haunt your ass!” I let out a small laugh at the thought. She always has a way of doing that. I pull out some tapered black pants, a black cotton T-shirt, and a blazer, I feel like she’d be happy with this, I think to myself as I put on the gold necklace she bought me.  

Checking myself one more time in the mirror, “Okay, I think I’m ready,” I mumble to myself. I grab my bag and my keys and head out. 

The drive feels surreal. It’s something that nobody is ever prepared for, and as much as I know that, I really thought I would be better at this. Trying to focus on anything besides the situation, I have the music turned up insanely loud, the window is cracked for fresh air, and I’m sipping on the coffee I brought. I enjoy the scenery as best as I can, trying to find the silver lining on this day. Thankfully, the weather isn’t terrible today, so there’s… something. I just embrace the feeling of the sun on my skin with the cool autumn breeze. 

I pull into the parking lot, shut off my car, and just stare at the building with others dressed in all black wandering in. I take a minute to just sit here, mentally preparing myself for the service. I won’t pretend that I won’t miss her, but in my head, she’s never really gone. She would be yelling, ‘Your ass is stuck with me for life.’  I let out a small laugh at the thought. 

I look up at the sky as I walk towards the door, “You’re lucky I love you so much,” I whisper to myself, and her, before grabbing the door handle to the funeral hall.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

3 Months Ago..

I carefully walk back into my living room, handing one wine glass over to her. She quickly cheers my glass as I go to sit down. I take a little sip before setting it on a coaster. 

“What are we cheers-ing?” 

“Actually getting to hang out, for once!” 

Truth be told, I can be a pain in the ass to plan time with. I spend a lot of my time working and ignoring my personal life. Not the healthiest habit, now is it Char?  

“I’m the worst. I’m sorry,” I cringe as I pull up Netflix. 

She laughs loudly, something I’ve always loved about her, “at least you’re self-aware.” 

“I’m choosing to pretend you didn’t agree,” I scroll over to our favorite movie, “shall we?” 

I don’t know why we became so attached to John Tucker Must Die, but now it’s almost a tradition to watch it if we have a night together. Maybe it’s because we both have had our fair share of terrible men in our lives or because we have bonded over the hatred of a single person. Regardless, we make it a point to always watch it when we have the chance. 

“So, are you still seeing that one dude?” She asks, a half smirk on her face. 

I can’t tell her fast enough, “Oh GOD, no. Never again.”

“He seemed a bit.. boring.”

“He had ZERO personality. About as exciting as the fourteen tan suits that he owns,” I feel a little bad making fun of him, but my god, he was dreadful. 

“He was also mid in bed.. and that’s giving him credit.” I shrug, taking a sip of my drink to hide my smile. 

“LOTTIE!” 

“CASSIE!” 

We both laugh until tears are falling down our faces. 

“I’m sorry!” I giggle, “But you shouldn’t start things you can’t finish.” Covering my mouth because I also can’t believe I said that. 

“Amen, girl!” 

We’ve spent most of our adult lives confiding in each other about everything. Every new job, family drama, bad date. We both know the ins and outs of each other’s sex lives because sometimes it’s so humorous that you have to tell someone. 

The two of us have been close since we met at our first job in high school. Dairy Queen wasn’t the most exciting place to work, especially during summer break, because you just can’t get the smell of melted ice cream out of your clothes. After countless shifts working together, we bonded and inevitably started talking outside of work. Realizing quickly that we were incredibly different, but it also made it fun. I kept her focused when it was busy, and she helped me to loosen up when we weren’t on the clock. 

“Have you tried just meeting someone organically? Or are you ‘too busy’ ?” She says the second half in a mocking tone. 

I roll my eyes quickly, “My job just takes up a lot of time, so dating apps seem to be easiest.” 

“I know you’re going to hate this, but,” she starts, “it’s just a job, babe. You’re allowed to take time for yourself or, in this case, to find someone.” 

“No, I know.. I just-” 

She cuts me off, “There’s no ‘I just’ anymore, girl. You’ll burn yourself out on this job if you don’t make time for yourself.” 

I put both of my hands up to surrender, “Okay, you’re right.” We both sink back into the couch and giggle through the rest of this ridiculous movie. 

Cassie is a free spirit, something I wish I could learn to be. She always had a positive approach to things, not in the sickeningly sweet way, either; just genuinely, she saw the good in the world. She did not care about other people’s opinions; she wore whatever she wanted, followed her dreams, and did whatever she wanted. 

It was always funny to me when we were out in public together. Her outfits were always fun and colorful, and she wasn’t afraid to try new things. Then there’s me, borderline-looking professional at any given point. I love neutrals and looking put together. Maybe it was just to give the front that I knew what I was doing, but nonetheless, I enjoyed a pantsuit. People would always watch her. She’s beautiful, to be fair, but how she carries herself is incredible.

She is really the only person I consistently keep up with. We text each other from the moment we wake up until someone passes out, usually waking up to a bunch of things unread from the early hours of the morning. Nothing would stop us from staying close, though, not even going to different colleges, having entirely different careers, or living two hours apart. 

Watching Kate throw cake at John will never not make us hard-laugh; he deserved every ounce of it. Both of us are kicking our feet over Scott, coming around to be her lab partner again, and calling her perfect. Ugh, he’s an angel. 

“Y’know, Lottie,” she giggles, “Maybe you just need to find a Scott of your own.”

Sitting up from my corner of the couch, “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s be honest here. You always go for the John type.. Maybe you need a Scott.” 

I can’t deny that I tend to go for that type, but I have my reasons. Because you’re a bit neurotic..? Excuse me? I just know what I like and don’t like. 

“You’re not wrong.”

“Just give it a try,” her voice changing into a more empathetic tone, “Stop thinking yourself out of happiness for once.” Her hand landed on mine, giving it a double pat before looking back up at me. 

“Alright, alright.” I can’t deny that she could be onto something. I’m just bad at accepting change. “If I run into someone who is giving ‘Scott’ vibes, I will give it a shot. But I’m not making any promises that it’ll work.” 

She lets out a feral squeal, “Oh my god, I can see it now! Some kind-hearted, nerdy, long-haired man just sweeping you off your feet!” She falls over dramatically with her hand on her forehead, like a Victorian woman in a silk robe falling onto velvet sofas. We fall into a fit of giggles as she tells me her entire vision of what my life could become. 

“You just deserve a man who’s as much of a hopeless romantic as you are,” she says through a laugh. 

“Hey now! Just because I read romance doesn’t mean that I’m a hopeless romantic.”

“Lottie, I don’t know who you’re trying to convince here.” 

I hate it when she’s right. I do have a soft spot for romantic things. Something about finding the right person at the right time, just feels like it only happens in books or movies. Meeting the love of your life by chance feels so foreign in our time, because everything is through dating apps and the internet. 

“I just don’t think I’ll find a man who compares to any of the love interests in my books, you know? I have to stay realistic, Cass.” 

She rolls her eyes at me, “I’m sure one exists out there. You just need to open your eyes more. Stop dating Finance Bros,” she barks out a laugh, “They are definitely not written by women nor do they know how to treat one.” 

“Ugh.. I know you’re right,” I confess, “I don’t even know how to meet people organically.” Dramatically throwing myself back onto the couch, covering my eyes with my hands. 

“We will get you all dolled up and hit the Old Port one of these weekends,” she pulls me back up, “I’m sure we can find you a man in one of those bars. You’re too sexy– there’s no chance you won’t catch a few looks.”

My face hot instantly at her compliment, “As long as you approve of him, I’ll do it. That’s the agreement from now on.” She sticks her hand out, taking mine and rapidly shaking it. 

“Yes, yes, yes! This is what I’ve been dreaming of!” she hollers through my apartment, “I get to turn my shy little Lottie into someones WIFE!”  

We’re a few glasses of wine deep at this point. 

“So I went on a date with this guy,” Cassie starts, struggling to hold in her laugh, “I wish I could explain to you how bad.” 

“Oh god, PLEASE.” 

“The first red flag that I so nicely ignored was that he didn’t even dress cute! He wore sweatpants, girl,” both of us borderline screaming at the statement. 

“Also, his name is Jeff,” she cringes. “I feel like I should have KNOWN.” 

I finally cave, “What actually happened on the date?” 

“Literally nothing. He only like half listened to me, we went to a bar with TVs and he was fully focused on whatever sport was on.” Rolling her eyes as she tells me. 

“That’s SO annoying!”

She took a sip of her wine and swallowed it quickly, “HONESTLY— I even had the girls out, trying to look a little cuter than normal.”

“Well, that’s terrible that it didn’t work out. I’m sure you looked way too hot for him anyway.” She literally looks hot all the time, he’s a fool to not notice that. 

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, “Oh girl, I still invited him back.”

“CASS-“ I scream. 

“Hey— sometimes you just need to get laid!” She says matter of factly. 

“I guess I can’t argue that.. he couldn’t have been very good?” 

“Oh god- he literally didn’t even try to take control. A whole pillow princess if I’ve ever met one.” 

I can’t stop the scream that escapes me, making her laugh with me. 

After she comes to, “It’s okay, at least I know my way around. Still managed to get off even if it was looking like I had a small window before it was done.” 

“How fast did he leave after?” I have to ask. 

“Oh, he ran out of there. Definitely is just looking to get his dick sucked, nothing serious.” 

“Well, for your sake, hopefully, it was worth it.” 

After a few more hours, we fell asleep on my couch. It was a pretty typical situation for us. We just get so caught up in giggling and being around each other that we lose track of the time. We would always take advantage of the times we get to actually hang out since they were becoming less frequent. 

We spent the morning sipping coffee together before she needed to head back home. She pulled me into a hug, swaying me back and forth for a minute before getting into her car. 

“I love you, Lottie!” 

“I love you too,” I tell her, “Let me know when you make it home, okay?” ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The sun feels good on my skin; I’ve been sitting in my car with the door open for 20 minutes. The slight breeze made it so it wasn’t too warm, just baking in the sun. Her service was beautiful, and the room was full of people there to celebrate how wonderful of a person she was. I couldn’t have asked for anything better except to have her here instead. 

Decompressing before I decide what to do next since I’m already in the city She would tell me to do some retail therapy to get my mind off of it, which is honestly sounding pretty good right now. She was always good at talking me down when I got into my head about something. Even if it was just trying to make me laugh because she knew that I was being dramatic about whatever it was. 

 I grab my phone out of my bag to see if I can convince myself to spend some money irrationally for a small dose of serotonin. 

Jacob: Hi there. I have been trying to get through this paperwork and I think I’m just lost on what I need to be doing. I don’t know if you are nearby and want to stop in or you can literally just call me that’s also fine. I just don’t want to mess things up again. Let me know whichever works for you.

I mull over the options of working right now or shopping; unfortunately, I know what my body is going to end up doing. I can’t not help him, especially since he was so nice to me about the whole thing anyway. I swipe out of my texts, pulling up maps and typing in the address. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Even just driving through Portland felt weird now. It was always the two of us; C2 is what we call ourselves. Even if she always called me ‘Lottie,’ leaving people confused most of the time. She lived nearby, so the biggest reason for me to come here was her. We would usually end up ordering takeout and camping out on her couch, but on the rare occasion, we would go to the Old Port for drinks. Never remembering much past midnight though, I can’t imagine how ridiculous we looked. I really hope nobody ever saw us.

I park down the street from the bar, giving myself a minute to mentally prepare. The clock in my car shows 3:15 pm; this shouldn’t take too long. Hopefully, I can get home before it’s too dark. I open my bag, seeing the ‘in memoriam of Cassandra..’ sticking out. I pull it out, looking at the photo of her on the front. 

“You look good, Cass,” my throat tight as I whisper it into the quiet of my car, “I miss you so much.” I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry again. Get it together; you need to be professional. 

I set it down on the passenger seat, not wanting it to get crumpled up in my bag. I grab my phone and start walking to the bar. I really hope it’s quiet in there since it’s so early in the afternoon. The quicker I help him, the sooner I can get out of this city. 

I pull open the door to the bar, but only a few people are scattered throughout. Perfect, this should be smooth sailing. I walk towards the bar as Jacob turns around, pulls out his phone, and then disappears behind the bar quickly. It’s hard to deny that he’s a handsome guy, but it still catches me off guard that he is the owner of this place. 

“I didn’t think I would see you today,” is all I can really hear as he drops down, aside from the sounds of rustling paperwork. I can hear the vague sounds of his mumbling, but nothing is clear. I set my bag on the barstool next to me, deciding to not sit down just in case it’s a quick question. He stands back up, his eyes finding mine. He’s quiet for a moment, what feels like forever, as his face falters and his eyes scan all over me. Don’t ask me, don’t ask me, don’t ask me.  Watching as his eyebrows pulled together, I knew exactly what was about to happen. 

He asked me that godforsaken question, “Are you okay?” in his soft, raspy voice. Shit.  It felt like a punch to the gut, leaving me winded. I’ve avoided the question for two weeks because I knew the moment someone asked, it wouldn’t go over well. I really can’t even fault him for asking. If anything, it’s sweet that he noticed that something was off.

I breathe in slowly, feeling the prick of tears in my eyes again. Trying to muster up everything in me to answer confidently. For the love of God, don’t cry. 

“Um,” my shaky breath comes out as my voice fails me. Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, barely above a whisper. No, I’m not. Who am I kidding? My heart pounds in my chest despite feeling like it’s shattered. The silence between us felt like forever until I heard a door opening.

We both look over quickly, seeing Josh come around the corner before Jacob comes out from behind the bar. Grabbing my bag and placing his hand on my back, he guides me towards his office. He lets me into the small room first and sets my bag on the chair before turning to me. Oh no. The way his eyes are full of worry as they meet mine; I pull my hands up to hide my face, unprepared for my emotions to betray me. 

A sob escapes me, louder than I would have liked. My chest aches. The sound of the door shutting was immediately drowned out by the feeling of his arms pulling me into him, his hand holding my head gently against him before he whispered the words that I knew would haunt me. 

“Oh, honey.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Three

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[projectdaydream]

let me live in a sink hole

[cw fire, Sisyphus (rock up a hill guy), doomed by urself and the narrative, haunted house that's alive, self harm kinda idk man I'm tired and this is weird]

the house sits, sinking slowly with respects to its ancestors poor decisions. well worn floors and weather weakened roofs let the earth in despite the shuttered windows and cracks sealed over and over and over.

the decaying house does not give into release. still it grows, flowered skin stretches the halls growing evermore. the man wanders [curious, tired, not intrigued but with nothing else to do but grieve and reminisce] to what new rooms have encouraged the attempt to claw the house up out of its grave.

in the attic there is a mirror, half covered by cloth. there is nothing of worth to reflect. digging memories out of boxes is a bore without someone who can share those or contribute their own. on the top floor there is a bedroom. its empty but holds a heavy weight. something missing is making its absence known. it only shows when the man is drunk and has convinced himself a god. he lingers in the door and retires in the bathroom of the second floor.

the kitchen,[once set on the ground with large windows towards the sea is now sitting deep under ground. the windows open into a cabinet carved out of dirt holding trinkets from old new rooms.] is where the monster lurks. soft and appealing as all monsters are but quick to bite the hand that feeds it.

so the man avoids the kitchen, instead continuing his journey up. though starting from as low as he does its hardly any progress. each room one by one. the house sinking still. each room carved out of the wallpaper. some are easier than others. a light jostle and the room is his. others he takes his key, tickling the door frame. it keeps him satisfied. the house treats him like a guest.

his favorite room however is one he's never been inside. its impossible to spot and even harder to get into. the last time he found it, it was on the steps, hidden under silent floorboards, so easy to miss. he imagines the room likes the game of chase. the stab of his key that doesn't fit any of the rooms. how each time he thinks he's found it or maybe understands it he ends up with torn wallpaper and bloody fingernails.

today he thinks its behind a coat cabinet. he started by searching the cabinet itself then casting it aside to feel up the wall instead. poking the key, scratching, it finds three holes. the key doesn't fit any of them, which doesn't surprise the man. he gets the second one to unlock, then the first and finally the third. his favorite room played a trick on him again. at the third click the floor went slick. a thud of fear hit him before he could comprehend the worlds worst ride. dropping straight down the stairs he crossed his arms over his chest, accepting his fate but still mourning his house and life that never got to be his. the house gives the man enough care to fall asleep on the way down.

the man wakes up in his bed, on the second floor. at the bottom of a list too long to count. in an impulsive moment of petty agony he takes himself to the ground floor. where the monster lies in wait. the key cuts through a scabbed over part of the wall. it breaks through iron and fits into the lock it was made for. with one click the monster is free.

a rush of pride like a slap in the face before the sting of consequences settle in. the monster takes the man in one gulp. using the man to fuel itself. the monster licks over the walls of flowered skin up into the air. it digs its claws into the roots. the house wilts and shudders. screaming out in bursts of pain when its lungs allow. it knows it will not survive this but it will keep clawing towards the sky.

the monster is taking the house but the house is taking the monster with it. leaky faucets make the monster slip down the stairs still stuck as a slide. the foundation cracks but when the house falls so does the monster. into the deep hole the house dug itself, burying both of them alive.

in the belly of the monster the man dreams of his glimpses into the room that eluded him.

[viridiansworld]

Pairing: Yoongi x reader(fem y/n)

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, this is a period piece- victorian era england vampire au (an odd niche 💀🤣), smut, unprotected sex, oral sex(female receiving), fingering (female receiving), nipple play(female receiving), biting, mentions of blood, mentions of dead husband, mentions of arranged marriage, marriage at 19, use of a gun(not fired)

Synopsis: One stormy night fate brings a stranger to your door, maybe for worse, maybe for better....

A log in the fire popped, making me jump. I was already gripping the edges of my shawl tightly around me, if I could have pulled it more I would have. The chilly November wind outside was whipping against my cottage, making the shutters rattle. I didn't mind rain storms but wind, thunder and lightning added in was not something I enjoyed. Especially when you lived alone. My husband had gotten sick and died last spring. He wasn't the love of my life but he was a companion I had grown accustomed to. Being alone all the time was an adjustment. Sometimes it can still be hard.

After a light supper, I quickly bathed and changed into my nightgown. I found myself back in front of the fire in the sitting room with one of my books and a thick warm blanket wrapped around me. A loud knock came at my door and I froze. A chill crawling up my spine even though I was snuggled into the warmth of my blanket. I focused on the door to see if I could hear anything more but all I could hear was the rain, wind, and the occasional roll of thunder or crack of lightning. I bit my lip, hoping the noise was a stray limb that had fallen from a tree, maybe the wind blew it into my door. I had almost convinced myself of this when something banged even harder for a second time making me jump up and drop my book to the floor.

"Stop being a scaredy cat, y/n" I muttered under my breath and slid my chair closer to the fire. "You're the idiot who sold the townhouse and moved to the cottage. You wanted to be alone, remember?" I scolded myself, knowing good and well that I had wanted this. I was the widow of John Thomas, I was expected to mourn for 2 years and be out of society while I did so. Little did those snobby socialites know, I didn't care to return back to society. My marriage had been one of convenience for my family. Marrying off their beautiful daughter to the rich Sir Thomas, it rose their rank in society and was "favorable for all" as my mother said. Sir Thomas wasn't a mean husband, but by no means were we in love. I was an obedient wife, everything society had expected of me I did.  He was a doting husband, he let me have my library of books, let me slack off on my wifely duties and spend hours reading because he knew I was happier that way. The biggest tragedy, according to the whispers in town, was that we never conceived an heir. It wasn't for a lack of trying. Like I said, I was an obedient wife and I was a willing participant. Sir Thomas was handsome and kind and even though I wasn't head over heels in love with him, I could still enjoy the perks of our arranged marriage. I was young but not a complete naïve idiot. A loud crack of lightning shot across the sky lighting up the room and making me shriek, snapping me out of my thoughts. God this was going to be a long night. 

"I'm sorry to intrude but I'm traveling through to London and this storm has spooked my horse and I'm stranded. If you don't answer the door that's fine, I'm going to take shelter in your barn and want to ask permission before I do." A man's voice yelled through the door, over the pouring rain and whipping wind. My own voice was frozen in my throat. If I answered him he'd know I was a woman. He'd probably be able to assume I was alone if a woman answered him and not a man. He could be a robber. Trying to see if anybody is home. Y/n you idiot he knows somebody is here because there's smoke coming from the chimney. If he was a robber would he announce himself? I guess he would if he wanted to know what kind of person lives here.I  paced in front of the fireplace, unsure of what to do. If I open the door there's no turning back. The question is do I risk facing the person to know if I'm in danger? or do I assume I'm in danger and live in paranoia not knowing if they're going to harm me? Even in the morning when the sun rises, this person could still harm me if they have ill intent.... 

I marched into my small library and dug through Sir Thomas' writing desk. In the bottom drawer we always kept his pistol. John did one thing right, he taught me how to shoot. I quickly loaded it and held it securely while wrapping my blanket around me, concealing my defense. I made my way to the door. Deciding it's better to risk facing the person to know if I was in danger than live in fear that they could attack at any minute. I unlatched the lock with my free hand and turned the handle of the door, baring myself for what might come next. 

"Sorry to intrude sir, I only need to borrow your barn for the night" the man began speaking as soon as the door opened a crack, when I fully opened to reveal myself, a woman standing there, his jaw froze. I hadn't planned what I was going to say when I opened the door. I had no idea what I was doing but I just let my adrenaline do the thinking. 

"Make one sudden move and you're dead, you hear me? I live here alone, I'm a widow. I don't have much to offer if you want to rob me, if that's your intention then might as well just say so so you can take what you want and leave. Try and touch me and you'll regret you were ever born." I cocked the pistol underneath my blanket that was aimed at him, waiting for his reaction. The wind and rain was too loud for him to hear the click but he could easily see the outline of a gun underneath my blanket. 

"I-I am so sorry, I truly mean no offense." his hands came up in a defensive gesture. He removed his soaked hat and clutched it to his chest "I swear to you I mean no harm, sincerely. If I have given you a fright tonight I am eternally sorry. Please rest easy knowing that I'll be in the barn if anything happens. I'll gladly watch out for you, my lady." it was too dark to make out his features, the dim firelight barely reached us by the door. "Is that alright with you if I rest there?" he asked. I swallowed my nerves and managed to respond back with a yes. He backed away from the door, bowing and repeating apologies again. He placed his hat back on his head and he turned to walk in the direction of the barn. I noticed him limping with every step he took. He had obviously hurt his left leg somehow. "Hold on!" I called out over the rain and wind. He paused to turn and face me. "How did you hurt your leg?" i yelled.

He looked down at his left leg and shook his head. "My horse reared back when a loud crack of lightning struck. She fell backwards with me on her still and pinned my left leg. When she got up to run off she stepped on me. I think it's just a sprain, I should be ok. I can get help in London." he started to turn away and head to the barn again.

Sir Thomas had something similar happen to him once and I knew this stranger was lying when he said it was just a sprain. If he didn't get it treated he might not make it to London at all. "Stop!" I yelled back at him again. The stranger paused and turned around once more, "Please, come in and let me look at your leg. You're soaked, you need to sit by the fire and warm up. That barn is cold and drafty." the stranger stood there for a moment, pondering something before he slowly limped back towards you. 

"My offer still stands, make one sudden move and you're dead." I firmly said as I stepped back, opening the door wider for him to come in. 

"Understood," he said, and he crossed the threshold into the sitting room. 

I shut the door and latched it back. 

"Come this way, sit here and I'll go get some supplies to look at your leg." I pulled him up a stool to sit down and get warm. He was soaked and I didn't want my furniture soaked so the stool would do for now. I'd get him some of John's clothes from the trunk upstairs and he could change. I swallowed my nerves and headed upstairs quickly after getting him settled. My senses were on overdrive, the chill that had run up my spine was lingering but I pushed through it. I was better off facing the unknown than living in fear of it, I kept telling myself. Once in my bedroom I dropped the blanket and uncocked the gun-keeping it loaded though. I dug through John's chest at the foot of my bed and pulled out some fresh clothes for the stranger. While I was in there I found the pistol holster John used to use and I quickly buckled the leather belt around me and placed the pistol in it. I grabbed my house coat and secured it around me concealing the gun, it still looked a little lumpy around my waist so I grabbed a long shawl and added that over me. Grabbing the clothes, my blanket, and collecting my thoughts I headed back downstairs. 

He was still sitting right by the fire where I had left him. I sat the clothes and blanket on the couch and then headed to the kitchen. I filled the kettle with water and brought it to the fire to get it hot quickly. The stranger didn't say anything as I passed by him heading back to the kitchen. I collected some medicines from the cabinet, clean towels, bandages and some antiseptic. I grabbed a wash basin and carried all my wares over to where he sat. Placing them neatly on the ground in front of the fire, I added some herbs and medicines to the basin then reached for the now boiling kettle, making sure not to burn myself. I poured the hot water in, letting the concoction steep for a moment. I placed myself on the floor in front of the stranger, tucking my legs underneath me and looked up at him. For the first time I was able to see him and his features fully from the light of the fire. He had sat his soaked hat beside the fireplace so I could see his hair was white blonde and was now starting to slightly curl as it dried. His eyes were a beautiful warm brown and the fire danced in them as I studied his face. He had peeled his jacket off as well, he was wearing a white collared shirt, vest and neck scarf. 

"Can you remove your boots?" I asked. His eyes shifted from staring at the fire to staring at me. He bent down and removed his right boot easily and sat it to the side. "And what about the left one?" I motioned to his left leg 

"I think I'll need your help..."he said softly. I was finally able to hear the low warm timber of his voice.

"Okay, brace yourself, this will probably hurt like hell." I grabbed one of my towels and had him lift his leg up. I used the towel to wrap around his muddy boot so I didn't dirty myself up too much. "1,2,3!" and on 3 I tugged firmly to pull the boot off. He hissed but allowed me to continue until the riding boot was fully off. 

"Can you lift your pants legs?" I asked, setting the boot out of the way with his other one. I used the dirty towel to wipe up any other mud that was on the floor in front of the fireplace from his boots.  He said nothing but bent down and slid his pants leg up slowly. I tried not to gasp at the black bruising and bulge that was on his inner leg. His bones were broken and they had torn through his skin. John's had not been this bad, I truly didn't know if this man would walk again let alone survive this. How he had been walking at all after the accident was beyond me.

"Tell me your name," I said as I peeled away his soaked bloody sock setting it aside. I reached for a clean towel and put it in the hot water and herbs. I might not be able to do much with this wound but I would try. 

"Yoongi" he said, "and yours?"

"Y/n, a pleasure to meet you Yoongi." I took my towel that had been soaking in the hot water, rung it out, and began cleaning his wound as gently as possible. "Where are you from?" I asked, continuing with the dull conversation in an effort to keep us both occupied from the severity of the wound. 

"Oh I'm from far away. I traveled to England a long time ago. I had several dukes I worked for. I'm a musician you see, a pianist. I used to entertain the masses." I paused my labors to look up at him, he was staring off into nothingness as he reminisced about his past. I dipped my towel back into my water, rinsing it, then rung it out again to continue cleaning the blood from his leg. 

"How about you y/n, you said you were a widow..." 

I could feel his eyes on me. "My husband was sick, he died several months back in the spring. It's just me now." I closed off the conversation, not really wanting to talk about John with a stranger. 

"No children?" he asked 

I had finished getting all the blood off his leg and wound. I placed the soiled towel in the basin and grabbed the salve I had brought from the medicine cabinet. "No, no children. Honestly for the best." I let my thoughts I meant to keep private slip out. What did it matter, this man didn't know me. I applied the salve to which he hissed at the burn. 

"Why was it for the best?" he asked intruding for more answers. I grabbed the clean bandaging cloth I had brought along and began wrapping it gently but firm around his wound. 

"Children should be born from love don't you think?" I tied off the bandage then stood up. I picked the wash basin up and carried it to the kitchen. I came back to gather the other things I had brought over.

"So you didn't love your husband?" he asked quietly as I was about to walk away.

"Women aren't always afforded the luxury of love in marriage, I was lucky enough to find a friend in my husband but...love, true unabashed love was not our story." I made my way to the kitchen putting my things away before returning to the sitting room. I slid my chair across from him and sat down pulling my shawl tight around me, Yoongi's gaze following my every movement.

"Look, all I was able to do was clean your wound and apply some salve. Your bones are broken and there's no doctor for miles. I will be honest and say it will be a miracle if you survive that injury."

"I'm no fool," he sighed "I appreciate the honesty you're willing to give." he stared into the fire.

"I brought some of my husband's clothes down in case you would like to change into something dry..." I admired his features from the side, he truly was very handsome. 

"There's a medicine I know of that could help heal me. The trouble is getting it...it's not difficult to get but I don't like taking it unless I absolutely need it." he glanced at me, catching my gaze, making my heart flutter.

"Could I find this medicine for you? I'd be happy to help you get it if I can."

"Can you come here?" he asked. "For a moment, that's all, I still remember your promise, no sudden movements or I'm dead." he reassured me.

As hesitant as I was, I stood from my chair and closed the distance between myself and him. "Okay, I'm here, now what?"

"Can I have your hand?" his eyes piercing mine, not blinking. He raised his own hand, palm up, waiting for my hand. I slowly placed my hand in his. His fingers were cool to the touch. He flipped my hand over ghosting my palm with his finger tips, tracing the lines in my hand. 

"If I told you the medicine that could heal me was here would you believe me?" He slid my sleeves up exposing my wrist. He held it so delicately and rubbed the pad of his thumb across my skin. 

"What do you mean? Here in my house?" I was so confused, what was he talking about

"Y/n, you don't know me at all but can I ask you to trust me?"

"Trust you? For what? What medicine is it that you need Yoongi?'' The chill tingled up my spine again, goosebumps springing up over my flesh.

"I need you, y/n. You're the medicine." 

My eyebrows knitted together, I had no idea what he was talking about. "Yoongi did you hit your head when you fell?" I took my wrist out of his hand and searched his head for an injury but there was nothing.

"Y/n...please" he said softly "Trust me, please. I beg you."

"You don't have to beg, just please make sense." I searched his face for any answers I could maybe find. "If I say I trust you, what does that do?"

"It means you're not going to pull that gun out of your house coat and shoot me."

"Fine! I promise I won't shoot you! Now what is it?"

He reached for my wrist again, pushing my sleeves back, he brought my wrist to his mouth and planted a soft kiss on it, I didn't shy away from him. If anything I liked how his soft lips felt on my skin. "Yoongi..." I breathed

"Trust me" was all he whispered as he opened his mouth and bit my wrist, it stung for a moment but then it was immediately replaced by a sensual feeling that went directly to my core. It made my cunt pulse and I whimpered in response. As quickly as he had bit me, he was releasing me, licking the bite mark with his tongue to staunch the bleeding. "God you taste devine" he murmured against my skin

"Wha-what did you just do?" The shock started to set in and before my knees could give way, Yoongi sat me in his lap.

"Easy y/n," he cupped my face with his hand, "Do you feel any pain?" he asked

"N-no..." I stuttered 

"Did it feel good?" he asked

I had no words for what just happened, the hot feeling in my center was intense. When I didn't answer he kept talking. 

"Thank you for trusting me." he whispered softly "Without you I wouldn't have been able to heal." 

My mind started coming back to reality. He bit me. I began processing what just happened. HE BIT ME! I found my strength and jumped off of his lap. 

"Y/n?" Yoongi asked with concern in his voice

 My shaking hands fumbled with my house coat as I tried to get to the pistol strapped to my hip. i dropped my shawl and undid the ties t my coat.

"Y/n, please just look!" Yoongi began untying the bandages around his leg just as I brought the pistol up and aimed it directly at him. "Look y/n! Please look!"

I couldn't believe what I saw, his leg was no longer bruised black, the open wound was healing as I watched. His bones shifted back into place right before my eyes. My knees felt weak but before I could hit the floor Yoongi was there supporting me, removing the gun from my hand and sitting it on the table.

"I'm not evil, I don't want to hurt you. You saved me and I owe you more than I can ever repay." he spoke as he held me. 

"What are you?" I breathed, somehow knowing the answer that was to follow but refusing to believe.

"I'm...a leech, a demon, but most call me... a vampire." 

"Those...only exist in books. There's no way." My rational thoughts fought back, my legs trying to find their strength to put distance between me and this man. I pushed away from his chest and managed to make it to the stairs, grasping on the railing for support.

"The bite mark on your wrist says otherwise." He walked towards me, with no limp. "Tell me, what did you feel," he was right in front of me now, cupping my cheek again, brushing his thumb across my lips "what did you feel here?" using his other hand he cupped my sex between my legs causing me to gasp from pleasure. My house coat was still open and my thin nightgown was the only material separating us. "Did you feel me here?" He gently created friction causing me to whine, getting swept up in my conflicting feelings.

"Yoongi, I'm scared." I finally choked out. Every fiber of my being wanted him and that was terrifying. He had just bitten me and drank my blood. That was terrifying. He healed before my very eyes. That was terrifying.  

"Shhhh, it's okay," he soothed, rubbing my check, "I'm so sorry, I'm overwhelming you." he removed himself from me and gave me some space. "I think it best I go. You didn't ask for any of this." he turned and made his way to the fireplace where he began to gather his boots, jacket, and hat. "Thank you for your help y/n, I will never forget it."

"Don't...Don't leave." I rushed to block the front door with my body, "I said I was scared, not that I wanted you to leave." I let my thoughts tumble out of me with no shame "I have felt dead inside for months, even years. My life has no purpose, my only friend was my husband and he's 6 feet under. I hated the aristocratic snobs of London so I exiled myself here thinking it would be better but I still loathe my life. Tonight has been the first time... in a long time that I actually felt alive. From the moment you knocked on that door. You...you made me feel alive. I don't understand what you are and honestly maybe I should be more concerned... but I really don't give a shit. The only thing I can think about right now is how bad I want you, all of you, touching me."

Yoongi dropped everything he had in his hands, it landed with a thud on the floor. He began undoing his neck scarf and threw it on the ground. He walked to the fireplace and pushed my chair and his stool out of the way. Turning to me he unbuttoned his vest and slid it off his shoulders throwing it to the side. He reached for the big blanket on the sofa and spread it on the ground in front of the fire. He turned back to me pulling his suspenders off. He then untucked his collared shirt and began unbuttoning it as he walked towards me. There was a hunger in his eyes that made my stomach flutter. John had never looked at me like this, in our time together I never had butterflies in my stomach. I never wanted someone more in my life than how I wanted this stranger. He stopped in front of me and I peeled the still damp shirt off of his body, revealing his beautiful chest and arms. Like it was an instinct, my hands connected with his skin, wanting to map every inch of him. He inhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes as my hands traced over him. 

His hands worked at the gun holster around my waist, letting it fall to the ground. He cupped my face in his hands and slowly leaned in to kiss me. His lips were cool, soft and supple. It had been so long since I kissed someone, I had almost forgotten what to do. Even so, this kiss felt different than any kiss I had ever had. My arms slid around his neck as the kiss deepened. We explored each other, like this one kiss could tell us everything about each other. The loneliness we had both felt, the isolation we constantly dealt with, our hopeless hunger to find love. He pulled back, only to rid me of my house coat and grab my hand to lead me towards the blanket he had laid on the ground in front of the fire. 

"You want this?" he asked, searching my face for any hesitation.

"I do, I want you." I released his hand so I could use both hands to lift my nightgown over my body. "I'm yours, Yoongi."

He wasted no time in scooping me up bridal style and lowering me onto the blanket. He hovered over me for a moment, his arms on either side of me. "I'm searing this in my memory" Then kissed me quickly before moving to stoke the fire, making sure I was warm. Once he was pleased with the fire he quickly slipped out of his pants and came back to where I laid on my back watching his every move. He nudged my legs apart and kissed down my inner thigh, simultaneously his fingers traced my entrance, he could see how ready I was for him. He slipped one finger in and swept it around. My skin was covered in goosebumps feeling his cool digit inside of me. He added a second, curling them in me, setting sparks alight in my stomach. He nibbled on my thigh, grazing his teeth across my sensitive flesh. My muling encouraged him to keep going. When he added his tongue to my sensitive bundle I cried out. The burning in my stomach grew and when it became too much I felt myself spiral over the edge because of his attentions. "Yoongi!" I gasped, feeling the room spin. He kissed up my stomach until he found my breasts, he suckled on one of my nipples while he tweaked the other with his cool fingers still slick from my arousal. He brushed his hardened length across my sensitive core as he suckled. I whined, fisting my hands in his hair. He released my nipple, kissing the supple flesh around it before gently biting into the side of my breasts. The white hot sting only uncomfortable for a second before being quickly replaced with waves of pleasure as it sent shocks to my core. I spiraled over the edge again as his length slid across my sensitive nub and fed on me. I was a mess, no actual words falling from my lips. Only incoherent words. "I have you, just breathe" he whispered, kissing up my chest after releasing my sensitive skin from his bite. "Come here." He laid down beside me and helped ease me over him. I straddled him but tucked myself into his chest, resting my head underneath his chin. He held me against him, one hand resting behind my neck, the other on my hip. He wasn't cold but he wasn't as warm as a normal person.

"Is my blood really what healed you?" i broke the tension by asking the question that was burning my mind

"I might be able to not age but I'm not invincible. I wouldn't have been able to heal without feeding. It could have definitely killed me...when you opened the door and I saw you were a woman I didn't want to bother you...don't judge me, but I usually knock men unconscious and take what blood I need, then move on. They just wake up with a bad headache thinking they fell and cut themselves."

I couldn't help but chuckle a little at the imagery. "So how old are you?" I asked 

"92." he said flatly. 

"How old...were you..."

"How old was I when I became this?" he finished for me. "I was 28.How old were you when you got married?”

"I was 19."

"How old are you now?" he mindlessly rubbed my back slowly with one hand

"I'm 24."

"He was a good man?" he asked about John

"He was. Actually a really good man. We might not have been in love with each other but we did care for one another. We made it work as best we could...He was a wealthy socialite, I was a lower middle class girl who spent most of her time at her grandparents farm in Scotland. He found me beautiful and our families got along. Obviously you can see how the rest turned out. Were you ever married?"

"No...never married. Always dreamed about what it would be like though. Having a home and someone to warm the bed with you...a silly thought really."

"I don't think it's silly." I lifted myself up to look at him. "Every day I've hoped for something to change my miserable existence, then you showed up." his eyes softened and a smile touched his lips. His hand was still behind my neck, he pulled me into him crashing his lips over mine. The storm outside had reduced to downpouring rain now. It did little to drown out my approving moans at Yoongi's skilled lips and hands. I felt his length hardening again underneath me. I wanted-no I needed- to feel him. I broke our kiss and eased myself into a sitting position, his hands falling to rest at my waist. I took him in my hand and stroked him, feeling the velvety soft skin, the ridges and veins. His breathing was strained as I massaged him, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Lifting my hips, I lined him up with my entrance and slowly sank down onto him making his nails dig into my skin. Every inch of him stretched me, filling me, I sank all the way down, relishing in the full almost painfulness of it. Once I adjusted to him I set my pace, starting slow, not wanting to rush the heavenly feeling. I sped up and threw my head back, enjoying the ecstasy coursing through my veins. One of his hands moved to my center and he caressed my bundle of nerves. I quickly came undone around him calling his name over and over. I hadn't even come down from my high when Yoongi flipped me over with his length still in me.He pulled out and thrust into me, setting his own pace, sending me quickly back into a frenzy, my thoughts completely scattered. The only thing that I could comprehend is that this man made me feel things I had never felt.   

"You trust me?" he asked quickly                                                                                                                                            

"Yes, I trust you!" I whined

He leaned over me nestling his head into the crook of my neck. He licked from my collar bone to my ear before choosing a spot to graze his teeth over. His thrusts were hard and long and I was about to topple over the edge again when he sunk his teeth into my neck with one final thrust sealing the deal. His cock and my walls pulsing in time as the most powerful orgasm I had ever had wracked my body as he came. I could feel him pouring into me. Tears spilled from my eyes not from pain, but from pleasure. The burning feeling in my gut spreading through every limb.

"Yoongi!" I held the back of his head as he gently sucked on my neck. He was intoxicating and all consuming. I was ruined for any other man. He nursed my neck, soothing it with the flat of his tongue. He kissed up my jaw, finding my lips. I could taste myself on his lips. It didn't repulse me, if anything it aroused me more for him. Whether he meant to or not, he had marked me in more ways than one. Coming down from my high, I began to shiver with cold. The fire was dying down. When my whole body shivered Yoongi decided to change the situation. He scooped me up and took me upstairs to my bedroom, nestling me under my blankets and then quickly diggin in the trunk and finding 2 more to spread on top of me. He kissed my forehead before he turned towards the fireplace in my room and began building a fire for us. After a while he had built a roaring fire that satisfied him. He crawled into bed on the other side of me laying on his side.

"Is this alright?" he asked

"It is." I rolled onto my side to look at him "I'm making your dream come true by warming the bed for you." 

"You most definitely are" He smiled and leaned in for a soft kiss. "Now get some sleep. I told you I'd watch over you, so rest easy." he scooched closer to me and wrapped me into his arms. The sound of rain and the crackle of the fire filled the room lulling me to sleep. Before I lost full consciousness I heard Yoongi speak softly 

"No one has ever shown me bravery and kindness like you have. I don't want to let that go, let me keep you y/n, be mine for eternity."

_________________________________________

A/N: Thank you for reading! Shout out to MYG for posting those delicious selfies that inspired this. I love period dramas- Downton Abbey, Outlander, Peaky Blinders, Poldark, The Last Kingdom, the list goes on! This was a fun little thought I had and decided to roll with it.

I'm thinking of making a Part 2? Got more ideas of where this plot could go, if you like this and would be interested in that, let me know!

[starglitterz]

"you are so beautiful to me."

feat; kazuha x gn!reader

warning(s); fluff to angst, kinda hurt/comfort, suggestive, blood

a/n; new writing style AGAIN,,, kazuha my beloved im so sorry anyways yall better read the whole thing im v proud of this 😋

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

kazuha.

"you are so beautiful to me," the words slip easily, truthfully from kazuha's lips, his breath warm against your ear. from behind you, he embraces your figure in an affectionate hug, chin resting on your shoulder as the two of you gaze at your reflection in the gleaming mirror. his hand fiddles with the hem of your outfit, caressing your bare skin underneath the material and prompting a soft giggle to bubble up from your throat from the action. he presses a fleeting butterfly kiss to your neck, and you lean back into his touch as yet another honest compliment falls from kazuha's lips like a maple leaf in autumn, "in comparison to you, even the beauty of the moon wanes."

"you are so beautiful to me," kazuha murmurs, his strong arms wrapping around you and holding you tight, like he's your lighthouse amidst a stormy sea. his voice never wavers, the words comforting you and washing away your insecurities and sadness. it hurts, but he's there for you, and you know kazuha won't let you struggle alone anymore. he is there for you, even on these awful nights when nightmares leave you wide awake and gasping for breath. your tears are wiped away with a caring swipe of his thumb across your cheeks, and he tilts your face to look at him. crimson eyes maintaining a piercing gaze, kazuha presses a kiss onto your forehead and continues his sentence, "both inside and out."

"you are so beautiful to me," the words are hushed when kazuha says them, speaking in a quiet voice that's almost shy. it's past midnight, and your eyes keep threatening to slide shut even though the memory of what happened mere minutes ago still sends warmth rushing to your face. his hand dances across your bare shoulder, fingers illustrating constellations on your skin and leaving a trail of searing heat in their wake - you wonder if he's doing it on purpose. a gentle smile curves his lips as he looks at you, cheeks still slightly flushed, and you're sure he's thinking about it too. kazuha leans closer and kisses your plush lips, but this kiss isn't filled with passion like earlier, rather it's a loving kiss, one of sweetness and innocence telling you, "i'm so grateful i met you."

"you are so beautiful to me," kazuha says, his hand tracing down your cheek, his voice barely audible but it's okay because it's just the two of you and you can hear everything he's saying perfectly fine even over the roar of thunder. ruby blood is spattered across his face, as are cuts and bruises like sick trophies of the fight the two of just won. mud stains your clothes and your sleeve is torn, you're sure you've never looked worse but it doesn't matter because you're beautiful to him. you tilt your head, trying to ignore the way kazuha's eyes are clouding over, but you know there's no hope anymore, no matter how much you attempt to convince yourself he'll be okay. his eyes glimmer with unshed tears, mourning the loss of the life he could have had with you, the life he wanted to have with you, the life that's being ripped away from him right now. the ring in his pocket feels oddly heavy for something so small. kazuha's hand cups your face, even though the very motion has his muscles screaming at him to stop moving, "i love you."

"you are so beautiful to me," you whisper through sobs, brushing away his bangs to kiss his forehead, pretending the reason his face is wet is because of the rain sluicing down from the sky in buckets and not your tears as you let your lips linger there for far too long. he smiles up at you and you clutch his hand that's still on your cheek while a million pleas threaten to fall from your lips. stay with me, i need you. but he can't, and you know that. with a heavy heart threatening to crack into infinite shards, you kiss kazuha one final time, "i love you too."

a flash of lightning illuminates the purple inazuman sky, the last of the dying sunlight sinking into the unforgiving ocean. barely a second later, harsh thunder booms, and kaedehara kazuha is gone.

- you wonder if you are still beautiful to him when you weep over his corpse, your eyes reddened from crying, the wind whipping around and howling in your ears just like the echoing memory of his voice.

quill speaks !

i have nothing to say except that this is what ebg has driven me to, the brink of insanity /j

okok i really like this and i hope u do too !!!!!!

i hope you enjoy your stay at quill’s dessert cafe, and do check out the menu if you’d like ! 🍭

© starglitterz 2021. do not repost or modify in any way.

[ton-e]

Helheim is a land of peace.

The layers of agonized wails and woeful imploring she prepared her ears for was lost in the breeze of the melancholic melody of nature. Naked humming voices flowed serenely amidst the gradient of indigo blue leaves, dry and wrinkly, singing the ballads of lost souls attached to skinny tree branches, rinsed of color at the roots, blending smoothly with the pale greenery surrounding the wide meadow that grew to be her most favored solace.

Flowers, prey to decaying, small in stature but mighty in resistance, veiled the piece of soil that parted the center of the dark Kingdom in two, catching vines in the heart core of the spot her beloved boy once clawed his way to freedom, from a grave that came too early for a boy too gentle, too youthful, too much of a man before his time.

Her ghost Prince, her youngest; Stolen and crowned the King of Death, with a rain of tears on his cheeks and a cloak of swords in his back.

'Crowned, ' she spits, imagining it rippling through the dead earth and fell right onto Borr's bald head. Time failed to sweeten her bitterness as she thought, yes, this is how their history beautified the terrible incident. Time didn't heal her pain, neither did it gentled the sharpness of her teeth.

They had deceived him, betrayed him, punished him, stole his life away, and called it a reward.

After that dreadful day, She spent more nights weeping to slumber, eyes buried in the cushions of Hel's frigid chambers, burning brighter, hotter, than the hard oak feeding red-orange flames in the fireplace of her bedroom.

The phantom ice caressing the silver of her skin was more comfort than suffering, painless mercy she sunk into little by little every day until the light of day became unfamiliar. The cold here shares that quality, she ponders, a soft touch of unburnt ice to keep you from perishing.

Its a lot like her son, she thinks.

Yet, Bestla doesn't feel its presence permanently. A long, stone shaded cloak fell upon her shoulders, showering her back in a misty warmth provided by the thick velvet of the garment. Her eyes observe a silhouette shadowing the pale sun, the single leak of blight light hanging above the smoke sky.

"I was hoping to find you here, " Estrid wears a smile radiant enough to pale all gold in the 9 realms. "Peaceful up here, is it not? Hel liked hiding here, as a boy. Said the breeze was nice."

Bestla, for a moment, allows her eye to inspect the other woman for the first time. Her shoulders are round and solid, strong as a soldier, complemented by the stunning danger of a shieldmaiden. Bestla tracks night-dark locks brushing over creamy skin, long and curly. She's as much warrior as she is woman, it's as if she only now observes.

Her arms are an impressive addition, boxy as much as lean, holding closely on her shield and sword. A sword that, doubtlessly, claimed a long string of lives. She's not as fearful as it would be wiser to be. Estrid has been nothing but pleasant, as much as one could be when encountering their circumstance, her presence never frightening her as much as it saddened her.

"For someone carrying such heavy armor, you move with great stealth, Lady Sigurdsson, " If the other woman peaked at the too feather-soft timber of her voice, she had enough cheek to act differently. " I suppose you'd want an explanation as to why I'm avoiding my son?"

" Forgive me, your Grace, but Lord Hellison was never included in the conversation, " Bestla thought she spotted a bloom of red dusting her cheeks as she grinned gently, taking a spot none to tight to the former Queen, but close enough to leave some space had the smaller woman want to fill it. "I thought you would, after..."

"...It's unwise to polish hard truths. They cut harder that way, " The Queen's words were dressed in both honesty and advice, chapters of her life unfolding beneath her eyes as if to pledge truth to the statement. Estrid studied each word with expert attention.

Bestla raises, arms guarding her middle, eyes cast over the sea of flowers beneath her shoes.

"I'm grateful, for the kindness you showed him. I remain in your debt, in fact, though it escapes me how I can repay you here. "

"We don't believe in paying kindness, in the North. Goodness isn't traded in gold, " a quiet chuckle is swept by the breeze slashing through the grand mountains. Estrid inhales deeply and opens her arms when she lets her body fall upon the grass. "If it was, don't you think more people would practice it?"

The southerner's lips lift in a one-sided smile of her own, private and discreet. Debtless favors certainly sounded sweet to the ear.

" Aesir aren't precisely renewed for our gentle hearts, so I suppose not. I still mourn the stress you must have endured, however. Children are far from being a jolly affair. And the tales we hear as children don't exactly portray Titans as loving parents."

A stratum of blank seriousness shaped Estrid's features, graveness resting heavily on sharp boned cheeks and warm brown eyes. " I fell in love a day after meeting him, " Bestla swallowed hard at the admission. " I knew him for less than a sundown, but I knew he was mine. I was dead, alone and helpless and afraid, and he was too much like me to be a fateless coincidence. Words aren't enough to express it. He was just...Meant to fall, and I to catch him. "

The leafs sang to fill the edged hush musking around them. Estrid pimped the other's empty breathing as anger, for she heaved a sigh long enough to match the twin lack of words on both their parts, and excused her nerve. " Apologies. I don't dare name myself a mother, nor do I starve for anyone's approval, least of all yours. I only wished to say you raised a good son. A son lucky to have a mother like you, for as long as he did."

"...You helped him," Bestla started, chest light and comfortable, not cutting blades piercing her skin as she expected. "Kept food in his mouth, put clothes on his back. You loved him truthfully and protected him fiercely. You're not any less his mother than I."

"...It must be a sour thin all the same, for someone so beloved to greet you as a stranger. For that, I can't help but feel sorry still."

" That's a sentiment we can share. He... Hel, my child, my youngest son. Born at the edge of two worlds that never loved him. They aren't my own, not my blood, not him neither Odin, my kind hearted prince, my little lion boy. And yet, I was not their mother for the simple reason they didnt come from me. Everyone told me so.

They weren't my own, yet I held them at my chest, kissed their skinned knees and elbows, wiped their tears, and chased sickness with handpicked herbs and wet rags because I trusted nobody to do so. No language is enough to describe the love a mother has for their children.

No tongue is enough to put my love in words."

"...Even for Balder?"

Bestla laughs, an odde of heartache and sorrow. " Even him. Love gives no choices, last of all to parents. I still remember the day of his birth. A terrible storm broke the skies that evening, set fire to five houses, left a month's worth of reparations behind. He struggled, I've been told. He kicked and wailed and fought all the way.

I haven't had the chance to even hold him in my arms and he was so eager to run from me. My eyes never saw something more perfect than his tiny ears, his adorable little hands, and feet, his honey hair. He looked so much like me I hardly believed it.

But I felt no different with his brothers. There was a sickness in my mouth, when they were babes and I was forced to be departed from them. I couldn't bear to see them in another's arms, a wet nurse, or a squire, when asked to trust anyone else with them, I was faithless.

When Hel was born, he couldn't be convinced to let me go. He was so quiet, I thought perhaps this world claimed him already. His mother drew her last breath on that bed and I was the one he clung to, the one he hooked his fingers into. One of the King's guards present, he tried to prey him away, do you want to know what I did? I unsheathed a dagger from my thigh, slashed his throat, and watched him die." The confession was a river she scalded into freely.

"Would I insult your intelligence by asking if you're familiar with Sandr?" Bestla asked once Estrid wordlessly raised on her feet. She felt enough security to push her body forward. " Titans held mighty battles there."

A smirk pinched the taller woman's lips. " We were rowdy children, I'll confess. But yes, I know the location. You rebuild beautifully, " dark eyes shaped the bronze scorpio pendant suspended in the middle of Bestla's long neck. " Your family picked a Scorpio as their sigil. They made a fine legacy."

" Oh, it was. The finest. Beautiful, skillful, and yet, terribly lonely. I had 10 siblings. 5 brothers and sisters, however, I confess I felt more like an accessory than a member of a clan. We were strangers to each other. Foreigners with the same name, with our only common factor being our house.

Our country was gorgeous but very poor, you see. We trusted nobody, and in return, our distrust was repaid with hostility. Eventually, when our skin touched bone and we ran out of livestock, we opened the gates to trade. Naturally, we were invaded, our lands stolen, our necks had shackles only we could see.

And I held the key for everyone.

I want you to picture the most powerful man in the world, asking me to marry him," a bitter laughs cracks in her throat, and the wind whips away the water from her eyes. " He had a crown on his head and 50 thousand banner men behind him, with more gold than he could ever need or deserve and 100,000 spikes for our heads alone. What else could I have said?"

Her legs shift, stepping closer to Estrid, eyes as flat as her tone. " What I did, I did because I had to. To defend my people. To defend my family. To defend my blood. Every sacrifice, every drop of blood I've spilled, I did it so the people I love could live the peace I never did."

She advances, every step that's forward to her is one back for Estrid, eyes concentrated intensely on one another with enough fire to make Fire Giants sweat.

"All the sins that I have done. Or had done at my orders? The truths my children don't know, the truths a narrow number of people lived to keep the secret. The kind vicious enough to make fine warriors as yourself lose sleep, if they came to know them.

Perhaps this is my justice. A punishment for survival in a world where living is no bed of roses. But I won't stop helping my children, heart beating or otherwise.

There's a storm coming, My Lady. And I have every intention of ensuring everyone walks dry."